JAMES
Having to watch a lacrosse match without being able to play is awful, plain and simple. My team is full of adrenaline as they come out of the locker room, and one player after another applauds while I'm just a spectator on the edge of the field, in the stands. I endure the discomfort, but at that moment, I regret everything, especially causing a bit of a stir at the back-to-school party.
The worst part is that Roger Cree, one of the rookies, has taken my position and turned out to be so good that he's become a serious competitor for me. If he had been bad, keeping my spot on the team would have been guaranteed, but like this? How will I know if, after serving the penalty, the coach still wants to keep me on the team? Besides, lately, he seems to get along well with Cyril and the rest.
When he arrives and offers a fist bump, I reluctantly reciprocate and sit on the bench, at the edge of the area. I cross my ankles and watch the opposing team run across the field and position themselves in front of the guys. The team is good; I recognize many players from last season, especially one of the forwards who is unpredictable and incredibly fast. I hope Cyril doesn't lose sight of him.
-"Hey, Beaufort. It's a shame you can't play," suddenly says one of the reserves; his name is Matthew, but I doubt we've exchanged words before.
"Yeah, dude. Sucks," another person agrees.
"I don't understand why this punishment is necessary. The setup was great."
"Yeah right? Especially when this is your last year. It must be frustrating to spend the final season on the bench."
"Enough," I say abruptly. Without even waiting for a response, I move toward the edge of the field. I'm glad I'm wearing sunglasses-not only because it's a dazzlingly sunny day for October, but also because they hide how deflated I feel.
I position myself a certain distance from Coach Freeman and observe the playing field with my arms crossed. It's terrible to watch my team without being able to intervene. Not even five minutes have passed since the initial whistle when the opposing team scores their first goal.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and see Ruby and her friend Lin running toward the playing area. Both of them are flushed and disheveled. When they stop, Ruby lets out an expletive. She hasn't noticed me yet, so I take the opportunity to observe her without her realizing.
She's wearing the school uniform, although most of our classmates come to watch the game in street clothes or team jerseys. In one hand, she holds a tripod, and in the other, a notebook. And as always, she carries that hideous backpack on her back, which seems like it could disintegrate at any moment. It's an appropriately vomit-colored backpack, but despite that, she looks pretty. Like a ninja turtle.
A ninja turtle with tousled hair and a tomato-red face.
I approach the two of them and watch as they set up the expensive-looking camera on the tripod.
"Can I help you?" I ask.
Ruby turns around with wide eyes. It's clear she hasn't yet gotten used to my attempts at friendship.
Throughout the week, I've greeted her in the hallways, and each time, she startles as if she's not accustomed to anyone speaking to her outside of class.
"Did we miss anything?" she asks, flustered.
Her gaze darts quickly across the playing field and then toward Coach Freeman, although he's so immersed in the game that he doesn't notice Ruby and Lin arriving late.
"Ridgeview scored a goal against us," I reply.
Ruby nods and jots something down in her notebook.
"Great, thanks."
Meanwhile, Lin sets up the camera and checks the settings before starting to shoot. Soon, both of them are immersed in documenting the game.
I realize that, in truth, I prefer looking at Ruby rather than my team. At least watching her helps hurt less. We've long since recovered, and we're about to beat Ridgeview, but no matter how much I want to, I can't feel joy. When Cree leads the team to score two goals and adds another himself in the second half, it's clear that the guys don't need me at all. I wish I could disappear, and I have no idea why I don't.
Instead, I stand there with a petrified expression at the edge of the field, letting everything slide off me. I clap when we score a goal and curse when the opposing team makes a play against us, all while answering every question Ruby and Lin throw my way.
After barely an hour and a half, I don't feel like I've conquered the world as I used to when we won a match. I'm worn out, and I can't stand being there for another second. The idea of going to Cyril's party tonight and having everyone who saw me by the field today offer condolences makes me sick. Without saying a word, I turn around before the team arrives and head back toward the school.
James pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped a speed dial button to signal Percy to pick him up.
"James!" Ruby's voice called out from behind me. Her bangs and the wind didn't get along particularly well-some strands stood up vertically. She noticed my gaze and smoothed her hair across her forehead. Over the past week, I'd observed that it was one of her habits. By now, I'd also noticed the small comb she kept in her case and used when she thought no one was watching.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Are you okay?"
Why was she asking that? No one ever asked me something like that-simply because no one cared how I was doing. And even if they did, they'd be too afraid or respectful to ask such a question.
"Watching others play must be pretty unpleasant, right?" she asked gently.
"Yeah," I replied.
She shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
"Would you prefer being alone?"
I hesitated, scratching my neck, and shrugged. Thank goodness Alistair rescued me from having to answer. With a flushed face, he sprinted across the grass and stopped in front of us.
"Beaufort! Where are you headed, mate?"
Okay, his question was even tougher than Ruby's.
"Home."
"Did you forget? There's a party at Cy's tonight."
I hadn't forgotten, but unfortunately, going to Cyril's party was the last thing I wanted to do now. Although I couldn't say that to Alistair. The team had won, and despite my current suspension, I was still the captain. Not celebrating this victory with my guys would be unfair- without counting on the fact that I don't feel like answering the questions they would ask me about why I'm not showing up tonight.
"Sure, I'll be there," I say, avoiding direct eye contact with Ruby. I notice her expression change out of the corner of my eye and avoid looking at her directly.
"Don't make that face, dude. It'll be fantastic. We have the whole house to ourselves," Alistair says, smiling and alternating his gaze between her and me, raising his eyebrow at her.
"You don't have to come," I rush to say. Cyril's party isn't the right place for someone like Ruby. "I don't think you'll like it."
I realize I've said something I shouldn't have when Ruby furrows her brow. It's as if I've provoked her, which is the opposite of what I intended.
"How do you know what I like or don't like?"
Alistair coughs slightly, and I shoot him a murderous look. He did it intentionally. He knows exactly what goes on at those parties and how people behave.
"I'd be delighted, Alistair. Thanks for the invitation," Ruby says with a smile that's too charming to be genuine. "What time does it start, and where?"
Alistair opens his mouth to answer, and I cut in, "I'll pick you up."
Ruby's back stiffens. "Really, it's not necessary, James."
"It's on my way; no problem," I insist.
She arches her eyebrows. "Do you have a driver's license?"
Alistair whistles knowingly. Apparently, he enjoys watching me get verbally teased. Shaking my head, I look at Ruby.
-Percy will give us a ride, if that's okay with you.
Now she smiles from ear to ear.
-More than okay.
-So, Percy, huh? I don't think he's bad either. He has a bit of an Antonio Banderas vibe - Alistair comments.
-I said the same thing!
Ruby bursts into laughter, and I'm touched. Damn. Why can't I keep a clear head in her presence? I promised Lydia I'd watch out for her, and that's it. I just need to remind myself of this more often.
-Well, Percy will be at your house around eight.
Ruby nods.
-Great.
RUBY
Cyril Vega lives in the largest and most sumptuous house I have ever seen in my life. I'm not even sure if "house" is the correct word to describe what I have before me. The property we arrived at after a security guard checked Percy's license plate with a camera seems to have no end. When I look to the right and left, all I see is well-maintained lawn, symmetrically planted shrubs, and trees. As James and I step out of the car, I stand still for a moment, tilting my head back to take in the extraordinary facade. The tall columns on either side of the entrance and the balcony directly above it give that stately house a character from another era.
By my side, James doesn't seem impressed as we climb the excessively large white stone steps to the door. But that's normal. On one hand, Cyril is one of his closest friends, and on the other hand, the house where he lives is surely at least as large. I feel the cold, damp palms of my hands: what am I doing here?
I swore never to attend one of these parties. But a single stupid comment from James was enough to awaken my combative spirit. I had to do the opposite of what he wanted, which, in hindsight, is completely absurd. Since Monday, I've been upset because going out with James destroyed my invisibility at Maxton Hall, and now I'm accompanying him to this party where many of my schoolmates will be. This afternoon, I haven't even thought for a second about what this will mean for me. I'm sure people will talk about us again and probably gossip even more.
From outside, you can already hear the music and the voices of the guests. For a split second, I consider pretending to feel unwell and leaving. But I don't want to give James that satisfaction. So I rub my hands on my skirt for a moment and clear my throat. James glances at me, but I ignore him. Then he opens the door to the house with a key that surprisingly hangs on his keychain.
We step into the foyer, which is so imposing that I momentarily forget how nervous I am. The marble tiles are sumptuously decorated with discreet furniture colors, and gold and white details are visible everywhere. An enormous chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and curved staircases lead up to a gallery on the right and left.
At first glance, it seems like the entire house is hosting the party. The music appears to come from a room, but even here in the foyer, a couple of guests are milling about. None of them pay us any attention. I sigh with relief.
"What are they doing up there?" I ask James, pointing to a group of more than twenty boys and girls on the gallery."
-Playing a strange version of beer pong that you only see at Cyril's house -he responds.
I watch a guy drop something from above, a ping-pong ball, as I later confirm. They shoot downward, toward the foyer, where a row of cups has been set up. A couple of balls land directly in the container, although most of them miss and end up on the side. Afterward, the boys cheer jubilantly, a couple of girls scream, and, as far as I can tell, everyone takes a drink.
"I don't understand," I say.
"Me neither," he replies.
"You made it!" someone shouts from above.
I glance upward just in time to see Cyril climb onto one of the railings. He grips it tightly and slides down. Just watching him makes me dizzy. Wren appears behind him but opts for a safer route, descending the stairs. As he moves, he tilts his head back emptying his glass.
Cyril is the first to reach us, greeting James with a half-hug and a pat on the back.
"I hope you felt proud of us today," he says.
I notice James tense up beside me.
"Of course," James responds in a neutral tone that neither exudes overwhelming joy nor reveals the frustration he must have felt at not being able to play himself.
Cyril's gaze lands on me.
"And... you are?" he asks, his ice-blue eyes scanning me from head to toe. He examines my white blouse with blue vertical stripes and the black pleated skirt. I suspect he'll wrinkle his nose any moment now.
Arrogant jerk. As if he looks better just because his black shirt probably cost more than my entire outfit.
"Ruby," James interjects, introducing us. "Ruby, this is Cyril."
"Ruby! Alistair told me he invited you."
Wren approaches us with a smile. I resist the urge to look away.
"Hello," I respond, forcing a smile on my lips.
He briefly greets James and then turns his gaze back to me. The message he conveys with his superior smile is unmistakable: "This is my realm. Here, I hold the upper hand."
An instant later, James places his hand on my back.
"Cy, be a good host and invite us for a drink now," he says, using his signature "I'm James Beaufort" tone. While I would never let him boss me around, his friends seem unfazed. They laugh, and we bypass the staircase, guided by them, toward the back of the foyer. Cyril picks up a couple of balls along the way and tosses them upward before opening a door that leads to a large hall.
The room is smaller than the foyer, but there must be around fifty people inside, either chatting or dancing. The music blares, and the smoke stings my nose, making my eyes water.
I can count the parties I've attended so far on one hand. They were small gatherings in our Gormsey park and-only once-the 15th birthday celebration of a classmate. She invited me to be polite, and I went because my mother insisted I try to connect more with my female classmates. I ended up standing in a corner half the night, swaying to terrible music, mentally counting down the minutes until I could leave.
Today's scene is nothing like that. Instead of cheap beer in plastic cups, the guests are sipping expensive liquors from crystal glasses. The music doesn't come from a portable cassette player; it blares from a sound system with speakers strategically placed around the walls.
So this is an elite party.
Observing my surroundings, I try to take it all in. The bass from the music is so strong that I feel the floor vibrating beneath my feet.
Only after a second glance do I notice the adjacent glass-enclosed conservatory. There's a massive illuminated swimming pool there, which I've already decided to steer clear of.
A couple of guests are swimming in their underwear, splashing those at the edge. Others sit on velvet-upholstered sofas, smoking and drinking. The sofas look antique and have undoubtedly cost a fortune.
I'm so overwhelmed by the situation that I realize too late that James is saying something to me.
"Sorry?" I ask, leaning slightly toward him so his mouth is at ear level.
"What would you like to drink, Ruby Bell?" he repeats.
A shiver runs down my spine, and goosebumps appear on my arms. I avoid dwelling on it.
"A Coca-Cola, if they have it. Otherwise, water."
James steps back a bit and looks into my eyes.
"Does it bother you if I drink?"
"No," I reply, shaking my head.
"Very well. I'll be right back."
With that, Cyril and James disappear. Wren remains, his smug expression still fixed on me.
"Aren't you having anything to drink?" His voice drips with provocation.
I muster all my willpower not to turn away or yell at him in front of everyone. For two years, I've managed to ignore him, and I won't mess it up now over a couple of snide remarks.
"No," I respond tersely.
Wren approaches a little closer, and I instinctively step back.
"Why not, Ruby?" he asks, taking another step toward me until I feel the wall against my back. "Have you had bad experiences with alcohol?"
I catch the scent of alcohol on his breath and notice how dilated his pupils are. I wonder if he's using something stronger than Scotch whiskey.
"You know perfectly well why I don't drink, Wren," I respond coldly, tensing my shoulders.
If he doesn't leave me alone, I might actually hurt him. Out of the corner of my eye, I've spotted a dark wooden dresser to my left, adorned with several statues and a lamp. I know how to defend myself.
"I remember that night very well," Wren replies. He lifts her left arm and leans against the wall next to my head.
"Well, I don't," I mutter. Until now, he's always left me alone at school. He's never even mentioned what happened that night two years ago... Why would he bring it up today of all days?
"Are you sure?" he murmurs, getting even closer.
I raise both hands and forcefully push him away from me.
"I have no desire to relive it, Wren."
He takes my hands and interlaces his fingers with mine. Terrified, I glance around.
"I still remember exactly what you whispered to me that time."
"It was only because you got me drunk."
"Really?" His dirty smile reappears. "Alcohol brings our deepest thoughts to the surface. You wanted it just as much as I did, Ruby."
I remain frozen as the memory of that night finally resurfaces in my mind: Wren's ragged breath, his hands moving all over my body. Just thinking about it suffocates me- the embarrassment, on one hand, and because it's true that I enjoyed it, on the other. Only the way it happened is what bothers me.
Wren opens his mouth again, but a voice sounds from behind, stern yet weary.
"Leave her alone, Fitzgerald."
His eyes widen, and I look surprised. Lydia is standing next to us. She shoots Wren a furious glance before taking my hand without saying anything else. She pulls me away from him and leads me toward the center of the room. Only when we're out of Wren's earshot does she raise her eyebrows at me.
"Who would have thought that someone like you harbored a murky secret?" Her lips curve into a playful smile. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."
I stare at her, taking a few minutes to process what she just said.
"I don't care who you tell," I stubbornly affirm, even though we both know it's a complete lie.
If I could erase that night from my memory, I would. I was fifteen years old and had just arrived at Maxton Hall. It was the first school event I participated in, and I was so excited and nervous that I happily drank all the glasses of punch Wren handed me. I didn't know he was adding alcohol from a flask to get me drunk. And when he led me to the hallway and kissed me, I was completely euphoric. Wren was one of the most attractive boys in school. And he wanted me. The first kiss he gave me sent me into ecstasy.
The next morning, I realized how deceitful it had been-getting me drunk without my knowledge-and how naive I had been. Since then, I haven't touched alcohol.
Facing me, Lydia raises an eyebrow.
'Really?' I thought you cared more about your reputation.
'Being drunk and kissing someone won't tarnish my reputation,' I say. 'It's not the same as getting involved with a teacher.'
I regret my words as soon as they leave my mouth. Lydia turns pale as a sheet. A second later, she takes a threatening step toward me.
'You said you'd keep your mouth shut. I...' She falls silent and steps back again.
'Here you are.' James approaches us, handing me a glass of Coca-Cola with ice cubes and a slice of lemon. In his other hand, he holds an expensive-looking crystal glass filled with amber liquid. He glances alternately between Lydia and me. 'Everything okay?'
'Little brother, could you bring me something to drink too?' Lydia blinks exaggeratedly a couple of times.
James rolls his eyes but takes his sister's glass and heads back toward the bar. Once he's gone, Lydia's smile disappears again. She looks at me with cold eyes and swallows hard.
I wish I hadn't come to the party. I don't want to be in this room; I want to be home, where I feel safe and protected. This is the opposite-a venture I don't feel capable of undertaking.
'Listen,' I warn before she can threaten me again. 'I regret what I just said.'
She opens her mouth and then closes it. Then she looks at me incredulously.
'Huh?'
'I'm not your enemy,' I continue. 'And I don't care what happens between Mr. Sutton and you. I won't reveal your secret.' I emphasize my point. 'I just want to be left alone.'
'Why should I believe you?' she asks, narrowing her eyes. 'I don't know you.'
"True," I say. "But James knows me. And I've promised him."
"You've promised him," she repeats, as if not fully grasping the meaning of the words.
"Yes," I say hesitantly.
She remains silent for a moment, studying me with suspicion. But then her expression changes. Suddenly, she no longer looks incredulous; instead, it's as if a puzzle piece has clicked into place in her mind. Her gaze shifts away from my face and focuses on a point above my shoulder.
"So that's what it's about."
Confused, I turn around to see what she's referring to. I spot James by the bar, lifting one bottle after another to examine their labels.
"What?" I ask.
She smiles reassuringly. "Don't worry, you're not the first. Many girls have succumbed to his charms."
Suddenly, it clicks. I burst into laughter, unable to help myself. Lydia looks surprised.
"What's so funny?"
"I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, but your brother is the opposite of charming."
She looks at me, torn between scolding me and laughing. James makes the decision for her, returning to us at that moment.
"Here," he says, handing Lydia her drink. "For you, little sister."
She glances up briefly and then looks back at me.
"I've got my eye on you, Ruby." With those words, she spins on her heels and disappears into the crowd.
"What was that about?" James asks, bewildered, watching the reddish-blond mane vanish among the crowd.
When I shrug, he furrows his brow. "What did she say?"
"Nothing. She doesn't trust me and doesn't believe I'll keep my mouth shut." James scans the room, as if contemplating what to say next, unsure of what he can or cannot reveal to me.
"Seems like she has trouble trusting others," I inquire. "Very few people would keep this secret, Ruby." He gestures in frustration. "Quite the opposite. Ninety percent would sell it to the press or try to blackmail us. It wouldn't be the first time someone spends time with us just to uncover our family secrets."
He avoids my gaze as he speaks, instead observing the people dancing in the middle of the room.
"That sounds…disgusting."
The corner of his lips lifts slightly. "It is."
I had never considered that. While it doesn't excuse James's behavior, this information helps me understand him a little better... and Lydia too.
"I wonder why I'm here if everyone distrusts me so much."
He thoughtfully traces my face with his eyes. He raises his hand as if to touch me but then lets it fall, opting instead to take a sip from the drink that was originally meant for Lydia. His second glass.
"You're here because Alistair invited you," he finally says.
"That's true," I reply, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear that keeps tickling my chin. "Alistair. If it were up to you, I wouldn't be here."
"It's not that."
"Then what is it? I don't understand why the idea of me being here affects you so much."
"This isn't where you belong, Ruby." It's as if he's stabbed me with a small knife. I have to make a great effort not to show the pain. "No... I don't mean that," he adds quickly; apparently, my attempt to hide the hurt didn't work as well as I thought.
"Clearly."
I turn around and look through the large glass window at the pool where someone has just jumped in fully clothed. A few seconds later, James steps in front of me, filling my entire field of vision.
"Come on," he says. "I just wanted to say that it makes me uneasy to see you around these people. Eventually, they'll try to pin something on you. I feel responsible for you."
"I can take care of myself, thank you very much," I reply sarcastically.
He looks at me insistently, and I take a sip of my Coca-Cola to break eye contact. When he looks at me like that, I get nervous, and the stifling heat in the room doesn't help.
"I don't want to be a burden to you at all. Just behave as you normally do," I say finally, gesturing with my hand to encompass the entire room.
He should go do whatever he usually does at these parties. I don't want him acting like my babysitter.
He nods and finishes his second drink. Then he takes my glass and places it next to his. Next, he's back at my side, grabbing my hand. He pulls me toward the center of the room, where people are dancing. My heart races, and I wonder what the hell he has in mind as he draws me a little closer. His chest brushes against mine, and he briefly tightens his grip on my hand before letting go and starting to move to the rhythm of the music.
James Beaufort stands before me. He lowers his gaze, smiling, and begins to sway his hips in circles.
"What…are you doing?" I ask, dismayed. I'm the only one frozen like a statue on the dance floor.
"I'm doing what I usually do at parties," James replies.
Again, his gaze feels like a challenge I must respond to. I try to move like him. When someone pushes me from behind, I stumble and fall onto James, who places his hand on my waist to steady me. My breath catches, and my heart beats faster. A strange warmth envelops me as I lift my gaze to meet his. We're pressed so close together that not even a sheet of paper could slide between us.
Someone nearby shouts in joy. I tear my eyes away from James's face and scan the surroundings. At least five pairs of eyes are watching us.
I'm utterly bewildered. James and I may have been able to maintain a peaceful coexistence now, but this is entirely different. And if I don't want rumors about us to spread like wildfire at school, I need to leave the dance floor immediately.
"I need to use the restroom," I announce.
James steps back right away. His eyes gleam with intelligence, and in that moment, I'm too confused to understand what it means. He nods toward the left corner of the room, where a hallway begins behind a tall arch.
"First door on the right, second on the left."
I weave through the dancing crowd and make my way down the hallway. Oil paintings of Vega family members hang on the walls, their colors shimmering in the lamplight-greens and golds. The maroon carpet beneath my feet features intricate abstract animal patterns. I turn right, as James instructed. This part of the hallway is completely empty, and I lean against the wall.
I have no idea what I'm doing here, seriously. Besides feeling completely out of place, James is making me feel uneasy. The way he touches me, the way he looks at me, the whispered words-if I didn't know him, I'd say he's flirting with me.
On Monday, when he showed up at my doorstep and said he didn't want to go back to how things were, I didn't expect this. Does he dance like this with all his acquaintances? I suppose so.
Maybe I should treat it as an exercise. Whether I like it or not, these people are my classmates. And if I manage to get into Oxford, I'll have to get along with them and many other boys and girls from wealthy families.
I take a deep breath, clench my fists, and step away from the wall with renewed determination. I'll freshen up, return to the hall, grab my Coca-Cola, and dance with James. What could go wrong? They'll gossip anyway, so I might as well enjoy myself a little.
Decisively, I approach the door a couple of meters down the left side of the hallway. I open it, hoping to find the bathroom behind it. Except for the light from the hallway, the room is as dark as a wolf's mouth. My eyes need a moment to adjust, but then I discern the outline of a large antique secretary, a corner with upholstered chairs, and... all sorts of bookshelves.
Clearly, this isn't the bathroom-it's the library! I hesitate for a moment, but curiosity propels me forward. I look around. Just in the first bookshelf, there are more books than we have in our entire house. A smile spreads across my face, and I dare to take another step forward... and that's when I hear it.
Labored breathing. A stifled sigh.
Turn around and leave. A shrill voice warns in my head, but it's too late. My gaze lands on Alistair, who leans against the back of the room, surrounded by bookshelves. His head is thrown back, and he lets out a loud groan.
I hear a soft sound.
"If you keep screaming like that, I'll stop."
I freeze. That voice sounds familiar. It's smooth and deep, slightly hoarse.
"Don't," Alistair says, dropping his head forward.
The guy kneeling in front of him straightens up.
"Only if you ask nicely," he replies.
Alistair tugs at his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. The guy stands, bracing himself against the bookshelf near Alistair's head to respond to the kiss. Then I recognize who it is: Keshav.
I take a breath as Keshav's mouth trails across Alistair's face and down his neck.
In that moment, Alistair spots me by the door.
"Kesh, stop," he whispers, terrified, and abruptly pushes his friend away.
I turn around and flee the library back into the hallway. Horrified, I glance both ways and decide to return to the main hall. I weave through the dancers, their faces blurring before my eyes, and search for James in the room.
I spot him near the pool, chatting with his sister, Cyril, and Wren. Wren gesticulates wildly with his hands.
I need a few minutes to recover.
Why do I keep stumbling upon people getting intimate, clearly not wanting an audience? Since when did I become a collector of strangers' secrets? This isn't normal.
It takes an incredible effort to calm myself down-at least to some extent. Maybe I should reconsider the decision I just made: I'm not having fun here, and I'll never get used to these people.
I want to approach James and ask him to take me home, but he's so close to the pool that I hesitate. When I see the water, I feel a pit in my stomach. Finally, I gather all my courage and cautiously enter the winter garden. I stay by the wall, a little apart from the group. Wren is the first one to notice me.
-Here she is.
I briefly nod my head at him and almost sigh with relief when James takes the two steps that separate us. I never would have thought that he would be the person I'd feel most comfortable with at a party, but well, here we are. He has become my anchor, and I have to restrain myself from holding his hand.
-Everything okay? -James asks.
He holds another glass in his hand, this time with amber liquid again. By now, his cheeks are slightly flushed.
-I'd like to go home now -I whisper, still breathless.
James furrows his brow, but only for a moment. Apparently, it's obvious that I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He empties the glass before placing it on the nearest table.
-Alright.
-Come on, James, since when do you leave my parties before four? -Cyril asks, offended.
-Since I'm with someone who wants to go home -he replies to his friend, looking at him expressionless. There it is again, that arrogant and impenetrable wall.
-Come on, Ruby. Don't be a party pooper. Let our friend be-Wren says, bending down to splash us with pool water. A couple of drops reach my neck, and I feel like I'm running out of air.
-Don't do that -I blurt out in a voice that I barely recognize- it's so shrill.
"Are you made of sugar or what?" Cyril asks, laughing. He's no longer wearing a shirt, just black swim trunks. His hair is still damp from swimming. He takes a step closer. I retreat, gripping James's arm tightly. I don't care what others think.
"Come on, Cy. Leave her alone," James says, but even his authoritative tone can't do much now. Cyril looks at me like a predator. Then he leaps toward me, grabs my purse, and hands it to a smiling Lydia.
"Cyril, I'm warning you..." I gasp, but it's too late. He embraces me in a way that's far from affectionate and drags me with him into the pool. I scream as I collide with the water, my entire weight crashing down, legs and arms flailing in panic.
We descend, and my heart skips a beat. Suddenly, I'm no longer at the Vega house; I'm in a turbulent sea of yellowish-green. I'm not seventeen anymore; I'm eight. I don't know how to swim; I'm helpless, at the mercy of the bone-chilling water.
I can't breathe.
The algae pulls me downward, and I can't move. My arms won't function, my legs refuse to react. I'm utterly unable to control my body. The pressure on my chest intensifies rapidly.
And then there's no choice-I inhale the water.