Page 13 of Save Me (Maxton Hall #1)

Ruby

As Ember reads my personal statement for my university application form, I circle her name (written in purple pen) in gold. Now Ask Ember to proofread my statement looks both more official and more important.

My sister is lying on her back, on her bed, reading aloud.

“My passionate interest in politics, from its philosophical principles to the practical application of its economic aspects makes Philosophy, Politics, and Economics the ideal course for me. It links the areas I am most interested in, and I would be thrilled to have the chance to study areas of vital importance to today’s society in a depth that only Oxford can offer.

” She pauses, takes her pen in her mouth, and rolls over onto her front to look at me.

I hold my breath.

Ember grins. I pick up one of the wedge sandals she’s dropped on the floor and throw it at her.

“Come on, Ember,” I whisper. It’s two in the morning, and we should have been in bed hours ago. But I was tweaking my statement until just now, and my sister is practically nocturnal anyway, often working on her blog posts into the early hours, so I crept over to her room and asked her to read it.

“It’s a bit waffly,” she replies, equally quietly, but I can hardly understand her through the pen in her mouth.

“It’s meant to be.”

“And it sounds kind of show-offy. Like you’re boasting about your knowledge and all the stuff you’ve already read.”

“I’m meant to do that too.” I stand up and go over to her bed.

She hums thoughtfully and circles a few lines on the page. “I’d cut these bits anyway,” she says, holding it out to me. “You don’t have to suck up to the college and keep on mentioning where you’re applying to. They know they’re Oxford. You don’t need to tell them so twenty times.”

I blush. “That’s true.” I take back the paper and put it on her desk with my journal. “You’re a sweetheart, thanks.”

Ember smiles. “No problem. And I know exactly how you can pay me back.”

That’s how things have always been between Ember and me.

One of us does something for the other and then gets to ask the other one a favor, after which she owes her one again, and so on.

A kind of barter economy, a constant trading of favors.

But to be honest, Ember and I just like helping each other out.

“Shoot.”

“You could finally take me to one of your Maxton Hall parties,” she suggests, as casually as possible.

I stiffen.

It’s not the first time Ember’s asked, and every time I have to disappoint her, it hurts the same. Because it’s the only favor she can ask me that I won’t do.

I’ll never forget the one parents’ evening when Mum and Dad went to Maxton Hall to introduce themselves to my teachers and get to know my classmates’ parents.

It was awful. Not just the fact that the buildings are hundreds of years old and totally inaccessible.

People’s expressions couldn’t have been more condescending.

Mum and Dad had got dressed up for the occasion—but that day, I learned that the Bells and Maxton Hall have very different ideas of “smart.” The other parents were wearing suits—Beaufort brand for the men, obviously—while Dad was in jeans and a jacket.

Mum’s dress was lovely but dusted with flour from the bakery, which we didn’t notice until an older lady looked down her nose at us and then turned away to pass comment on it to her friends.

The memory of the pain on Mum’s face, which she tried to hide behind a fake smile, still breaks my heart.

Same as Dad’s proudly jutting chin every time his wheelchair caught in a doorway and Mum and I had to help him.

They tried not to show how hurt they were by the wrinkled noses and turned backs of the other parents. But they couldn’t fool me.

That day only reinforced my decision that there were two worlds for me—my family and Maxton Hall—and that I would keep them carefully apart.

My parents will never be part of the elite, and that’s fine.

I never want to put them in another situation where they feel so uncomfortable.

They’ve been through enough since Dad’s boating accident, and the last thing they need is Maxton Hall shit on top of that.

And the same goes for Ember. My sister is like a glowworm: Her bubbly personality and free-and-easy manner always attract attention.

I know exactly what can happen at Maxton, and I have personal experience of what people there are capable of when they think they rule the world.

Some of the stories I’ve overheard in the girls’ loos over the last few years have turned my stomach. That’s not happening to Ember.

I only want the best for my sister. And that does not involve my school, or the guys in it.

“You know we’re not allowed to bring people who don’t go to the school,” I say in the end.

“Maisie was at the Back-to-School party over the weekend,” Ember retorts. “She says it was epic.”

“Then she must have sneaked past security. Besides, I already told you that the party was a disaster.”

“Didn’t sound like one, the way Maisie told it.”

I press my lips together and shut my planner.

“Come on, Ruby! How long are you going to hold out on me? I promise I’ll behave. Truly. I’ll act like I belong there.”

Her words hit hard. I hate that she thinks I don’t want her there for fear that she’d embarrass me. The hopeful way she looks at me makes my throat constrict.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t,” I say quietly.

In a split second, the hope gives way to fury. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Ember…”

“Just admit that you don’t want me at your stupid parties!” she says reproachfully.

I can’t reply. I can’t lie to her, but I want to protect her.

“If you knew what Maxton Hall was really like, you wouldn’t keep asking to come,” I whisper.

“If you ever need anything in the middle of the night again, ask your fancy school friends,” she hisses. Then she pulls the duvet over her head and turns her face to the wall.

I try to ignore the throbbing ache in my chest. In silence, I pick my journal and the statement off her desk, turn off the light, and leave the room.

The next morning, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, and I slap on concealer to hide the bags under my eyes.

I couldn’t fall asleep after the row with Ember, and I spent most of the night lying awake.

As always, Lin spots right away that something’s wrong, but she assumes it’s still linked to Beaufort and the catastrophe over the weekend, and I’m happy to let her.

After class, I head straight for the library. I’ve got half an hour before our next meeting, and I want to take my books back and get a few out that weren’t available last time.

I love the library more than anywhere else at Maxton Hall, and it’s where I spend most of my time.

It has a vaulted ceiling and open galleries, so despite the dark wood of the shelves, it looks inviting, not gloomy.

The moment you walk through the door, you can sense the welcoming, productive atmosphere, and it can’t help but boost your mood.

Not to mention the staggering array of literature we have access to here.

None of the books in Gormsey’s tiny library would have been any help with my personal statement, whereas here, I was overwhelmed by choice when I first started looking.

I’ve spent entire days in my favorite spot by the window, partly because I feel so at home here and partly because you’re not allowed to take the reference books home with you—some of them are over a hundred years old.

Sometimes when I’m here, I wish there were more hours in my day.

Or that I could stay on longer after school.

It’s like a foretaste of what will await me at Oxford.

Except that the libraries there are bigger and—according to the website—open round the clock.

It’s nerve-racking to work through the introductory reading list in the course information.

A lot of the books are complex, with paragraphs that I have to read several times before I understand them.

But that’s fun too, and I’ve got into the habit of making a little booklet on each of them, summarizing the contents and adding my own thoughts and notes.

I’m in luck, and the three books I’m dying to read are on the shelves again.

Once I’ve checked them out, I head straight for our meeting room.

I’m a bit early, but that gives me time to put the agenda up on the whiteboard and go through my notes.

We spent so long rehashing the party on Monday that we’ve got some catching up to do today.

I push the door with one hand, clutching the pile of books to my chest with the other. I put the little stack down on a table. Even before I’ve put down my backpack, I run my fingers over the cover of Arend Lijphart’s Patterns of Democracy .

“You and I have a date this weekend,” I whisper.

Someone snorts quietly.

I whirl around. At the same moment, my bag slips off my arm and crashes to the floor.

James is at the far end of the room, leaning on the windowsill, arms folded over his chest. He raises his eyebrows at me. “That’s kind of sad,” he says.

It takes me a moment to pull myself together. “What is?” I ask, picking up my backpack and setting it on the table beside the books. One of the holes in the bottom has ripped even more in the crash, and I swear to myself. I’ll have to ask Ember if she’ll help me sew it up.

“Wasting your weekends on school shit.” He strolls over. “I can think of better things to do with my time.”

“What are you doing here?” I reply, unimpressed, and ignoring his remark.

“Didn’t you hear Lexie? I have to start taking responsibility and realize that my actions have consequences.” He parrots the head’s words with a mocking smile.

I open my bag and pull out my planner, my pencil case, and my committee folder. “And you suddenly decided to take notice of that, did you?”