Page 43 of Save Me (Maxton Hall #1)

Ruby

I always used to love dreaming. In my dreams, the impossible became possible.

I could fly and sometimes do magic; I went to Oxford and traveled the world as an ambassador.

Most of the time, my dreams were vivid and so realistic that the next day, I’d go to school super motivated, trying to give more than a hundred percent.

Now I hate my dreams. In most of them, James plays the leading role, and I just want that to stop.

I wake up in the middle of the night—not because they’re nightmares, but from the throbbing between my legs because I dreamed about him taking hold of me and kissing me.

I dream that he offers me payment in kind for my silence, and this time, I don’t stop him unbuttoning his shirt.

I dream of him leading me into a world where he hasn’t wiped me from his life.

This is yet another morning when I wake up with hot cheeks and the duvet between my legs.

I groan and roll onto my back, laying an arm over my eyes.

This can’t go on. I somehow have to succeed in driving James out of my subconscious, or else I’ll go mad.

How am I meant to forget him if my dreams every night show me everything that could have happened between us?

I rub my eyes and reach for my phone on my bedside table. It’s just before six, so my alarm will go off in ten minutes anyway. Wearily, I sit up and open my inbox. I’ve had eight new emails since last night. I scroll slowly through them to see if there’s anything important.

As I see the sender’s name on the last message, I sit up in bed so hastily that I feel dizzy.

It’s from the admissions officer at St. Hilda’s.

I hold my breath as I open it.

Dear Ruby,

I am very happy to invite you for an interview at St. Hilda’s College, Oxford. Many congratulations on successfully reaching this stage in the application process.

I don’t take in any of the rest of the text. I squeal so loudly that it echoes around the entire house. Ember comes running into my room, and I jump out of bed. It takes me a moment to regain my balance, but once I’ve done so, I jam my phone under her nose. Meanwhile, I start jumping up and down.

“Oh my God!” she screams, grabbing my hands and dancing around in circles with me. “Oh my God, Ruby!”

After that, I run downstairs so fast that I almost land flat on my face. Dad is wheeling out into the hallway; Mum’s coming wide-eyed out of the kitchen. I hold up my phone triumphantly.

“I got an interview!”

Mum claps her hands to her mouth, and Dad cheers. Ember wraps her arms around my waist and hugs me tight. “I’m so happy for you! But I don’t want you to move out.”

“I’ve only been invited for an interview; it doesn’t mean I’ll get in.

And if I do, Oxford’s only a couple of hours away anyway.

” I’m so excited that I can’t stand still.

My dream seemed so distant for years, but now it’s come a whole lot closer.

It suddenly feels so real that I can almost touch it. My whole body is tingling with energy.

“We all know you’re going to rock the interview,” says Dad, his choice of words making Ember and me laugh. “They’ll have no choice but to accept you.”

I’m grinning so widely that the corners of my mouth are starting to ache. But I can’t stop. It’s been ages since I’ve looked forward to anything this much.

“I’m so proud of you, love.” Mum drops a kiss on the top of my head and gives me a hug. Once she lets go, I bend down to Dad, who hugs me too.

“So what exactly does this mean for now?” he asks, once I’ve straightened up again.

I read the email through to the end this time. “It says here to arrive by eight on Sunday evening. The interviews then run on Monday and Tuesday. The journey home again is on Wednesday morning.”

“Four days in Oxford,” Mum whispers with a shake of her head. “I knew they’d invite you.”

I beam at her again. “It says here that I get free accommodation and meals.”

“There, I knew you’d picked the right college,” says Dad, his eyes sparkling happily.

“I know exactly what you need to wear.” Ember grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs.

“I picked my Oxford outfits back before the summer holidays.” Longer than that, really, if you take into account the Oxford Style Pinterest board I’ve had for over a year, which Ember and I constantly pin inspirations to.

I wave to Mum and Dad as Ember drags me along behind her. From the stairs, I hear my parents.

“Oxford,” whispers Mum.

“Oxford,” Dad replies equally quietly.

They sound so happy. I hope with all my heart that I’ll do well in the interviews. I want to keep making them proud, being their reason to be so pleased. When my family is happy, I am too.

I let Ember pull me into my bedroom and over to my wardrobe. As she pulls out heaps of clothes and lays them in outfits on my bed, I fill in the reply form and confirm that I will be attending. Then I send Lin a screenshot of the message and wait nervously for her to answer.

I still can’t quite believe it.

It might only be for four days, but: I’m going to Oxford.

It’s dark by the time we arrive on Sunday evening.

Even so, my parents, Ember, and I decide to take a stroll.

St. Hilda’s is at the eastern end of the High, and we walk along the Cherwell, its water glittering moodily in the light of the streetlamps, and between the imposing buildings in weathered but far from weather-beaten stone.

The bay windows with white frames and little balustrades exude the charm of old stories, and I long to hear them all one day.

St. Hilda’s is just beautiful. I push Dad over the paved paths in the college grounds with Mum and Ember on either side of us, and it feels like I’m walking straight into a fairy tale. The grin that’s been permanently fixed to my face since last week broadens further still.

“Next year, you’ll be sitting right there,” says Dad out of nowhere, pointing to the lawn on our left. “With a pile of textbooks under your nose. On a tartan blanket.”

“That’s a very precise image, Dad,” I say with a smile.

“It is.” He nods solemnly.

Apart from its prettiness, I like St. Hilda’s for its diversity, sense of community, and the respect its students have for one another.

Everyone’s welcome here, no matter where they’re from or what their background is.

After my time at Maxton Hall, that’s what I need.

I want to feel at home and not to have to hide away again.

I can’t imagine spending the next three years at one of the more conservative colleges, like Balliol.

Besides, St. Hilda’s has unicorns on its coat of arms.

“I can’t believe I’m really here,” I whisper. “I’m so lucky.”

Ember clicks her tongue. “It’s not luck. You worked hard for this.”

She’s right. But the thought of the interviews over the next couple of days still makes me feel sick. I have to do a bit of last-minute preparation tonight and look through the notes I made during Pippa’s sessions. I know them off by heart, but I know it’ll make me feel better all the same.

Once we’ve been to the porter’s lodge to get my key for the room I’ll be staying in for the next few days, I say goodbye to my family with a heavy heart, take my little blue holdall, and step inside.

The building is nothing special indoors—blue carpet, pale white walls—but I still have butterflies in my stomach as I climb the stairs to the first floor. This might soon be my new home.

My room is at the end of the corridor on the left. I pull out my key, and I’m about to stick it in the lock when I hear someone’s footsteps behind me. I turn around with a smile.

It dies on my lips.

I’d assumed it would be a student, but the person standing there has red-blond, wind-tousled hair and is wearing a black, tailored coat.

It’s James.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I exclaim. I thought he had applied to Balliol.

He looks just as surprised as me. His expression darkens, and he looks at the key in his hand. He takes three long strides, small suitcase in tow, and reaches the door opposite mine.

It feels like fate is playing an unkind trick on me.

Without a word, he opens the door and steps into his room. His glowering eyes rest on me a moment longer, then he shuts the door behind him, leaving me out in the hall.

I’ve had myself so firmly under control in the last few weeks.

I’ve ignored him, even when it hurt, and acted like the whole thing had washed over me without a trace.

I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how angry and upset I am.

And how much I miss him. But now I feel the rage rising up within me again.

I’d love to go and kick his door in. I want to hurl all the pent-up words of the last few weeks at his head.

But I know there’s nothing more to say. He is the way he is. I was a little interlude for him, and it was unrealistic to think James could ever be any kind of friend to me, let alone something more.

I can’t let the fact that he’s here get to me.

I have a goal, and I’m not losing sight of it.

I’ve come too far for that. Maybe I should just see it as another challenge that I have to overcome on my way to Oxford.

And so long as James doesn’t get in my way, I can live with him staying opposite me.

I’ll act the same as I do at school: pretend he doesn’t exist.

With that resolve, I open the door and enter my room.

It’s minimalist—a small wooden desk, a white built-in wardrobe, and a simple bed.

From the window, there’s a view of the quad with a huge beech tree in the center.

I step closer to get a better look. The copper leaves have fallen; the lawn is covered with them.

There’s a path leading all the way around the edge, with lampposts and benches.

I copy Dad—I imagine myself sitting out there in a few months’ time, a pile of books beside me, my head full of the new things I’m learning, in simply perfect grounds.

The whole thing with James hurts like hell, but suddenly it doesn’t feel so bad. I’m going to do this.