Page 47 of Save Me (Maxton Hall #1)

Ruby

The interview the next day is horrendous.

That’s partly because I spent half the night lying awake, thinking about Lydia’s situation, and partly because I don’t hit it off with either of the instructors.

They start by making jokes that I don’t understand, and then once we finally get going, they’re dissatisfied with my answers.

I’m asked how many people there are in the room, and I reply that nobody can say for certain.

After all, I could be dreaming, or the two tutors might just be in my head.

It’s one of the exercises we went through with Pippa, but they really don’t like my approach to the question.

The philosophy tutor describes it as “pseudo-intellectual,” then invites me to challenge my answer and work out why it’s fallacious.

Then he asks me for a logical response, and, in a small voice, I say, “Three.”

As a result, I’m totally unsure of myself, and I overthink everything else I say. It’s an utter disaster, and, half an hour later, when it’s finally over, my head is spinning.

I bid them a polite goodbye and leave the room like I’m on autopilot. Once I get outside, I realize how dizzy I am, and I have to lean on the wall for a moment so as not to lose my balance.

My eyes rest on the next applicant.

James, obviously.

His habit of turning up at every low point in my life and experiencing them live is driving me nuts.

He’s chatting with the student who showed him the way here—or rather, she’s chatting him up while he stares at the toes of his shoes.

It’s not until one of the instructors shuts the door behind me that he lifts his head.

He looks great. He’s wearing black trousers and a dark green shirt that flatters his broad shoulders and upper body. I hate that they suit him so well. I also hate the fact that he’s so formally dressed without coming across as a try-hard. I basically hate everything about him.

Especially the way he broke my heart. Every time he looks at me, the pain that I’ve been repressing so successfully in the last few weeks comes flooding back.

My heart pounds in my throat, my mouth goes dry, and a queasy feeling spreads through my stomach.

And then there’s that bloody yearning. The need to go over to him and take his hand in mine, just to touch him and to feel his warm skin on mine.

I’d like to wish him luck, like he did for me yesterday, but I just can’t bring myself to speak to him.

If I open my mouth—just now, when I’m on the brink of tears—my voice will break.

Suddenly, James gets up and takes a step toward me. Before he can say anything, I look away and hurry off down the corridor.

The rest of the day stretches out like chewing gum.

After the interview, all I want to do is go back to my room and curl up under the sheets, but I bump into a couple of other sixth-formers who are just about to be given a tour of the college by two current students.

I saw a lot yesterday, but given how bad that interview was, I’m not sure if I’ll ever get the chance to spend time in St. Hilda’s again, so I join the group.

It’s bittersweet to look around a college and university I might not get into, but Tom and Liz put so much effort into the tour that I decide to push those dark thoughts down for a while and focus on what they’re telling us.

St. Hilda’s was the last women-only college to be established in Oxford, and men have only been allowed to study here for nine years.

I already knew about its reputation for friendliness, but as we walk through the grounds, I sense that it isn’t unjustified.

Students say hi to one another in passing, and even people sitting in the library, looking super stressed amid stacks of books, take a moment to answer our questions.

The atmosphere here seems like the total opposite of Maxton Hall.

There’s no subdivision into rich and poor, cool and uncool, worthy and unworthy—everyone here seems to be equal.

The thought that I might have seriously screwed up makes something clench wistfully inside me.

Lin messages me at lunchtime, asking how my interview went, but I can’t find the energy to answer her, or my parents and Ember either.

I’m disappointed in myself and have to come to terms with what happened before I can face them.

I know exactly how they’ll react: understanding, loving, and comforting.

And at the moment, I just couldn’t bear that.

We head back to the common room in the early evening.

I’m really looking forward to crawling back to my room, but there’s one last item on the program—a get-together with Jude and a couple of others, who are there to answer any questions we still have about studying here and life in Oxford.

I try my hardest to rediscover my positive energy, but I just can’t.

So I bag one of the comfy-looking wingback chairs, curl up in it, and decide that I’ll just sit here and listen.

The room gradually fills up. After a while, James puts in an appearance too. He walks in with the girl who was showing him around this afternoon and who was waiting with him ahead of his interview. The two of them are chatting, and, however hard I try, I can’t take my eyes off him.

I never did understand why it’s called heartache, and now I get that even less.

It’s not just my heart that hurts when I look at James—every part of me aches.

It’s hard even to breathe. It should be called whole-body-blocked-airways-ache.

That sounds way less romantic and, in my opinion, a lot more fitting.

Just at the moment that I succeed in tearing my eyes off him, James spots me in my armchair. Our eyes meet for the tiniest fraction of a second, but it still sets my skin tingling.

I’m too tired and frustrated to fight it.

“OK, everyone!” Jude begins, clapping his hands.

“Are we all here? Then let’s get started.

There are still some seats back there,” he adds, gesturing vaguely in my direction.

Most of us have settled comfortably into the sofas and armchairs, but there are a couple of dining chairs beside me, with embroidered seats.

From the corner of my eye, I spot James and two other boys coming toward me.

I venture a cautious sideways glance. James returns it, his eyes dark.

I budge over a little to the right in my chair. I don’t care what he thinks of me. I just don’t want to sit too close to him. I don’t even want to be in the same room as him. The pain in my chest is bad enough as it is.

“Feel free to ask us anything,” Liz explains. “About study, private life, career aspirations.”

“Absolutely anything?” the guy sitting next to James asks.

“You can ask us anything, but it’s up to us whether we answer.” Jude grins at him, and a couple of people laugh shyly.

“OK, who wants to start?” asks the student who came in with James. She’s really pretty, with black hair and dark skin. I don’t think she’s wearing makeup, but her cheeks are glowing slightly. I’d like to ask her how she managed that, but I’m afraid it would be too off-topic for our Q&A.

“Honestly, how stressful is it to study here? Do you have time for a personal life?” asks a girl I haven’t even seen before.

Jude, Liz, and the pretty girl look at each other, and Jude gestures to Liz to go first with her answer.

“The academic side is more intense than other universities, obviously, and then you’re living in college, and it takes a while to settle into that too. But there is still plenty of time for other stuff.”

People around the room murmur quietly, most of them looking pretty relieved by that answer.

“Next question!” Jude announces, looking round expectantly.

Short silence. Then…

“Is it true what people say, that the teaching here is a joke compared to Balliol?”

My head flies around to look at James. He’s looking straight ahead, apparently genuinely interested, to where the three students are sitting, returning his gaze rather perplexed.

“The courses are the same,” Jude begins hesitantly, his brow furrowed slightly. “But as I study here and not there, I can’t be the judge of that. I can only tell you what things are like at St. Hilda’s.”

“A ‘yes’ would have done.”

I stare at James. I can’t believe he just said that. And in that vile tone he’s learned from his father, the one that sets off a chain of furious reactions deep within me.

The urge to open my mouth is growing by the second, and my defenses are crumbling little by little.

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it…

I ignore my common sense.

“You’re so obvious,” I burst out.

James turns slowly toward me. “Obvious, how?”

“The only reason St. Hilda’s isn’t good enough for you is that your dad didn’t study here.” I try to keep my voice calm, but not with much success. Not after the day I’ve had. Not when he’s acting like this.

Something like pain flickers in James’s eyes. “That’s not true,” he says.

At such a barefaced lie, all the fury I’ve been holding back with all my strength in recent weeks bursts out of me like a storm.

I can’t keep it in a second longer, and the words just well up out of me, loud and unfiltered.

“What isn’t true? That St. Hilda’s isn’t good enough for you, just like I’m not good enough for you, because your parents want something else for you?

That you only ever do what they want instead of actually thinking for once about what you want from life? You’re such a coward!”

Suddenly, the common room is eerily quiet. I’m breathing hard, my chest is rising and falling like crazy, and I feel a dangerous prickling behind my eyes.

Oh no. No.

No way am I crying in front of all these people and embarrassing myself even more than I’ve already just done.