Lessons were over for the day at Hasted House and Tristan jogged back toward the showers across the sun-soaked fields. He was feeling sweaty and happy after rugby tryouts. He wanted to be team captain again this year, and it was obvious that he’d played better than anyone else today. He breathed in the soft, warm air and the smell of freshly cut grass.
In the changing room, the boys in his year were swearing and messing around and tossing their uniforms into their bags. “Well played, Tom.” Tristan nodded to his neighbor as he peeled off his shirt and clanged open his locker. He loved this familiar scene; it made him feel totally sure of his place in the world. Maybe he’d pop out for a quick smoke before dinner. Be nice to have five minutes to himself. Catch a bit of shade out in the woods. He took out his iPhone. This was the kind of mood where nothing could stress him out.
Almost.
Fuck. One new text. It was probably Dylan again. For the last couple of hours he’d managed to shove that whole mess to the back of his mind.
He looked closer. It was from Alice.
Hiya babe. Feelin like some nature. Wanna catch up 2night?
Brilliant, Tristan thought. More trouble. He stared at the phone for a second before tossing it aside and stripping off the rest of his clothes. Nature was their group’s code word for weed. They’d been using it ever since they were fourteen, when a housemaster had confiscated Seb Ogilvy’s phone, opened all his messages, and dropped their gang into a big pile of shit.
Tristan stepped into the shower and threw his head back under the hot stream. He wasn’t out of breath from rugby anymore, but for some reason his heart was racing. For fuck’s sake, get a grip, he told himself. Why was he feeling so freaked out? Alice’s text was completely normal; they often met up to get high in the fields in the evenings when it was warm—usually with Tally and Jasper or Seb, true, but sometimes just the two of them. In fact, Tristan had stocked up on his weed supply in London last week for that very purpose.
So what was his problem? He pictured himself alone with Alice in the dark tonight. Sure, he was excited, but he was pretty nervous as well. What if something finally happened? What if it all went wrong? Tristan had been avoiding these questions ever since he and Alice had been in Italy together. Thing was, it had been easier in the Hamptons when she wasn’t around.
And then there was all that crap with Dylan to sort out. He hated to think what would happen at St. Cecilia’s when she and Alice met.
Tristan ran a hand through his wet hair. What was that French phrase his mum always used? Une chose à la fois. One thing at a time. First, there was a choice to be made. He tied a towel around his waist, picked up his phone, and typed out a text.