Alice’s heart pounded in her throat as she half ran and half tripped over the tree roots under her feet. This walk through the woods between St. Cecilia’s and Hasted House never got any less loathsome. It was like something out of a horror film. The dense leaves acted like assassins, strangling the light and whispering ominous nothings. Out of the shadows came a hooting noise. Goose pimples pricked up along Alice’s arms. To her, that disembodied sound was the ultimate cry of loneliness.
Finally, the trees thinned out ahead and Alice emerged into a field. About bloody time. She sucked in deep breaths of air, watching the blades of grass flash and wave in the late sunlight. No wonder this was Tally’s favorite time of day. Alice shoved back a snaking feeling of guilt when she thought of her friend. Normally she would have let on to Tally where she was running off to—in fact, normally she would have invited her along. But not tonight. Tally didn’t bloody well deserve her confidence. Alice was still stinging with the memory of how Tally had laughed at her right along with the rest of them in English class. They were supposed to be allies.
Suddenly a thumping sound rushed up behind Alice and something knocked into the tender spot behind her knees. She buckled and screamed, thrashing about in the wild grass, until she found herself staring upward. Right into Tristan’s grinning face.
“Ha! Got you!” He laughed down at her. He was pinning her hands to the earth. His tanned arms bulged a little in his faded blue T-shirt.
Alice’s breath came fast. God, he was hot.
“Fuck you!” she squealed. She struggled feebly and pushed her chest up toward him, trying to look helpless. Guys liked that. It made them think of sex.
“Get off!” she whined. “You’re too heavy.”
Tristan considered her from above. Alice’s olive skin and brown hair were luminous in the twilight, as if all the sunlight she’d soaked up during the day was releasing itself and making her glow. He felt protective when he saw how small and fragile her shoulders were. Stupid really, since she was actually quite tough. She could put up a damn decent fight in a tennis match, as he’d found out when she’d nearly won a set off him in Italy earlier that summer. Admittedly, he’d been feeling hungover and she’d convinced him to play. But still. It had almost been embarrassing.
Abruptly, Tristan noticed that Alice was gazing up at him. Her eyes had gone quiet. Hastily, he sprang to his feet.
“I, er, I’ve brought some candles and an extra sweater,” he said. “You know, in case you get cold.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the gear seems excellent. I smoked a bit before you got here.”
Alice got off the ground, ignoring the fact that T hadn’t helped her up, and surveyed the little spread. “Candles? A blanket? That’s unusually thoughtful.” She hoped her voice sounded significant. T had obviously stuffed his pockets with every snack he could lay his hands on—Snickers; chips; pretzels; and her favorite, Butterfingers—for when the munchies hit them later on. The whole thing was suspicious. He usually turned up with a can of Pringles and that was it. The fact that he’d made such an effort had to be a good sign.
T nudged her playfully. “I take offense at that. I’m the most thoughtful person I know.”
Alice shrugged, grinning. “So, how does it feel being back?” She stretched out her long legs on the blanket and crossed her ankles in front of her. Maybe it was a dangerous question—T might mention Dylan’s sudden distasteful appearance—but she had to start the conversation somehow. Tristan didn’t catch her eye. Instead, he took out a packet of papers and a plastic bag of weed. Ever since he was a freshman he’d been famous for rolling perfect joints; back then, the older boys at school would gather round, egging him on, and watching his light-moving fingers to see if they could pick up any tips. T had got a lot of free weed that way, and he’d made a lot of friends.
“S’pose it’s not bad,” he answered at last, nodding noncommittally. “Cool to see the crew again. Seb’s quite chilled out—it’ll be good fun sharing a room with him. And Jas is just down the hall.”
Fine, Alice thought, so he wasn’t taking her bait. Well, she wouldn’t force it. Not yet.
“That reminds me, tell me about Seb.” She leaned in. T was always good for some gossip from the boys’ side. “Has he let on anything about what happened between him and Mimah? Did they really…?” She left a suggestive pause.
Tristan stared at her. “Really what?”
“You know. Do it.”
Tristan laughed, flashing his straight white teeth. Little crinkles appeared around his eyes. “‘You know… do it.’” He mimicked her insinuating whisper. “You’re ridiculous. I don’t know—probably. Mimah clearly always liked Seb. But he’s being a bit cagey about it. What does Mimah say?”
Alice screwed her face up. “Who the hell knows? I don’t want to get anywhere near her. She’s such a freak now. Quite frankly,” she continued, turning her hand over and examining her fingernails, “I always found her annoying—even when we were meant to be friends.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, no you didn’t. You’re just jumping on the bandwagon. Mimah used to be wicked. She was loads of fun. I reckon all that scandal with her dad last term just sent her over the edge.”
“Whatever. Like father like daughter.” Alice raised her right eyebrow in her trademark scornful expression. “Her dad’s a corrupt judge who’s been prosecuted for sleeping with prostitutes. She’s a screw-up who pays confused boys to have sex with her. What’s the difference?”
“If you say so,” Tristan retorted. Alice stared at his mouth as he licked the seam of his finished spliff to seal it, then slid it between his lips. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could bear this.
“Anyway.” Tris slowly exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. “How’s St. C’s? What’s up with Tally? You sounded a bit off with her earlier.”
“Oh, well, you know I adore Tally,” Alice began, “but I got so pissed off. She made me look like an utter fool in front of this horrid new English teacher. She’s such an attention seeker.”
Alice stopped. God, she sounded nasty. Why couldn’t she just get over it? She rarely bitched outright to T about her best friend. He had this funny loyalty thing about Tally. He was always defending her to people. Anyway, besides that, Alice and Tally were soulmates, partners in crime. Until Tally had come to St. Cecilia’s three years ago, Alice had never met anyone so magnetic and sophisticated and so up for adventure. Until then, her posse had been mostly Mimah and Sonia. They’d had a good time, of course—a better time than anyone else in their goody-goody school—but Alice used to get so tired of them, the way they constantly sucked up to her. She could see right through their little mind games and competitions with each other. Whereas Tally—Tally was way above any of that crap.
“The thing is,” Alice continued carefully, plucking a few stalks of grass out of the ground and weaving them between her fingers, “it’s just that I worry about Tally.” She stole a glance at Tristan. He’d knitted his eyebrows together. “She seems so messed-up sometimes. I mean, her mum lives halfway across the world and criticizes her all the time, and her dad’s a total cokehead who basically can’t be bothered with her. I dunno… I couldn’t handle it. D’you know what I mean?”
Tristan shrugged and passed her the spliff. “Sure. But I reckon Tally’s all right. She’s got a way of winning people over—not just us, I mean adults, too. She can charm people more easily than anyone else I know.” Alice frowned; Tristan wasn’t supposed to disagree with her. “I’ve always thought she was trying to make up for having a bit of a difficult family,” he said. “She needs everyone to accept her.” He lolled his head back with an exaggerated groan. “Oh shit, that weed clearly went to my head. I’m talking crap.”
Alice sighed. No, she thought, you’re not. She shredded her handful of grass. Why hadn’t any of this stuff about Tally occurred to her before? Tristan was so fucking thoughtful and clever when he tried. It reminded her of when they were much, much younger and they’d all play “It” or badminton or some silly made-up game with a million rules in one of their families’ gardens. It was always Tristan who was the peacemaker. He mediated their fights. He sniffed out the cheats and exiled them. He dictated who’d be on which team. And then T was always the first to get bored with whatever they were playing, and wander off across the lawn to talk to the grown-ups while they chatted and sipped their after-lunch port or coffee.
Anyway. Time to get to the bottom of things. Especially now the weed was kicking in. Alice could feel the icy coldness behind her eyes. A sure sign.
“How was East Hampton?” she asked.
Tristan sighed. “Fine. Being with my dad’s a bit of a stress. He’s always dropping hints about my future in Parliament and how hard I should be working, and getting into bloody Oxford.”
“Poor you, babe.” Alice nodded sympathetically. “He’s always known how to pile on the pressure.” It was true. Tristan’s father, Lord Cecil Murray-Middleton, was determined that his only child should follow him into politics. Alice suspected it was his masterplan for Tristan to be elected Prime Minister someday. Not a bad goal actually. The more famous and powerful you could be, the better. But it wasn’t going to happen—not if T had anything to do with it. He had other plans. Like moving to Paris, where his mum was from. He’d live in a garret and subsist on cigarettes and red wine while he painted the view from his window over and over in different colors. Or became a cutting-edge architect. Or a documentary filmmaker. His latest was some absurd idea that he could sail his tiny boat round the world and not go to university at all. Idiotic, Alice thought. She was determined to go to New College, Oxford, like her father, and planned to persuade T to do the same.
But now wasn’t the time to talk about all that. She had other things on her mind.
“I wasn’t asking about your dad though.” Alice leaned back on her hands with a strange rush of confidence. “Isn’t there anything else going on? I just feel like we have more to catch up on.” She leveled her stare straight at Tristan.
He dropped his eyes. “Really?” He took a deep toke on their joint. “Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Like the fact that your summer girlfriend just turned up at my school, and is now in my boarding house, sharing a room with my best friend?”
Alice stopped herself. She hadn’t meant to sound so vehement.
“Look, Al,” T began in a stilted voice, “Dylan isn’t my girlfriend anymore. Like I told you, it’s over. I don’t know what you suspect, but she’s not here because of me.”
Alice curled her lip. Why would I suspect that? it seemed to say. But Tristan had started now and he was determined to get it out.
“We had a good time together,” he carried on, absently picking some threads out of a hole in his jeans. “But when I left I thought it was finished. I wanted it to be finished. She’s only here because her mum ran off with Victor Dalgleish.” Tristan cleared his throat. “Maybe she thinks we’ll get back together, but… I’m…”
He trailed off and stole a glance over at Alice. This felt like perilous territory. Maybe he should shut up before he said something irreversible. Before he changed things forever.
Or maybe he should just close his eyes and jump.
“You don’t have to explain,” Alice mumbled stiffly. “It’s nothing to do with me. Why should I care?”
Tristan looked hurt. “Oh, I thought…”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the other night at Emerald’s that Dylan was moving here. I thought you seemed upset and—”
“Whatever, I’m fine.”
They sank into an awkward silence. Tristan stared up at the sky. It was dark and inscrutable. Shit, girls were so moody—what had he done wrong?
He heard a noise come from Alice. She was shaking. Crying? He looked closer. No, laughing.
“What’s so funny?” he asked. She’d better not be making fun of him.
Alice was giggling so hard she couldn’t answer.
“V-V-Victor,” she finally gasped. “Victor Dalgleish! What the f-fuck? How could anyone fall in love with him? He…” She caught her breath. “He looks like roadkill!” Her giggle sounded funny and high-pitched. It was infectious. Tristan cracked up.
“Shit, you’re right. Those hideous furry sideburns. He’s like a fucked-up squirrel.”
They both subsided, helpless with laughter. Finally, Alice lay panting, her stomach muscles aching. She smelled the damp grass and soil and the sweet, faint remnants of weed. Tristan was spread out next to her, his arm almost touching hers. She heard him trying to catch his breath.
Neither of them spoke for a long time. In the end it was Tristan who broke the silence.
“Moon’s so big tonight,” he said softly. “It’s almost full.”
“Beautiful,” Alice whispered. But she wasn’t looking. She was watching his chest rise and fall.
He shifted his head on the blanket. “Your hair’s all shiny,” he murmured. He took up a lock at the side of her face and she felt him run it through his fingers. What would happen if she turned? The heat from Tristan’s hand hovered just above her cheek.
He let her hair drop.
“Alice.”
“Yes?”
He didn’t answer but she knew his eyes were on her. She turned toward him. Then she felt his lips on hers. Soft, exploring. He kissed her more gently than he’d ever kissed anyone, stroking her face with his fingertips.
Alice smelled the soap on his skin and felt the familiar, worn material of his T-shirt. When she opened her eyes, all she could see were the stars.