Free Secret Lives by Gabriella Poole

jogged down the stairs.
    Katerina stayed put for a long moment, unmoving, her eyes flickering to the mirror. Cassie stood very still.
    Katerina gave herself one last reflected smile, turned, and disappeared back down the bust-lined corridor. Cassie didn’t dare move until she heard the door open and close softly once more. Then she bolted.
    She couldn’t face the dining room: the red silk walls, the linen and crystal, the hubbub of gossip. She couldn’t face the sly sidelong looks of the other students. Sickeningly, she realised she needn’t have bothered struggling to learn which bloody fork to use: they’d always despise her, always. God, did every one of them know what a fool she’d made of herself? Fool, Cassie! Being dazzled by white teeth, warm eyes and a slick line in patter. She couldn’t even face Isabella or Jake.
    Recoiling, she sidled down the passageway and slunk out of the French windows. Her eyes stinging again as she ran between two great stone urns, she took a flight of curved steps two at a time and stumbled across the expanse of lawn to the shadow of mature chestnut trees. Already tinged with autumn, the trees were beautiful. Growling, she punched one of them, hard. Then she hit it again. And again.
    That felt better. Not much, but at least her sore knuckles took her mind off her bruised pride. That was what it was, she thought. Not a broken heart. Just her stupid, cracked pride. Who did she think she was, trying to impress an upper-class jerk like Richard Halton-Jones? Miserably she clasped her grazed fist, then lifted it to rub away a stray tear. The gold-and-bronze trees were splashed with sunlight, animated like an Impressionist painting. Staring at them, she wished more than anything she was back with the weed-choked yard, the rusty wire and the pitted brown grass of Cranlake Crescent. Just thinking about it made her vision blur.
    A different shape came into her distorted view, moving purposefully across the lawn. Tall and humanoid. Oh, hell. As it came under the shade of the equally blurred tree-shapes, the figure stopped dead. Aghast, Cassie rubbed her eyes clear and blinked.
    Not just hell, double-hell.
    Ranjit.
    For a moment he stood nonplussed, staring at her. Furious at herself, she blinked again. The gorgeous Ranjit. Oh, God, how typical: this was the first time in weeks he’d seen far enough past his princely nose to notice her, and here she was with red eyes, a blocked nose and a scowl like a moody harpy.
    He looked her up and down. ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘Nothing,’ she snapped. ‘I’m fine.’ Why are you biting his head off, Cassie?
    ‘You don’t look it. What’s the problem?’
    ‘There’s no problem.’ She clenched her fists. ‘Or nothing I can’t handle. I don’t need your help.’
    His stare was unswerving. It made her shiver.
    ‘Don’t be too sure of that.’
    Not knowing what to say, she could only glare back at him, breathing hard. You can take the girl out of Cranlake Crescent, she thought bitterly, but you can’t take Cranlake Crescent out of the girl. His sheer beauty didn’t make him worth trusting: look at Richard. She had to keep her guard up. The last half-hour’s humiliation stung so much .
    ‘I’m going to give you a piece of advice,’ he said.
    ‘Whether I want it or not?’
    ‘Yes.’ Ranjit’s eyes were cold. ‘Stay away from Richard Halton-Jones.’
    ‘I’ve worked that out for myself, thanks,’ she spat.
    ‘Oh. I see.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Please don’t be. Just sod off.’ Cassie bit hard on her lip, desperate not to burst into tears in front of him.
    ‘Fine, if you do me a favour too. In fact, do yourself a favour. Stay away from all of us.’
    ‘I’m not good enough for the precious Few, is that it?’
    ‘Oh, get down from your high horse before you fall off. Listen, if you get involved with the Few, you’ll regret it.’
    Cassie felt blood creep hotly up her neck and throat. ‘Are you threatening