I stood with Ava and Eden, all three of us hugging our arms around ourselves as the November air sent a breeze of ice shards along our skin.
Mr Singh did a headcount before guiding us toward the entrance where we were met by an enthusiastic tour guide who looked as old as the castle itself.
“Castles have like…no central heating, we’re going to be freezing in there,” Ava complained, teeth chattering.
“I know,” Eden sighed, reaching to adjust Ava’s scarf. “Could it have really hurt to have organised this excursion during the spring or something?”
“I think it’s cheaper this time of year,” I said.
“Fuck cheaper,” Ava said. “We go to an expensive ass school.”
The tour guide led us inside the former fortress, recounting historical events that took place within its towering walls.
“It was here,” he said, lowering his voice as if revealing a secret, “that Mary Tudor was proclaimed the Queen of England.”
I dragged my fingers along the rough, patched brickwork worn with age, my eyes drifting over the cobwebs lining the arched ceiling.
History was Auden’s favourite subject, and I thought about how much he would enjoy wandering the same halls as a former Queen of England. I pulled out my phone to snap some photos for him, Ava and Eden walking ahead as they giggled amongst themselves.
“It’s really cool, huh?”
I lifted my head and scowled as Alexander leaned against an arched entryway, arms folded over his chest. His dark green eyes flickered between my face and my throat that swallowed thickly.
Without uttering a word, I slipped my phone away and stepped past him, shoulder knocking his.
“Wow. Mute again, Saint?”
I turned a corner to follow the group, jaw clenched as Alexander walked beside me, hands shoved into his pockets.
“I think I want to be an historian,” he said casually, as if we were just two friends conversing about a shared interest. It was some kind of game—a game I had not yet learned to play.
“I’d write books and stuff,” he went on, “maybe teach at a university. That would be cool.”
“Good for you,” I mumbled.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you want to do? After school?” he clarified. “Something with art?”
“Artists don’t make a lot of money,” I replied.
“True, not unless you’re super mainstream and famous,” he sighed. “What, then?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Haven’t thought about it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“We’ve got two more years so…you have time.”
I said nothing.
“Listen, Augustus…I….”
“What?”
