"Well?" Anna wiggles her eyebrows. "He's cute, right?"

We're sitting at a juice bar in Grass Market, which is more of a smattering of chairs and tables on a cobblestone street than a proper café. For once, Scotland is sunny, and Anna is squinting through her glasses. She's working her way through an aubergine sandwich, licking onion hummus from her fingertips, and my stomach rumbles.

I've already polished off my veggie chili but ordering a second lunch is starting to sound like a reasonable idea. I take a sip of my green juice, wrinkling my nose as the ginger hits me.

"Who?" I ask. "Noah?"

"No," Anna says. "Harry." I choke on the juice, and she smiles. "Oh, come on. He looks like a model for cashmere jumpers."

"Yeah," I say. "A model that eats children for fun."

"So, he's moody." Anna shrugs. "I can get on board."

I have to drain my juice to keep from retorting. I've seen what happens when girls try to get on board with Harry Bates, and it never ends well. Poppy doesn't even bother to learn their names anymore; she just refers to Harry's girlfriends by the handbag that they carry. Last week was 'Monogrammed Tote' and this week is 'Quilted Leather Purse'.

Theo chastises her for it, but I think he secretly enjoys it, too.

Anna blows out a breath, recapturing my attention. "Shit. I'm late for my next class." She throws a ten-pound note on the table, leaning over to kiss my cheek. "And I'm in heels."

I smile fondly. "Idiot."

"I know."

"Run!" I call, and Anna makes a rude gesture over her shoulder, her red ponytail swinging.

I gather my stuff more leisurely, glancing at my phone. It's only two o'clock, so I head to the library, checking out every book that I can find on kelpies or Scottish water spirits. Then I Google images of the creatures, dragging them on to a PowerPoint.

I might hate presenting, but I know how to put on a good show; if I can distract them with visuals of pencil-drawn water horses with fangs, then I will.

By six o'clock, I can feel my attention beginning to slip. I pack up my stuff and go to the gym next, taking as long as I possibly can on the cross-trainer. Technically, Fridays are supposed to be my rest days, but I'm not risking going back to the flat until I'm sure that Emma has left. Otherwise I'll be forced into heels and glittery eyeliner, and I'd much rather stay in and watch a film with Poppy. Possibly over pizza.

My stomach rumbles.

Oh, yes. Definitely pizza.

After two hours, I drive back to the flat, pausing to listen outside of the door. Silence. When I push open the door, the flat is empty. I dump my keys into the bowl by the front door, padding towards the kitchen. A half-eaten pot of pasta and basil is still on the stove.

Several pea coats are thrown over the kitchen chairs, as if someone was leaving in a hurry and couldn't decide what to wear; sure enough, there's a note on the table from Poppy.

Livvy—

Gone out with some girls for drinks. Help yourself to pasta.

Love, P x

Part of me is disappointed that she's skipping movie night, but the larger part of me is amused. I would bet money that Poppy has gone out to spy on Theo's initiation into the Rich Boys Club tonight. She's probably huddled in a bush somewhere, binoculars pressed to her face. I scoop the rest of the pasta into a Tupperware, placing it in the fridge. My heart is set on pizza now. Really thin crust pizza topped with artichoke and goat's cheese.

After I shower and change into my pajamas — flannel bottoms and a grey t-shirt — I pull up the menu on my laptop. I'm debating adding a side of garlic bread when my phone vibrates, making me jump.

I press it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hi, baby."

Chris sounds tired, but I like it. It reminds me of when we're cuddled in bed in the morning and his voice is still raspy from sleep. I smile, pulling my knees into my chest.

"How was the game?"

"We won." He yawns. "Now the boys want to celebrate."

He sounds so disgruntled that my smile grows. "And you don't?"

"We have a game tomorrow morning," Chris says, as if that should explain everything. "Besides, I've only seen one pub so far." He drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think it had a donkey inside of it. This place is a wasteland."

"You're in Perth." I roll my eyes. "Not Siberia."

"Same difference," Chris says, mostly because he knows that it will annoy me. Chris grew up in London, which means that he's used to big cities. He considers anything smaller than Edinburgh to be a village. I, on the other hand, grew up in a town in Fife. I consider any place with more than three streets to be a concrete jungle.

"How was your first day?" he asks. "Any big assignments?"

"It was okay." I chew my lip. "I have a presentation next week."

"Oh, Liv." Chris's voice softens. "Shit. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I say, because it is. It has to be. "No biggie."

"It is, though," Chris says, and I can tell that he's warming up for a tangent. "If you're not comfortable presenting, Livvy, just go speak with your tutor. I'm sure he can—"

He's cut off by two short beeps. I frown, glancing at the incoming call, and Poppy's picture flashes up on the screen. I sigh. She's probably calling me to ask if I can bring her one of her other dozen coats, or a pair of flats for when her heels start pinching her. Poppy might look immaculate, but she's a train wreck behind the scenes.

"Sorry, babe." I press the phone to my ear. "You were saying?"

"I was just asking what you were having for dinner."

"Chicken," I lie. "And a kale smoothie."

There's no need for Chris to know about the pizza; he'd only get bent out of shape. As athletes, we're both constantly counting our macros, and there's no protein or healthy fats in pizza. There is only cheese and goodness.

"Did you add creatine to the smoothie?" Chris asks. "Because it helps your muscles—"

He's cut off by another beeping sound. Poppy's face appears on my screen again, and this time, a niggle of worry worms its way into my chest. "Sorry, can I call you back? Poppy keeps ringing me."

Chris hesitates. "Everything okay?"

"I'm sure it's fine," I say. "You know how she is."

Chris clicks off. I bite my lip, staring at the picture of Poppy. Her long, dark hair is separated into two plaits, and she's laughing at the camera, adjusting her round yellow sunglasses. I snapped the picture at the Fringe Festival this summer, when we were waiting in the queue for a comedy show.

I punch the green button. "Hello?"

"Livvy?"

Poppy's voice sounds thick, as if she's been crying. I freeze, my hand hovering over the mousepad. "Poppy? What's going on?"

"It's Theo." Her voice hitches. "Something's wrong. Something is—" The sound of loud jeers drowns her out, and when Poppy becomes clear again, she's crying in earnest. "...please just get here?"

I'm already grabbing my car keys. "Where are you?"

"Dean Village." Poppy's voice wobbles. "Liv, I'm scared."

"Stay where you are," I say, and I flinch when I hear a male voice shout. If any of those boys lay a hand on Poppy, I'll kill them. And then feed their remains to Highland cows. "I'm coming to find you, okay?"

I hang up, taking the steps two at a time. In the car, I fumble with my phone, frantically unlocking the home screen. Thank god for the 'find my friends' feature on my phone. Sure enough, when I click onto it, Poppy is a glowing dot by the water in Dean Village.

I pull away from the curb, hardly paying attention as I speed towards Leith.