Damien’s cryptic note made no sense. What did it mean? What was he sorry for? I turned to ask, unmindful of Prof. Bolkis. I was thoroughly perplexed, but things became suddenly clear when his hand shot out and landed on my thigh. Instead of jumping up or reacting violently, I reached down to firmly push it away. As soon as my hand touched his, he twisted his hand to grab my wrist and pulled my hand to his lap. I immediately tried to jerk it back, but his grip was too strong. 

He pressed my hand to his stomach and held it there. He hunched over and held it immobile. He was panting slightly. His eyes faced forward, intent on Prof. Bolkis, but I was sure he wasn’t paying any attention to the lesson. I continued to try to pull my hand free, but it did no good and my trapped hand was beginning to hurt due to all the strain I was putting on it. I relented a moment to think, letting him keep my hand against his stomach. When I stopped fighting him, he pressed my hand harder into his abdomen. I could feel the indent of his belly button. His quickened breathing caused his abdomen to expand and retract against my palm. I didn’t understand what was going on. It wasn’t lewd. Or even gross. It was inconvenient as he had my right hand, which I wrote with.  

Confused more than anything, I picked up my pencil with my left hand, and with difficulty, wrote, “Damien?” Rather than pass the note back, I turned the paper toward him for a response. I saw him glance at it. I knew he saw my simple question, but he didn’t reach for the paper to write a reply. He simply pressed my hand closer and dropped his eyes to the desk. 

I began to become concerned. This wasn’t an act of spite or malice. He seemed unwell. He was breathing too quickly and there appeared to be sweat on his forehead. I took up the pencil again in my left hand and slowly wrote, “Are you all right?” I turned the paper toward him, and his eyes flicked to it. 

“Just shut up,” he whispered. He laced his fingers through mine and pressed my hand harder against his body. 

I thought I saw Prof. Bolkis’s eyes flick back to us, but I didn’t know what he thought. I didn’t know how we appeared. Could anyone even see that Damien had a hold of my hand? Damien continued to pant and his skin appeared to be growing waxy. A fine tremor had suffused his body. I didn’t understand what was going on, but I knew something was wrong. 

I ducked my head toward him and softly whispered, “Do you want to go to the clinic?”

He wordlessly shook his head. While his right hand held my hand to his stomach, his other hand rubbed up and down my sleeve. I cast a nervous glance to Prof. Bolkis, but he seemed to be completely ignoring us and none of our classmates had looked back and caught on to our strange situation.

I raised my left hand and pressed it to Damien’s damp forehead. He immediately shook my hand off, but I’d touched him long enough to know he didn’t appear to have a fever. “Leave me alone,” he whispered.

I sighed and dropped my eyes to my trapped hand. His grip had not lessened on it. 

He swallowed and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath in through his nose, held it a second and then let it out slowly. He began to rub my hand up and down his chest from his belly button to the hollow of his throat, my hand snagging gently on the buttons of his shirt. Passively, I let him do it, watching as he took calming breathes. I still didn’t understand, but I let him do it.

After about ten passes up and down his chest, he stilled and our hands rested once again against his stomach. His breathing was normal and the sweat was drying away. He took one last deep breath, let out a sigh, and then he released my hand. I took it back cautiously, stretching my cramped fingers. Damien grabbed the piece of paper we’d been passing notes on and wrote something on it. He turned it toward me. “Thanks” was written at the bottom. I looked at his face and gave him a nod. He nodded back and balled up the paper. Then he handed it to me with the pencil. I rolled my eyes and took both. I put them in my satchel. Then I refocused on class. I didn’t stiffen when I felt Damien’s left arm settle on the back of my chair, though I was hyper aware of it throughout the rest of class. I could feel his fingers stroking the ends of my hair.

When the bell rang, I turned to ask Damien what all that had been about, but he shot out of the room. I scrambled to collect my books, intent on chasing him down, but Prof. Bolkis stopped me dead. “Sarah Smith, please stay behind.”

The class emptied, and no new students came in. This must be Prof. Bolkis’s free period. He stacked his papers and put them in an old leather briefcase. I waited nervously. 

“Be careful with Damien West,” he finally said.

I dropped my eyes, not knowing what he meant. “Dean Crowe asked me to work with him.”

Prof. Bolkis softly snorted. “Well, that may be, but Damien may be a little too much for you to deal with.”

I couldn’t argue with that, but it felt like if I were to continue at Noble Academy, I was going to have to deal with him no matter what. “Did you know him before school?” I asked, realizing they had to have some history for Damien to act differently with him.

Prof. Bolkis nodded. “I tutored him when he was younger.”

“When?” I asked. I had trouble imagining Prof. Bolkis teaching a little kid. He didn’t seem patient enough and too stern to do well with them.

“From when Damien was six to ten years old.” My eyebrows rose. That was a long time to tutor someone. I wondered if he was as bratty then as he was now, or if he’d grown into it. 

“Does he have a medical condition?” I asked.

“I’m not at liberty to say.” I might not have known Spanish or any other foreign languages, but that was easy to translate: Yes, Damien had some sort of condition. I nodded at the non-answer. Prof. Bolkis picked up his briefcase and leveled a cold stare at me. “Damien needs more than you can give him,” he said.

I wanted to squirm due to his assumption that I wanted to help Damien. I was just trying to cope. I was willing to go along with Dean Crowe’s mad idea of rehabilitating the Demon if that meant I could punch him without fear of harsh reprisal.

Prof. Bolkis sighed and dropped his eyes from mine. “Well, I’ve said enough. You should hurry to class.”

Relieved, I headed to the door, but I turned back before going out. “Professor, do you like Damien?”

He squinted as he considered my question. “He was a charming boy, but I’m afraid much of the charm is beginning to fade as he matures, which saddens me, honestly.”

I nodded. I still wanted to know more. Questions tingled on the tip of my tongue.

“Go to class, Sarah.”

The hint of sternness in his voice had me turning and walking briskly to Earth Sciences. The bell rang as I was in the halls and I increased my pace to a dash to reach the classroom.

When I reached the room, I immediately looked for Damien, but he wasn’t there. I sat at my station and waited, but he didn’t show. I wondered if he planned to skip a class every day.

“Hey, Sarah. Sit with us. It doesn’t look like the Demon’s showing.”

I turned to Joshua and Hank. I looked to the door again, sure that Damien would make a grand entrance at any moment, but the door remained closed. For the first time, I felt disappointment that the strange boy wasn’t there. And the fact that I considered him merely strange and not evil went by unnoticed. I scooted my stool over to Joshua and Hank’s station, and we worked together on the lab Prof. Friedman assigned us.