The two sophomores weren’t going anywhere. Damien had told them to escort me and escort me they would. What did Damien have on them? Was it really simply his name? Yes, the West name held a lot of power, but was that really it?

Tom repeated my words back to me as a question. “You won’t let us into your home?” 

“What we’re not good enough to invite in?” Andy asked.

“We are house broken,” Tom said.

I frowned. “No, that’s not it.” I didn’t know how to explain it without revealing my shame. They may have been Damien’s lackeys, but they were still Noble students which meant they were rich and thus, their homes would be mansions, not tiny apartments. I wordlessly turned and headed for home. 

Being escorted by Tom and Andy was different from walking with Damien. They didn’t have his invisible force field, but physically, they were formidable. They were able to push aside anyone who got too close. They didn’t do it violently. They simply moved aside anyone who got in their path. I wouldn’t admit it, but having the two hulking brutes with me did make me feel safer.

When I reached the iron door to the apartment building, I glanced back at the two sophomores. I wasn’t sure if students had ever been in the lobby. I swiped my card and pushed the door open. Like security HQ, the employee apartment building was nondescript, though it had more windows. I stopped when I saw the “Out of Order” sign on the elevator. 

“Again?” I said.

The elevator had been breaking down the past few months. Red said it needed replacement, but the parts were back ordered. 

“Guys, really, no one’s going to get me in here. Go get lunch and come back ten minutes before the end. That makes a lot more sense.”

Andy and Tom looked at each other.

“My home is five flights up, and I already said you couldn’t come in.”

Andy pulled out his phone and typed a text, probably to Damien. I waited with them for his reply. The text alarm notification only a minute later. Andy showed it to Tom. He nodded and they turned to go. 

“What did he say?” I asked.

In reply, Andy opened the door and held it for Damien. My eyes widened. There was absolutely no way I was letting Damien into my family’s apartment. 

“Great, you guys can all go have lunch together in the cafeteria. See you in fourth period, Damien.” I turned and headed for the stairs.

“Don’t you want to know what I found out?” he asked.

His words stopped me dead. I wrinkled my nose as I considered my options. He knew I wanted to know. I turned back around. “What did you find out?”

He smiled and came over to open the stairwell door for me. “We can discuss it over lunch.”

“No, Damien.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I’m not letting you in my apartment.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s ours. You may own the school, but the apartment is ours.”

His brow furrowed and he frowned. “What are you talking about?”

I pointed at the entrance door. “My card works on that door. It has since I was tall enough to swipe my own card. Your card doesn’t. I can’t eat in the cafeteria, but it’s okay because you guys can’t come in here.”

“I could get my card to work if I wanted to,” he said.

“Why would you? You don’t live here. This is my family’s home. And I don’t want you coming in and sneering at it. Yes, the elevator’s broken and the stairwell smells like stale cigarettes and there’s a water stain covering half the ceiling in the hallway, but this is where I live.”

I shut my mouth and looked away. Dammit, I wasn’t saying it right, and I could feel how hot my face was becoming. I didn’t want to be ashamed of my home. I never had been before, but it would never compare to these richie riches’ homes, they of the small island villas, ski lodges, and vineyards. My home would be a dump, and I didn’t want him looking at it that way.

“Sarah…” He let the stairwell door close. 

I turned away. I couldn’t look at him. 

“I’ll be back by twelve fifty. Don’t go anywhere without me.”

I nodded, still unable to look at him. The entrance door swung closed with a creak. It needed oil again. All of the boys were gone.

I made a sandwich and ate a handful of potato chips. I couldn’t really taste any of it. When the clock read twelve forty-eight, I made my way down the stairs. When I stuck my head outside, Damien was waiting just on the other side. I slunk out and joined him. I didn’t know what to say. But I knew asking him about lunch was the worst possible question.

“The text was sent from a burner phone. Security is setting up a trace in case it pings off the Academy’s cell tower again, but for right now, we don’t know who sent it. The text said, “Kick her.”

I nodded. “What about Jenna? Did she say anything?”

Damien shook his head. “No, she refused to rat out who put her up to the attacks. Dean Crowe offered to not expel her if she simply gave up her co-conspirators, but she still refused. Her parents are on their way to pick her up now.”

I hugged myself, suddenly feeling very cold. “So she’s expelled.”

“Yep.”

I gave Damien a sharp look. Had he wanted this? He’d seemed intent on getting rid of her. But he was staring toward the school with a blank expression. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Thanks for trying.”

“Oh, I’m not done.”

“What else is there to do?”

“Find out who targeted you of course.”

I frowned. “I still don’t know why anyone would have it out for me. I’m no one.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m the daughter of a pair of staff members. I’m a threat to no one.”

“So? Doesn’t mean you’re nobody,” Damien muttered.

That was actually a really nice thing to say. I squinted at him. “You okay?” I asked.

He gave me a confused look. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

I laughed softly. “Nothing. Let’s get to class.”

We made our way to algebra. Was Coach Mueller right? Could my relationship with Damien, whatever it was, be making me a target? Was that why Jenna was told to attack me? Damien was rich and powerful. Enemies came with the territory, and he certainly didn’t help matters with his acerbic manner. Could someone think that hurting me was a way to get to Damien? But that was ludicrous. Damien didn’t care about me at all, at least I didn’t see why he would care about me, but he had sent two goons to protect me. He had just said that I was somebody. He had signed up for all of my classes. He sat beside me in each one. I did matter to him. Attacking me was a way to get to him whether I wanted to admit it or not.  

During algebra, I noticed Damien fidgeting. He would pull out his phone, look at it, and then shove it back in his pocket. He twisted and turned in his seat. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. He glanced over at me a lot. One time I saw him raise his hand as if to reach over to me, but he put it back down. Remembering his odd need to hold my hand the day before, I put down my pencil and dropped my hand between us. I held it out empty to him. He immediately snatched it and cradled it against his stomach. I didn’t understand this strange tactile need of his, but I couldn’t deny him the simple comfort of my hand if that was all it took, though I really couldn’t write to save myself with my left hand. 

At the sight of my struggles with my left hand, he pulled my notebook to his desk and plucked my pencil from my fingers. He took notes for me the rest of class, his other hand rhythmically squeezing mine against his stomach. I found myself propping my head in my hand to watch him take notes. His eyes met mine once, and I was amused to see a fine blush bloom across his face. I couldn’t help smiling, but I did straighten and face the board. Damien pressed my hand tighter to his stomach and kept taking notes. His handwriting was surprisingly neat. I wouldn’t have expected it.

Prof. Bolkis definitely noticed Damien taking notes for me. I wondered what he made of it. When the bell rang, Damien shoved my hand away and stood up immediately. He turned to go, but stopped. I knew he wanted to bolt, but he remembered his self-imposed guard duty on me. He turned back and slumped.

“If you want to go, go,” I said, stowing my notebook.

He shook his head. “No, whoever has it out for you is still around. You’re not safe on your own.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was the one making me unsafe. It was his presence that put a target on my back.