There were several utility closets on every floor. There was one by Prof. Edward's classroom, but I wouldn’t get any help from that one. I had to go to the far end of the hall. I knocked on the blank door. It opened a crack and an eye with heavy bags peered out suspiciously. As soon as he saw me, Red opened the door fully.
“Hey, kiddo. Playing hooky already?”
“No, I need to get a desk and chair. We ran out in my class.” I decided not to go into the whole desk hurling and threat of bodily harm that coincided with it.
Red was a handyman like my father. He was actually who hired my dad decades ago. He’d know us so long that he was like family. A regular guest for dinner and always included in holiday celebrations. For the past few years, he’d claimed to be on the verge of retirement, but had never set a date.
From the crack in the door, I saw his eyebrow rise. “Well, can’t have that.” He opened the door fully and stepped out. He was wearing faded blue overalls and a massive ring of keys strained his right belt loop. Behind him, I caught a glimpse of a folding lawn chair and a small television set up on a bucket. When Red wasn’t fixing anything, he’d sit in here.
“This way,” he said. I followed him to a nearby storage closet. He unlocked it and held the door for me. I went in and immediately started sneezing from all of the dust. Red lifted a sheet to reveal a battered desk and chair. “Here we go. Grab the chair and we’ll be on our way.”
I picked up the chair and wondered if Red would have called for my dad if I’d been any other student looking for a desk and chair. I couldn’t imagine any of the other students willingly assisting with such a menial task. Of course, I couldn’t protest and ask for my father to do this instead. I might wear the uniform but that didn’t mean I was treated the same.
We went back to Prof. Edward’s classroom. I almost knocked but jerked my hand back as I realized what I was about to do. The act was so ingrained from my parents that it was second nature, but I had every right to be going into this room. I didn’t need to ask permission.
Prof. Edward paused mid-sentence as I came in carrying my chair. Red carried in the desk. He set it in the back for me. I nodded my thanks to him. He doffed his cap with a wink and slipped out of the room. I sat in my new seat and looked around for my books. They were nowhere in sight. Though I didn’t want to, I looked over at Damien. He had his feet propped up on my previous desk, leaning back in the chair, flipping through one of my text books. My satchel still hung off the back of the chair. I doubted he’d want to keep my bag. It was lavender with butterflies embroidered on it. After what he’d done before, I didn’t dare try to get my stuff.
Without any of my school supplies, all I could do was listen to Prof. Edward’s lecture. He was giving an overview of England’s early history: The various invasions, tribal wars, and living conditions of the early Britons. I listened and hoped to retain some of it without any proper written notes to refer to after class.
As Prof. Edward droned on, I couldn’t help glancing over at Damien West. He still had his feet propped up. He wasn’t taking notes. He didn’t appear to be paying attention at all. He’d dropped my text book to the floor where it had fallen open face-down. I hoped the pages weren’t badly bent. He had a shiny smartphone out and was tapping away at it. Sure, he could have been taking notes that way, but somehow, I highly doubted it. I hoped I didn’t share anymore classes with this person. Since we were in History together, the likelihood of us being together in other core classes was very likely. Good God, we could even share all of our core classes. The admission staff sometimes did that. They’d group students they thought would work well together. I hoped they hadn’t had some collective bout of dementia and thought I would be good with Damien West.
When class ended, I dawdled, waiting for Damien to rise and abandon my belongings. He didn’t budge from his seat. If I continued to wait for him to move, I was going to be late for my next class.
I screwed up my courage and went over to him. “May I have my things?” I asked finally. I kept my voice as even and as pleasant as possible.
He didn’t look up from his phone. “I don’t know you,” he said.
“You wouldn’t. My name’s Sarah. I’m no one special.” I figured debasing myself would be the swiftest way to reclaiming my things.
“You’re right about that. But I’ve never seen you before. What’s your last name?”
The room was filling with the next class. Prof. Edward had disappeared when the bell rang. The new students were staying clear of us, but they watched us with curiosity.
I took a deep breath and clenched my fists. I just wanted to go to my next class. “Smith,” I told him.
Damian’s eyes flicked over me before dropping back to his device. “Of the Trinidad Smiths?”
“No.” I’d never heard of them. But Smith was such a common name. There were sure to be rich Smiths somewhere in the world. I wasn’t related to them though.
The bell for second period rang. I was now officially late. Prof. Edward came back in. “All right everyone, take your—Mr. West, Ms. Smith, you need to go to your next class,” he said.
I cast him a dour look. He had to see Damien was holding my belongings hostage. Damien stretched and pocketed his phone. Without comment, he rose and left the room nonchalantly. I quickly scuttled to collect my bag and books. My gaze met Prof. Edward’s as I exited. His eyes dropped away with a touch of shame. I had no real issues with Prof. Edward. He was harmless and generally kept to himself, but he could’ve helped me by being a bit firmer with Damien. I headed toward my next class, hoping to be excused for being tardy, but it seemed I was destined to be super tardy. Someone grabbed my arm as I went down the hall and halted my rush.
“Walk with me,” Damien said.
His hand circled my elbow. I turned to him in disbelief.
“I have to get to class,” I said and winced at the touch of whine that was in my voice.
“God, don’t tell me you’re really that boring.”
I breathed out through my nose. “Yes, yes, I really am that boring. Please let go of my arm.”
His hold tightened instead. It hurt.
“Let go,” I repeated, futilely trying to pull free.
“Let’s have some fun,” he said. I heard the snick of a blade. My eyes darted to his other hand. He had a switch blade. He held it up and placed the knife against the front of my blouse, right between my breasts. He cut off the button with a flick of his wrist. The button pinged when it hit the ground.
This was too much. I screamed, “Help!”
To my surprise, the first person to come to my aid was my dad. He came hurling around the corner. He took in the sight of Damien holding a knife to my chest and gasped.
“Let her go!” he yelled and charged at us.
Strangely, Damien moved in front of me to block my father, instead of putting me between them. Damien brandished his knife, but Dad had a mop. He swung it at Damien and hit him square in the chest. Damien was thrown into the wall. The mop was wet. It splattered his black sweater and face with smelly, dirty water. I darted away and hid behind Dad. I peeked over his shoulder at Damien. I wondered what we should do now. Damien had assaulted me. But would anyone care?
Damien pinched and pulled his soggy sweater away from his body. His nose curled in disgust at the smell of the dirty water. He glared up at my dad.
“You’re dead, old man.”
He lunged at Dad with his knife.
“No!” I screamed.
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