“I thought I recognized your name around campus,” she says with a smirk I don’t like because I know it’s not a friendly one. “Then I saw your face today and was like…ohh, youarethe girl from that huge-ass story a couple years ago.”
A guy next to her, wearing a backwards cap, leans in. “Oh, yeah! The one with her boyfriend who—” he makes a little explodey gesture near his temple, casually cruel, like it’s no big deal he’s making a joke about one of the most traumatizing things that’s happened to me “—killed himself. That wascrazy.”
My vision narrows, and my skin starts to prick, now on high alert, feeling the panic creep up. My brain immediately goes into flight mode.
“Mind your business,” Simone snaps, sitting up straighter so fast that Mason’s hand instinctively moves to her knee to hold her back.
Bash speaks up instantly as well. “You’ve got the wrong one today. I can promise you that.” His voice is even, but his eyes are deadly. He shifts in front of me a little, like he’s being my shield.
“Relax,” Ponytail says, rolling her eyes. “It’s a public headline. Everyone saw it. We’re just asking.”
“You’re asking it to the wrong person,” Simone says. There’s heat in her voice I haven’t heard since she used to stand up to the bullies for me in school.
The guy laughs and looks at Bash. “Careful, man. I read what she did to him. Would hate for her to get another one. She’s pretty, but the pussycan’tbe good enough to kill yourself over.”
That’s what shatters whatever control was left. Simone and Bash both rise at the same time, giving the same look that saysdon’t. Mason’s hand clamps gently around Simone’s wrist while Erik’s palm finds Bash’s shoulder and squeezes, pulling him a step back.
Sandro steps between the table and their blanket, with Lani backing him up. Those two are a frightening pair.
And as sweet as Erik is…he’s got a bad boy side I wouldn’t mess with.
All of them standing up for me makes me feel very protected, even if it doesn’t stop the anxiety from already hitting.
“You’re done,” Sandro says calmly, hiking his thumb in the opposite direction. “Get up. And leave.”
Ponytail opens her mouth to say something, and Lani just tilts her head. “Babe,” she says, sweet as sugar, deadly as a sharp blade. “If you say one more word, you’re gonna be crying in front of your little friends, and Ireallydon’t feel like taking my earrings out right now to drag you across this table.”
They go quiet. The guy mutters something, but he’s already standing. They all leave with the sort of slow walk cowards think makes them look like they have a backbone. Like they didn’t just get linked out of here.
I don’t breathe again until they’re far away. The quiet around us isn’t quiet to me. It’s loud and jarring, and I start to hear the same voices from years ago. The same taunts. I hear a siren. I hear the voice of a boy I once loved and then hated.
Bash turns back, and the look on my face must tell him everything. He drops down, kneels in front of me, and takes both my hands in his. He tries to soothe me with his fingers, but it’s not much help.
“Walk with me.”
I nod because I can’t talk right now. He helps me up, keeps our hands woven together, and squeezes when he thinks I need the reassurance. We cut through bodies and tables, and I just stare at his hand, trying not to go too far away in my head. My throat feels like there’s glass in it. I can’t swallow; I’m panicking, and I can’t get a full breath in.
He takes me behind the gym to a bench where it smells like rubber mats, dirt, and sports equipment. The noise calms a little when he presses his cold water bottle to the inside of my wrist. The shock snaps at my skin. Another on the other wrist. He reaches up, brushing the hair out of my face like he knows exactly what to do. Like he knows what I need beforeIknow.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. His eyes are soft, but they don’t pity me. They just want to help.
“Breathe with me,” he murmurs. “In for four.” He inhales slowly, not counting, just letting me watch his chest rise. “Out for six,” he says, mouth barely moving. He guides my hand onto his chest, and then his hands slide to my ribs, fingers wide, letting me feel the breath in his body the same way he’s doing with mine. “Match me.”
I try, but it’s hard. I think he sees that because he brings my knuckles to his mouth and kisses each one. It’s ridiculous and perfectly sweet in the moment, and helps distract me with his addicting touch. “You’re here…and everything is okay. And Lani is probably back there standing guard like a little vicious chihuahua. No one is coming back or able to bother you anymore or hurt you.”
A tiny, unwilling laugh breaks loose, and I laugh through the tears coming on.
“Good,” he says. “There she is.” He looks around, grabs a random orange slice from a fruit bowl on the bench next to us that’s probably someone’s personal stash sitting next to their bag, and then he presses it into my palm. “Bite it.”
“Bash—”
“Trust me,” he smiles. “The mouth is weird during panic. Citrus helps.” He winks like he’s telling me a secret and not something he’s learned the hard way. Something he’s found worked when he needed it himself.
I bite, and the sour hits my tongue, forcing my brain to recognize we’re not in danger. The relief makes my shoulders finally drop, and my body stop tensing up so much.
“Tell me three funny things you can see,” he says, voice low.
