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Just that act alone sparks a rush of warmth inside me I cannot deny. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this attended to by any friend my whole life. Is that what he is now? My friend? Are we friends?
Should I ask him? Is that how this works?
We’re sent to change back into our regular clothes only three minutes before the bell rings, which releases some of us to lunch and some of us to fifth period. Vann and I—perhaps in yet another slowly-dawning thought—realize we also share this lunch period together. Without even acknowledging it, the pair of us walk out of the locker room together after changing and head down the hall toward the noisy cafeteria, where we file in line side-by-side to help ourselves to a tray. Today, it’s overcooked spaghetti, garlic sticks, and green mush I suspect are supposed to be green beans. Then together, the pair of us seek a new spot in the cafeteria—I guess it’s the end of a table where Vann’s been sitting—and once we’re seated across from each other, we feast.
Just like in the hallway, there is no shortage of people eyeing us from across the cafeteria, then whispering to their friends. It is clear that even with doing so little, we’ve become so much just by virtue of being near each other. Everyone is paying attention.
My phone buzzes between my fourth and fifth bites of watery, tasteless pasta. I pull it out and read a text from Jimmy, randomly asking me how I’m doing. With a sigh, I quickly text back that if his brother could manage to tighten the leash on his stupid jock football players, my life would be superb. Jimmy replies with a big shocked emoji, which I promptly ignore, stuffing my phone away.
Then Vann breaks the ice. “We need to toughen you up.”
My mouth is full when I give him a look. “Okay, Stepdad.”
He either doesn’t hear me or ignores me. “I’m obviously with you third, fourth, and lunch periods, but those guys can run into you anywhere. What would you do if they came to Biggie’s?”
I swallow my bite. “You mean Hoyt, Benji, and Julio?”
“What if they met you outside when you got off work, decided to rough you up or something? Nah.” Vann shakes his head with a note of resolve. “I’ll have to be there every night you get off work, from now on. And if I so much as see one of their faces outside that restaurant, lurking around, waiting to pick a fight—”
“Are you saying you want to be my bodyguard?”
“—then they’ll quickly find out you’re not alone anymore.” He stuffs his big mouth full of an impressive amount of spaghetti. “I won’t allow them another moment of enjoying having their way with you. That ends now. And that ends for good.”
He says all of that with his mouth full, by the way. “Vann, I … I didn’t ask you to, to …” I set down my plastic fork, at a loss. “You don’t have to be my escort every time I work at Biggie’s. That’s two times a weekend. Plus my occasional Sunday afternoon brunch shift, but I doubt they’d want to fight me after morning service at Spruce Fellowship. Believe it or not, even cocky football players are tamed by that place.”
Vann, who was about to say something else, lifts one dubious eyebrow and changes directions. “Wait. You go to church?”
“Some Sundays, yeah,” I admit. “Not all of them. It depends on my mom’s schedule, and whether the stepdad sleeps in from a drunken binder the night before. Reverend Arnold has a gay son who sometimes leads the service. They take turns. Why do you look shocked?” I ask after biting off the end of my breadstick.
Vann swallows a mouthful of green bean mash, then shakes his head. “Didn’t take you to be a Godly guy.”
“I’m not really sure what I am. I guess in Spruce, you just kind of do what’s expected of you, to a degree.”
“See? That’s part of our problem.” Vann jabs his plastic fork at me. “Too many things are just accepted around here. Like the jocks running the school. Or art classes and clubs being canceled.”
“Oh, you heard about that? The arts program? My boss Mrs. Tucker said that has something to do with the mayor. That’s half the reason Nadine Strong is running against him, to change things around here. Allegedly. I don’t really pay attention to politics.”
“Things are going to change.” He bites his own breadstick.
I feel like Vann just assigned himself a mission: to be my big, brave bodyguard and personal escort. I guess that’s what he needs to do to feel a sense of purpose in this place. Still … “The way home from Biggie’s is pretty safe,” I point out. “I’m pretty sure I’ll—”
