Victory tasted like library dust and teenage rebellion, and I wanted more.
The hallwayafter lunch was a war zone of teenage chaos, all slamming lockers and shouted conversations and the barely controlled energy that came from too many people crammed into too small a space. I was trying to navigate toward my locker without getting trampled when someone slammed into my shoulder hard enough to send me stumbling.
“Watch it, city boy.”
I caught myself against a locker and turned to find a senior glaring down at me. Big kid, broad shoulders, the kind of aggressive posture that screamed small dick energy from a mileaway. His friends flanked him like backup singers, all identical smirks and predatory grins.
“Sorry,” I said, though we both knew the collision hadn't been an accident. “Didn't see you there.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you should open your fucking eyes. This isn't the big city where you can just bump into people and keep walking.”
The hallway around us had gone quiet, that particular brand of silence that meant everyone was waiting to see if this would turn into actual entertainment or just more garden-variety bullying.
I should have apologized again. Should have backed down, played it safe, avoided making enemies on my third day in a new school. That would have been the smart choice, the mature choice, the choice that wouldn't end with me getting my ass kicked in front of half the student body.
Instead, I smiled.
“You're right,” I said, loud enough for the gathering crowd to hear. “Good thing I remembered to shower this morning, or this whole collision thing could have been really unpleasant for both of us.”
A few kids snickered. The senior's face went red.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
“Nothing insulting,” I replied innocently. “Just commenting on the benefits of basic hygiene. You know, soap, shampoo, deodorant. Revolutionary concepts, really.”
More laughter, louder this time. The kid's hands curled into fists, and I realized with crystalline clarity that I'd just fucked myself completely.
Then a shadow fell across both of us, and the temperature in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees.
I didn't have to look to know who it was. I could feel it in the way conversations died around us, in the subtle shift of bodies aspeople instinctively backed away. Authority, real authority, not the borrowed kind that came from being bigger or louder than everyone else.
Evan appeared at my side like a guardian angel, if guardian angels wore flannel. He didn't say anything—of course he didn't—but he didn't need to.
The senior took one look at him and stepped back.
“Callahan.” The name came out like a curse, but also like surrender.
Evan's gaze never wavered, never shifted away from the kid's face.
“We're cool,” the senior said finally, hands raised in a gesture that might have been surrender or might have been an attempt to look casual. “Just a misunderstanding.”
Evan tilted his head slightly, like he was considering whether or not to accept that explanation. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he nodded once.
The crowd dispersed with the disappointed efficiency of spectators realizing the show was over. The senior and his backup singers melted away like they'd never been there, leaving me alone with my mysterious savior and a rapidly developing case of emotional whiplash.
“Well,” I said when I was sure my voice wouldn't crack. “That was exciting. You always show up right when I need a bodyguard, or are you stalking me?”
Evan turned that steady gaze on me, and I felt something flutter in my chest that had nothing to do with leftover adrenaline from the confrontation.
“I'm starting to think you might be my personal guardian angel,” I continued, because apparently my mouth had decided to keep running without consulting my brain. “Very mysterious, very brooding, excellent timing. You're like a superhero, but with better hair.”
That earned me an eye roll, but I caught the way the corner of his mouth twitched again. Progress, even if it came wrapped in exasperation.
“Come on,” I said, falling into step beside him as he started walking. “You can't just swoop in and save me from certain death without at least letting me buy you a coffee or something. It's against the rules of chivalry.”
He gave me a sideways look that clearly questioned my understanding of both chivalry and appropriate responses to minor hallway conflicts.
“Fine, not coffee. But you're walking with me to my locker whether you like it or not. I'm traumatized, and I need moral support.”
