A glimpse of dark hair turning a corner up ahead. The flash of a navy blazer disappearing around the edge of the academic building. The lingering trace of her scent in the morning air, vanilla and roses leading me forward like a thread I cannot help but follow.
I pick up my pace, weaving through the handful of early-morning students making their way to class. My longer legs eat up the distance quickly, and I round the corner just in time to see her approaching another student.
"Excuse me." Her voice is steady, controlled. No hint of the tears I know are threatening to fall. "Where is the nearest washroom?"
The student points down the hall, giving directions I barely hear because my heart is sinking.
The washroom.
She is going to hide in the washroom.
I remember sixth grade. Remember the rumors that filtered through the school about Nerdy MaeBell spending her lunch periods crying in bathroom stalls. Remember Bastien and his friends laughing about it like her pain was entertainment.
Some habits die hard.
But she does not have to hide anymore. Not from me. Not if I can help it.
I catch up to her just as she starts walking toward the bathroom, her steps quick and determined and heartbreakingly familiar.
"Mae."
My arm goes over her shoulders before I fully think it through, the movement instinctive and protective. She stops mid-stride, her body tensing under my touch, and looks up at me with surprise flickering across her features.
Those hazel eyes are red-rimmed but dry. She has not started crying yet. She is holding it together through sheer force of will, the same stubbornness that made her kick Rafe in the balls yesterday and flip off my brother with both hands.
Strong. She is so incredibly strong. Even when she is breaking.
"Our first class is this way," I say, gesturing vaguely in the opposite direction of the bathroom. "I checked the schedule this morning. We have Literature together in Building C."
She blinks at me, and for a moment I see the anger flash across her face. The frustration at being intercepted. The irritation at not being allowed to fall apart in peace.
But then her eyes meet mine, and I watch her temper calm. Just a bit. Just enough for her shoulders to loosen slightly under my arm.
"I was not planning to skip class," she says, her voice carefully neutral.
"I know."
"I was just going to... freshen up."
"I know."
She is quiet for a moment, studying my face like she is trying to read the words I am not saying.
"I am not going to defend Rafe," I say finally. "What he said was a low blow. Cruel and unnecessary and completely out of line. He had no right to judge your situation when he knows nothing about what you have been through."
Her jaw tightens.
"It does not matter."
"It does."
"He is not wrong." The words come out bitter, edged with the pain she is trying so hard to hide. "I was living on handouts. On pity. On whatever scraps people were willing to throw my way because they felt sorry for the late-bloomer Omega whose family did not want her."
"Mae."
"It is the truth, Etienne. I am not going to pretend otherwise just because it hurts to hear it out loud."
I tighten my arm around her shoulders, pulling her slightly closer.
