"Surviving is not shameful," I say quietly. "Doing whatever you had to do to make it through each day is not shameful. And accepting help from people who wanted to give it does not make you weak or pathetic or whatever other bullshit Rafe was implying."
She does not respond, but I feel some of the tension drain from her body.
"For what it is worth," I add, "he paid for it. Cal punched him in the gut right after you left."
Her head snaps up, surprise replacing the hurt in her expression.
"What?"
"Cal." I cannot help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "Punched him. Hard. Rafe was still wheezing when I left."
She frowns, confusion creasing her forehead.
"Why would Cal get mad? He barely knows me. He was one of the ones who bullied me back in the day. Why would he care if Rafe hurt my feelings?"
Because Cal understands. More than any of us realized.
I glance around at the students passing by, suddenly aware that we are standing in the middle of a hallway having a conversation that deserves more privacy than this.
"We have time before class," I say. "Do you want to go to my car? We can talk there without an audience."
She blinks at me, and for a moment I see a flash of that spark return to her eyes. That mischievous glint that makes my heart do stupid things.
"Well," she says slowly, her lips curving into a smirk that does not quite reach her red-rimmed eyes, "if this is your unique way of trying to get a make-out session from me, I should warn you that I need lip balm first. My lips are tragically dry."
Heat floods my face before I can stop it.
"I... what... that is not..." I sputter, completely losing my composure in a way that would be embarrassing if she did not look so pleased with herself for causing it.
She laughs.
Actually laughs, the sound surprised and genuine despite the tears still threatening at the edges of her eyes. It is a small laugh, barely more than a chuckle, but it loosens the knot of worry in my chest.
"You have the most intriguing responses," I manage, finally finding my voice again. "I never know what is going to come out of your mouth next."
"Keeps you on your toes."
"It keeps me in a constant state of cardiac arrest, is what it does."
She grins, and this time it almost reaches her eyes.
I take her hand before I can overthink it, threading my fingers through hers. Her skin is soft and warm, her grip tightening slightly around mine like she is not entirely sure she is allowed to hold on.
"Is the bagel enough for breakfast?" I ask as I start leading her toward the parking lot. "You did not get to finish eating before... everything."
She lifts the paper bag she has been clutching this whole time, showing me that the bagel is still inside, only slightly squished from being held so tightly.
"More than enough," she says. "It is not like I have been training or anything lately. My calorie needs are pretty minimal."
I frown, latching onto the word.
"Training? Training for what?"
She cringes, her steps faltering slightly.
Training. Athletes train. What was she training for?
"Nothing," she says quickly. Too quickly. "Just... ignore that. It is not important."
