“Thanks,” I say quickly.
He shrugs and turns back around. I don’t know what’s gotten into me but I really don’t want him to leave. Maybe it’s because he’s the first kid today who’s spoken to me. Did I mention how much I hate Astley?
“He… he broke my glasses,” I say stupidly, just because it’s the only thing I can find to say.
He shrugs again, his eyes once more finding mine. “You don’t look like you need them.”
“But I do! I can’t read without them!”
The tear that was threatening to spill from the corner of my left eye embarrassingly does so, and I clench my fists, hating myself. I can’t believe I’m in fifth grade, it’s the first day of school, and I’mcrying. It’s like my worst accidentally-wearing-pyjamas-to-school nightmare come true.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
What does he mean, fine? I wasn’t asking anything! Before I can react, Hoodie Guy is walking off, and a moment later, he’s dragging Pimple Butt back by the shirt. He’s surprisingly strong, tackling my bully like it’s nothing. Then he shoves him to the ground. The bully clearly knows him well enough to be scared, and my eyes widen further when Hoodie Guy easily dominates him, folding his arms, towering over him as he lies quaking on the ground.
“You broke her glasses. Pay up.”
“I don’t have any money!” yelps Pimple Butt.
Hoodie Guy gives him a kick in the side. “Not my problem, Jax. Pay up.”
My bully–Jax–grunts as Hoodie Guy gives him another few kicks.
“Fine, fine! I’ll ask my parents! Stop! Ow! I’ll ask my parents! I’ll bring the money tomorrow!”
“You’d better,” grunts Hoodie Guy. “Otherwise I’ll fuck you up.”
I gasp at the new swear word. Somehow, it’s a lot more unsettling than the violence.
“There you go,” says Hoodie Guy, backing away at last from Jax, who scrambles to get up.
My protector seems ready to leave again, and I really don’t want him to. I want him to stay.
“Wait!” I cry out once more. “What’s your name?”
“Quill,” he mumbles after a pause.
“Hi Quill,” I say brightly. “I’m Piper.”
I give him my best Nancy Drew smile, but he only shrugs.Again.
“I know,” he mutters, and then he walks off.
__
Quill. Quill, Quill, Quill. Quill and Piper. Piper and Quill. That has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?
I usually look up to Nancy Drew, but right now I’m feeling a lot more like Cinderella as I dance along the sidewalk home, my head filled with dreams of a dark-haired, grumpy boy in a hoodie.
“I LOVE Astley,” I say, bursting into the Guest House.
Mom looks up from the pile of insurance forms she’s workingher way through. “Do you, sweetie? That’s great!”
She looks at me so absent-mindedly that she doesn’t even notice I’m not wearing my glasses. Reason number one why I prefer Dad.
I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s not her fault that she doesn’t have time for me. Though she does. She has nothing but time for me. What she doesn’t have is energy.
