Student Bodyguard for Hire

by Callie James

  I tuned in as a loudmouthed woman went off on a tangent about the Ridgeview High administration, explaining how they’d unfairly suspended her daughter twice for fighting, and finally kicked her off the cheerleading team. Her angel daughter couldn’t be a bully, she claimed, but I recognized the last name. It was a flat lie. “The school’s policy to punish both students is unfair,” she said. “Especially when one student is only trying to defend herself. Something’s got to be done.”

  The news team segued to another location and another reporter, who stood off the Ridgeview High School parking lot next to Peyton.

  “That is her,” Jonas said, plopping a pot sticker into his mouth and turning to me. “Right? Your girlfriend?”

  I nodded, having no intentions to update them on my love life.

  “You didn’t tell me she was a celeb,” Bobby said, grinning. “Look at that red hair. She’s gorgeous, Sammy. Good going.”

  I wished Bobby would shut the hell up. She’d worn her hair straight today, which gave it a soft shine that made me want to run my fingers through it and pile it in my hands.

  Reporter Mark McAvey introduced the segment by describing Peyton’s website, how it began as a class project and quickly morphed into a national debate of using violence to stop violence, all thanks to social media. I’d already seen her brief interview with a female reporter earlier in the week. The station had asked for viewer questions and promised a longer interview to answer them.

  “Did you have any idea when you started the project it would turn into this?” McAvey asked her.

  The wind blew those copper strands against her face and she pushed the silky lock behind her ear. “No,” she said, turning to the students at her left, specifically two girls who kept bumping her forward and waving at the camera. She turned back to McAvey. “And for numerous reasons, I wish I hadn’t. But dozens have asked me to keep the website and I promised them I would.”

  “You wished you hadn’t created the website?”

  “Right.”

  “Why?”

  What an idiot. Anyone could guess looking at the shadows under her eyes.

  “The work is more than I’d anticipated,” she said. “I hadn’t considered the project would be this successful.”

  “How many hours do you work on the project each week?”

  I shifted restlessly to watch her, missing our conversations over homework or in the car. I missed holding her. “About four hours a day,” she said. “Sixteen to twenty on weekends.”

  “That’s almost a fulltime job,” McAvey said. “And this is nonprofit?”

  “Yes. I’m volunteering my time.”

  “This next question is from a viewer,” he said. “Do you have anything in place to determine if a bully is applying to be a bodyguard, simply to get easy money?”

  “Students know who the bullies are,” she said. “Since the student paying for protection has to approve the person I assign them, I eventually figure out who the bad guys are. That’s what occupies most of my time. The constant communication. Both parties have to be willing to work together.”

  “Interesting. Another viewer wants to know how you came up with the idea.”

  She smiled until dimples formed. “The concept of paying one student to protect another came from an old eighties movie. Fiction, obviously, but I was desperate and willing to try anything.”

  “Desperate for a project or a bodyguard?”

  Her face turned pink. “Both.” She licked her lips, nervous. “But it didn’t turn out as I’d planned.”

  “Why?”

  “Um …he wouldn’t take the money.”

  I smiled, remembering all of it as I watched the familiar blush seep into her cheeks.

  “You tried to hire someone as a bodyguard? Did you need one?”

  She looked down and bit her lip softly. “Yes.” She shifted. “No. I don’t know.”

  “She got a date instead of a bodyguard!” someone yelled in the background.

  “Is that true?” McAvey said with an unattractive leer. “This was actually my next question because dozens of viewers have asked.”

  “About what?”

  “The video of you and another student that went viral. The one with over one hundred thousand hits and growing? Were you asking him to be your bodyguard?”

  Several students whistled and Peyton lowered her face into her palms, turning redder as catcalls ensued. “No,” she finally said with a laugh, pulling her hands down her face. “We had no idea someone had filmed us.”

  “Were you asking him out?” the reporter asked. “As the video suggests?”

  “We were just talking.” She fanned her face. “Oh my God. My parents might be watching this. I should go.”

  He laughed and grabbed her arm when she turned. “I promise not to embarrass you if you answer a few more questions.”

  She grabbed her elbows and braced herself, looking nervous now.

  “You explained in a previous interview that this started out as a class project,” he said, “but the school administration received complaints and asked you to submit a different project because they believed you were encouraging violence.”

  A fine line formed on her forehead. “Correct. They asked me to submit a different project, which I agreed to do. The website is a project I’m doing on my own.”

  “No grade and no money,” he said. “Why do all of that work when so many are against you keeping it online?”

  “For every demand I receive to take down the site, I receive ten more requests asking me to keep it. I’m doing this for those people. I’ll be their voice as long as they need me to be.”

  “Well, you’ve made many sit up and take notice. Your brother told us you’ve received interest from two companies who want to hire you, along with scholarship offers from several universities. Do you plan to attend college or get to work right away?”

  “I haven’t decided. Maybe both.”

  “Another viewer wants to know if you think the need for your website only proves that School Resource Officers are ineffective. It’s my understanding Ridgeview has one on the payroll.”

  “Resource Officers are around for more than that. And I wouldn’t say he’s ineffective. He’s limited in what he can do if he doesn’t see the fight. Bullies notoriously find their victims when they’re alone. That’s the whole point of hiring students to protect students. It’s the only way students can ensure their own safety.”

  “Speaking of safety,” McAvey said. “Your brother also said you’ve received numerous threats for keeping the website online. He wanted it known that your more technical friends are trying to track those people down through social media and other online areas. Do you find it interesting that you’re getting bullied as well, all because you’re trying to stop it from happening to others?”

  “I don’t find it interesting,” she said. “But it doesn’t shock me either.”

  I shoved my fists into my gym pants pockets, glaring at the screen as Jonas and Bobby both turned to me. “Anything serious?” Jonas asked.

  I shook my head because I had no idea. This was the first I’d heard of it.

  “Some might be surprised to find your family still supports you despite the threats,” McAvey went on to say. “What would you say to those who call your parents irresponsible for allowing you to continue this?”

  Peyton gave a questioning glance over the reporter’s shoulder to where I assumed Ryan or Cooper stood. “Certain people make sure I’m never alone. Nobody’s worried.”

  “Even you?” he asked. “Because you have an entire database of bodyguards to choose from if you like.”

  More catcalls, along with offers of personal protection, erupted.

  She smiled, turning pink again. “No, I’m not worried.”

  “Smart and courageous,” McAvey said, turning to the camera as he concluded the interview with a closing statement.

  Bobby stood. “I don’t agree. That’s a stupid brave if you ask me,” h
e muttered on his way to the door. “People can be crazy. Better keep a closer eye on her, Sammy boy.”

  Jonas waited to speak until Bobby left. “You look ready to kill someone.”

  When my jaw ached, I realized I’d been clenching my teeth. “She’s scared.”

  He looked to the television. Back to me. “How do you know?”

  “That tremble in her voice,” I said, reaching for my phone on the table. “It’s telltale that she’s lying.”

  “Who you calling?”

  I paused on my way out the door. “Someone I can count on for brutal truth.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Peyton

  I jolted awake, my whole body tingling as the dream faded to blunt typing sounds. Moaning, I curled up tighter, keeping my eyes closed. I wanted to get back to Sam and me in the backseat of the Impala, but the click-clack of fingertips against the keyboard and the periodic mouse tapping forced me back to my room and the endlessness that had become my reality.

  There wasn’t a Sam and me.

  I opened my eyes to see Adam still at my desk, his hair sticking out everywhere from running his hands through it. “It’s like a record,” he said, clicking the mouse. “A whole seventeen minutes since you fell asleep.”

  “Only seventeen minutes?”

  “Hey. It’s better than sixteen.”

  I clutched my pillow, watching him raise his arms and stretch his back before standing. He’d been so sweet, helping me enter data for my second project while I dreamt about my ex-boyfriend. “I feel strange,” I said. “Things look weird. I keep seeing floating black smudges.”

  “I think optometrists call those floaters,” he said, still stretching. “Do I have three eyes?”

  “No.”

  He walked over and sat on the bed. “Then we don’t have to worry about you having a psychotic episode yet. You realize that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t relax and get some sleep.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “You can’t try to sleep. That’s a sure way to stay awake. Just clear your mind. Let it come naturally.”

  “I can’t clear my mind,” I said. “If I could clear my mind, I wouldn’t slip into a dream the second I fall asleep.”

  “Did you have another nightmare? You weren’t moaning this time so I couldn’t tell.”

  Moaning? I had to quit falling asleep with people around. “No nightmare. I’m fine.”

  “Then why do you keep waking up? Scoot over.” I inched back on the bed and he sprawled out next to me, propping up on an elbow. “I’ll bet you could sleep if you felt safe with me here.”

  I swatted his shoulder and closed my eyes, sinking further into the pillows. “I feel fine with you here. It’s …taking me a while, I guess, to adjust to this craziness.”

  “People are sending you detailed threats,” he said. “Some on your life. I’d be seriously worried if you ever adjusted to that.”

  “Hm.” I closed my eyes, too exhausted for rebuttal.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  I wanted sleep badly but knew it was pointless to try. When his fingertips brushed my cheek the same way Sam would touch me, my eyes snapped open. “What?”

  His blue eyes shone brightly. “Can I kiss you?”

  “Adaaaam,” I said, pulling back from his touch. “We’ve discussed this. You know I don’t—”

  “Want to ruin our friendship,” he said. “I get it. I want to kiss you anyway. Just to see.”

  “To see what?”

  “To see what it’s like. Not only are you single again, but you’re weakened from your own crazy plotting.” He arched his eyebrows suggestively, which only made me giggle.

  “Doesn’t it matter to you that I care about someone else?”

  “Um…no.” He quickly shook his head. “See? I’m not putting anything into it. No investment in the outcome. It’s a kiss just to see. And no tongue. I promise.”

  Any other day, I would have sat up and smacked his arm for saying that. But I had no fight left in me. I felt hollowed out. “Just this once?”

  His smile faded when he realized I was serious. “Just this once.” Slowly he leaned down and I closed my eyes, pretending he was someone else as his lips molded to mine. It didn’t work. Even the way he breathed, nervous and quick, felt different from Sam.

  I blinked my eyes open when it was over, missing Sam. “Well?” I asked. “Not so hot after all, right?”

  He smiled. “No. Actually, it was pretty nice. If I’d thought you wanted me to kiss you, it would have been nicer.”

  “Pretty nice isn’t even worth closing your eyes for, Adam. One day, you’re going to kiss the right girl in the right moment and you’ll wake up on the moon. Then you can tell me again how much pretty nice did it for you.”

  His eyebrows crinkled. “Wake up on the moon? Where did that come from?”

  I couldn’t stop smiling. “When you open your eyes after the best kiss with the one person you want to be kissing, you’ll feel like you’ve been transported to the moon.” His expression looked doubtful. “Or something.”

  He rested his chin against his palm. “Were you transported the first time Guerra kissed you?”

  I grinned. “Yes.”

  “He kissed you under that freaky, blue streetlight outside, didn’t he?”

  “Yeees,” I giggled and wiggled at the memory, wanting to look away but hugging a decorative pillow instead.

  “Jeez. Just look at you,” he said, brushing his fingers over my cheek again. “You transform at the mere mention of him. Your entire face changes. You’re glowing, Peyton.”

  My cheeks overheated. “Get real.”

  “I’m being totally real.” He studied my face. “In fact, I think I finally get it.”

  “What?”

  “The back and forth thing in the parking lot. Every time you walked away, he’d say something and you’d go back to him or he’d come after you. I seriously began to wonder if you’d ever make it to the car. But I get it now. Because barefoot or not, if you ever looked at me like that, I’d run across a parking lot, too. I’d cross a damn desert for that look.”

  “Adam, you’re embarrassing me.” Even my ears felt hot.

  “I saw it in your eyes that first day at his house, you know.” His solemn gaze shifted across my face. “You liked him even then. And now you totally love him, don’t you?”

  I’d watched the silent version of our viral video at least fifty times in four weeks, just to relive the beginning of Sam and me.

  “Tears would be a yes?” he asked, his thumb swiping under my eye even though I hadn’t cried. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “I’m not crying.”

  “No, but you’re doing that watery-eyed, blinking thing you do when you’re pretending you’re tougher than you are.”

  “Adam, I’m okay. You know I have a different type of cry to go with almost every emotion.” I pulled his hand from my face. “Part of me knows it’ll be easier this way. To stay away from him. My parents aren’t fighting like they were. I’m not stressed someone will find out about him. But …I miss him like we’ve been apart a hundred years. I keep thinking time will make it better, and then I see him by his locker, in class or the parking lot, and …it doesn’t get better. It gets worse.” My cheeks heated. “I miss everything, Adam. Talking over homework. Or in his car. Kissing and …stuff. More than I can say without making a fool out of myself.”

  “I get how it feels to make a fool of myself for someone.” He hesitated. “That’s how I know… that we have to stop hanging out together.”

  It took a few seconds for what he said to sink in. “What?” I tried sitting up but he pressed my shoulder to the bed.

  “Don’t freak. It’s no big deal,” he said, a reassuring smile forming. “I mean, it is, but it really isn’t. Not in the large scheme of things.”

  “Of course, this is a big deal. In the short term, long term, small or large scheme … are you crazy? What did I do?”


  “Nothing.” He shook his head. “You didn’t do anything. I’ve just been sitting in the friend zone too long, waiting for you to see me differently when it’s never going to happen. I knew the instant I met you how I felt. What you’d mean to me.”

  “Like the moment I met Sam.”

  He looked down. “Yeah.”

  “Adam—”

  “You can’t help it. I get it.” He pushed his hair away from his eyes. “I also know your feelings won’t change for me, even if you never get back with him. So. If I’m going to get over you, it’s not going to happen while I’m with you.” He shrugged. “Just look at it as putting me out of my misery.”

  I laughed while tears formed. His honesty. His humor. I didn’t want to imagine life without him, but asking him to stay in this with me wasn’t fair either. “You’re doing this because of the reporters, aren’t you? Because they printed that horrible stuff about your real parents to try to smear my reputation for knowing you. Guilt by association, and all that.”

  “It’s exactly what I said, Peyton. Do you want me to say it? Because I will if it’ll make it easier.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “I’m in love with you,” he said anyway. “And I can’t be.”

  A huge lump formed in my throat. “You know I love you, too.”

  “Yeah. Differently than what I’m talking about though.”

  He became a blur through tears. “I’m sorry I couldn’t respond differently when you kissed me,” I whispered, threading my fingers through his.

  “I know.” He looked at our fingers entwined and didn’t pull away. “It’s not your fault. It’s also not forever and I’m not saying I want to avoid each other. I just need to get past this. It’s getting painful.”

  “I know.” This was miserable.

  “You’re gonna be okay.”

  How was he comforting me in all this? “No I won’t.” My lower lip trembled but I was determined to keep it together. “I’ve just lost a boyfriend and my best friend in the same month. I’m pretty far from okay.”