Student Bodyguard for Hire

by Callie James

  She shook her head, unconvinced. “My website started as a good thing and now people have made it into this awful… snowballing …horrible ….”

  “Listen to me,” I said, cupping her face. “It’s still a good thing.”

  Her mouth curled down as she tried getting her emotions under control. “Maybe, but I have to fight every day to keep it that way. I’m just so tired of fighting … the world. It sounds dramatic but that’s how it feels.” The wind blew a curly lock of hair across her eyes and she flicked it away.

  “My dad used to say the harder the fight, the sweeter the victory,” I said. “You’ll fight like hell, Peyton, and you’ll win. I know it.”

  “You always support me. How can you have so much confidence in me? Nobody else does.”

  “That’s crap. Your brother does. Your mom does. Besides, I recognize a good fighter when I see one.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink and she crossed her arms over her chest, turning to look out past the glistening water. “Now you’re embarrassing me.”

  “That’s because you embarrass easily.”

  “Oh sure. Blame me.”

  I curled my arms around her waist. “While we’re on the subject...”

  “Of what? Embarrassing me?”

  “Fighting.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “Yeees?”

  “Would you let me teach you a few moves?”

  The hint of a smile tugged her mouth. “I thought that’s what you did last night,” she said softly, relaxing against me.

  I tightened my hold around her, molding her body to mine as I nuzzled her neck and inhaled her sweet scent. Waiting for Friday night would prove excruciating if she kept saying things like that. She felt so good. Fit me perfectly. “I meant self-defense moves,” I whispered. “But if you had something else in mind, I’m listening.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance as she leaned up and kissed me. When she pulled back, she looked hesitant. “Did Ryan ask you to do this?” she asked. “Teach me self-defense moves? He rarely leaves my side anymore and has me carrying pepper spray in my pocket. Adam was just as bad when we were still—” she paused, her eyes shifting. “Do you really think someone would hurt me over this?”

  “I don’t put anything past anyone,” I said, serious. “I know you handled Thompson, but I’d like to teach you a move or two that doesn’t require you biting your way out of it. A way to protect yourself without that kind of close proximity. Or if you have to be that close, I want you controlling the situation.”

  She sighed. “What would you teach me? Because I’m telling you right now I’m not getting into the cage with you.”

  I couldn’t keep my hands off her and slipped my fingertips under her shirt. The skin at her waist felt so soft. “I don’t know. Could be fun.”

  She giggled and closed her eyes, letting me kiss her neck. I ran my fingers through her hair and stared at her pretty profile, pretending this might last beyond high school.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  When another rainstorm rolled in, we headed back to Ridgeview and spent the afternoon at Pauli’s Pizza, sharing a veggie and tofu pizza—her choice—while talking by a roaring fire.

  Even I thought it was romantic.

  Trying to keep the afternoon positive, I didn’t share my plan to talk to her dad, and later, when she noticed I’d followed her home, she had walked to the end of her driveway by the time I stepped from the Impala. “I know you said you’re worried,” she said, folding her arms over her chest, “but you don’t have to follow me. I told you I don’t want my dad to hear your car.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” I shut the door. “To talk to your dad.”

  Panic rounded her eyes and she stepped forward, trying to push me back into the car. “No. Wait. See, that’s … that’s not a good idea.”

  I walked past her and up the sidewalk. “It’s not a big deal,” I said, my stomach knotting with nerves. “Your dad and I need to get a few things straight. That’s all.”

  “Sam!” She sprinted around me and blocked my path again, grabbing my arm to keep me from knocking. “I appreciate what you’re doing. I do. But it’s not a good idea.”

  She wouldn’t release my arm. “Peyton—”

  “Sam. I mean it.” She pressed her other hand against my chest and tried pushing me back. “I have no idea what he’ll say. He’s been extremely upset lately, and—”

  The door yanked open behind her and she turned with me to stare at her dad. His frown grew as his gaze shifted to her hand still clinging to my arm while the other pressed against my chest.

  By the time his homicidal gaze reached mine, I tried to remember he couldn’t see me anymore. He saw Jason Thompson.

  Ryan had been making his way down the stairs, when he jerked to a sudden stop at his dad’s murderous profile.

  “What the hell is going on?” Mr. Greene said. “You do something to upset my daughter?”

  “Daddy, I—”

  “I’m not talking to you,” he said quickly, looking down at her. “Wait, I am talking to you. Where have you been, young lady? Or do I need to ask?”

  “I told you. I went out.”

  “You told me you went out shopping,” he said. “I thought you were going to the mall. Then I hear his car pulling up.”

  “I did go to the mall, and that’s where Sam met me. We went to see his friends in Lake Oswego.” Dropping the name of one of Portland’s nicest, richest cities hadn’t been a coincidence. Peyton tended to ramble when nervous and didn’t stop there, telling him more details about my friends than I even knew. When she began to ramble about America’s duties to those suffering in the wars overseas, her dad interrupted.

  “Peyton, I thought I was clear—”

  “Sir,” I said before this whole thing blew up any bigger, “if you’re not too busy, I’d like a minute of your time.”

  “Daddy—”

  He put his palm up, shushing Peyton as his gaze centered on me. “You would, would you?”

  Ryan slid down several stairs. “I need a minute, too, Dad—”

  “Wait, Daddy. I—” Peyton sounded stressed as she fumbled for an explanation, “Sam came by to …to…”

  My gaze swung back to Mr. Greene and I thought of what Papá would have said in this situation. The truth. He would have said the truth. “I didn’t know until recently you disapproved of Peyton seeing me,” I said, interrupting her stammer as her mother approached from the living room. “I wanted to discuss that. Maybe clear up any misunderstandings about my background and … my intentions.”

  I couldn’t see Peyton’s expression, but she had a death grip on my arm that almost hurt.

  “I have something to say,” Ryan blurted.

  “Not now, honey,” Peyton’s mother interrupted him. “Let Sam talk to your father first.”

  “Dad,” Ryan said, taking a deep breath and a step forward. “I’m gay.”

  All heads swung to Ryan, who wavered under his dad’s piercing stare as though he might pass out. For a tension-filled moment, I seriously thought he would.

  “You choose now to tell me this?” his dad asked, not sounding surprised by the news as much as the timing of it.

  “Um,” Ryan shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “It’s not the ideal time but—”

  “It certainly isn’t,” Mr. Greene said, turning back to me. “Come in, Sam. We can talk back in my office.” He turned and pointed to Ryan. “You I’ll talk to later.”

  Her dad disappeared down the hall as Peyton twisted to look at me, her face pale. She mouthed my name.

  “Come, Sam.” Her mother curled her finger at me and smiled, even though she looked as worried as Peyton did. “I appreciate you stopping by tonight. A little more understanding in this house could go a long way. I’ll take you to the den.”

  I stepped past Peyton and followed her mother to a small office with an impressive, oak desk holding stacks of books and manila folders. Taking a seat in an uncomfor
table chair across from Peyton’s dad, I swallowed hard, waiting for Mrs. Greene to close the door before I started talking. She smiled one last time and the clicking of the door sounded like a death knell.

  I stared at him, not even knowing where to start.

  “How about you start with your uncle,” he suggested.

  I shook my head. “To know anything about me …I need to start with my dad.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Sam

  I should have known I’d manage to screw things up in less than forty-eight hours.

  Once I’d spilled everything to Peyton’s dad, he thanked me for my honesty, mentioned something about courage, and shook my hand. By the time I left, I had Mr. Greene’s blessing to date his daughter.

  I hadn’t expected anything good to come from doing the right thing—nothing ever had in my past—so the entire outcome had shocked the hell out of me.

  Peyton wouldn’t stop grinning when I saw her Sunday between jobs. Getting her father’s approval had obviously taken a huge burden off her. That smile and those dimples had been worth the grueling thirty minutes it had taken me to answer his questions.

  For twenty-four hours afterward, I’d arrogantly thought nothing could touch me.

  Then Monday happened.

  I’d been running a few minutes late and hadn’t made it to the locker room early enough. The second I opened the door, I recognized Ryan’s voice swearing up a blue streak. Two more steps in, and I saw Delaney fall over a bench and onto his back. Ryan looked crazed as he jumped over the bench to mount Delaney like a professional fighter. The ensuing ground and pound he unleashed on the guy would have made any mixed martial arts instructor sit up and take notice. I certainly did, and once I quit gaping, I sprinted to Ryan’s side and yanked him off Delaney. Even after I shoved his skinny ass several feet to the locker, he kept swinging, nearly hitting my jaw. That’s when I smacked him against the locker and subdued him with a forearm hard over his chest. “It’s me! Calm down!”

  He recognized me then, looking wild-eyed and crazed. I’d never seen him like this. Whatever Delaney said, it had to have been about Peyton. Nothing got the kid this pissed except bad shit said about his sister.

  “Jesus,” Delaney said, shoving himself from the floor to wipe the blood off his lip and nose. “You fucking little faggot. What the hell—”

  “Tell him what you said, ass wipe!” Ryan said, pushing at my arm to jab a finger toward him. “He’s right here. Tell him what you fucking said!”

  “Whatever it was, it’s not worth suspension,” I said. “You don’t need that shit on your record. Get a fucking grip already.” The kid had an actual future ahead of him. I didn’t want him throwing it all away for this piece of shit.

  “Tell him!” Ryan shouted.

  Delaney, who outweighed Ryan by at least seventy pounds, looked to me and back to the kid, smirking as he wiped his lip and thought twice before opening his mouth.

  “Gutless prick,” Ryan huffed. “Why don’t you tell him what you’re planning to do to his sister while he’s doing mine?” He swung at Delaney again, still several hours away from calm. “Tell him you fucking jerk! Tell him exactly what you planned the next time you saw her alone, with or without her consent.”

  I hadn’t fully digested what had happened to Peyton three years ago. Imagining Delaney doing the same thing to Vanna, yet one more person trying to hurt my sister, and it took the last remnants of my control not to react. My gaze slid to Delaney. “Is that right?” I said under my breath, releasing Ryan abruptly as I turned to look at the waste of space about to lose. “What did you plan to do to my sister, cabrón?”

  “We speak English in this country, spick,” Delaney said, spitting blood on the floor between us and not saying another word. He glanced behind him to see Maru and another guy sitting on a bench only ten feet away, watching this go down.

  “English, you idiot,” Ryan said, “is only one of a few hundred languages in this country.”

  “I asked what you said about my sister,” I said, my gaze never leaving Delaney’s.

  “What is going on in here?” We all turned to see Coach Reynolds walking down the ramp toward us. Vice Principal Tanner followed him, apparently on a quest for mold because I’d never seen him in the locker room before today.

  “I didn’t do shit,” Delaney spoke first, pointing to Ryan. “Princess here attacked me for no good reason.”

  The coach halted in his tracks, looking too stunned to comment.

  My gaze followed everyone else’s. Ryan stood wild-eyed now at the prospect of suspension.

  “That’s total bullshit,” I said, turning to the coach, who I’d trusted enough to tell about my scars—the price I had to pay for earlier dress-downs in a class I could easily pass. “He was giving Ryan shit and I knocked him on his ass. Ask anyone. He’s had it coming all semester.”

  Ryan made a confused, incoherent mumbling sound but he didn’t deny it.

  “No way, man,” Delaney said, shaking his head vehemently and pointing to Ryan. “He’s the one you need to suspend. Guerra pulled him off me.”

  Coach and Tanner’s doubtful faces were almost comical. Nothing Delaney was saying sounded believable, yet he was telling the truth. For once, my reputation for fighting might actually pay off. “The kid’s got arms like bat wings and your story is that he attacked you?”

  Coach tried tamping down a smile as a few other guys piled into the locker room, including Delaney’s buddies.

  Tanner crooked his finger. “How ‘bout I take all of you down to the office until you can get your stories straight?”

  “No need to. Ask them,” I said, nodding to Maru. “Hey, man. Who threw the punches? Me or Ryan?”

  Maru grinned. “That shrimp? No way.” He looked to Coach. “Delaney’s been in the kid’s face all semester. Guerra here finally put him in his place.”

  I looked at Tanner. “You’ve seen the video. I’m the kid’s bodyguard and everybody in school knows it.”

  “Yeah,” Delaney said, “and we all know how she’s paying you, too.”

  “That’s enough,” Tanner snapped, grabbing Delaney’s attention long enough for me to cross the few feet between us.

  “Guerra!” Coach said, obviously recognizing my intent.

  I had a left hook ready when Delaney turned back, and the second my fist slammed into his jaw, I thought of Peyton and the disappointment she’d feel when she realized I’d become yet another reason for her website.

  Delaney spun and dropped to the ground while Coach rushed me from behind, grabbing me by the elbows as if I had planned to do more. If I’d wanted to hurt Delaney—seriously hurt him—I would have used my right, and I wouldn’t have pulled the heat off it.

  “See?” I said, nodding to Delaney. “It happened like that.”

  Tanner peeled Delaney off the floor to sit up. “That does it. I’ve had it. You’re both out of here,” he said.

  I looked to Ryan’s huge eyes as he shook his head. “Tell her I’m sorry,” I said, letting Coach pull me down the corridor and out the door.

  *****

  Tanner sat in his chair, turning to Delaney first. “I just talked to your dad, Carter, and guess what? He’s sick of getting bad news about you. You’re suspended. A week. Your dad is on his way here. Wait outside my office. I want to meet with both of you, together. I also want to be clear that expulsion is in your direct path should you get in one more fight.” He looked at me. “And you. You were already on probation from your last expulsion, Sam. I’m sorry. You’re out.”

  Keeping my face expressionless, I watched Tanner, remembering the last time I sat in this chair, hearing the same news. Remembering how he’d treated my girlfriend only a month ago.

  “If you want to deny culpability, you have the right,” he added. “But I can tell you right now that’s not going to fly. You threw a punch in front of two faculty and numerous student witnesses.”

  When I stayed quiet, Delaney stood. “Cou
ldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

  “Dickhead,” I muttered.

  “Psychotic,” he said.

  “That’s enough!” Tanner stood, opposite Delaney. “Why are you still here, Carter? Get the hell out of my office!”

  After Delaney had gone, Tanner sat again, looking disgruntled when he turned to me. “I apologize. That particular student tends to bring out my colors.”

  I shifted my chin in my palm, waiting for my official dismissal. I recalled having to sign something last time.

  “Look,” he said, “we have two weeks left of the semester—”

  “So?”

  “So,” he said, exhaling loudly, “I’m willing to make some concessions. I’ll tell you what I told your mother just now. I’ll talk to your teachers today and tomorrow morning. If any are willing to give you a grade for what you’ve completed, I’ll allow it. If it means you come back and take a final exam to get it, I’ll allow that, too. Just not during school hours.”

  I wanted to be pissed, but the guy was being decent. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because not everyone has the guts and intelligence to come back a fifth year, Sam. That’s why.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “You understand my hands are tied here, but I want to do what I can for you.” He grabbed a pencil and scrawled on a Post-It pad, pulled off a sheet and handed it to me. “Call this woman—Camilla Brown. She’s a friend of mine. She can help you out.”

  I looked at the paper and back to him. “Help me with what?”

  He shook his head. “Just give her a call. You want to graduate, don’t you? She’ll have more options than I can provide.”

  I blinked.

  “Your mother is one difficult woman to understand once she gets upset,” he added. “And I speak Spanish.”

  My expulsion would hit her hard. I imagined more panic attacks. Less time between migraines. Failed attempts to get her to eat. My own stomach felt like a vat of acid. “She’ll be okay,” I said, more to myself than to him.

  “I’ll call your mother tomorrow regarding the outcome of your classes,” he said.