The next day at school, I got cornered.
Again.
I'd been a target for weeks—easy prey. The kind of girl no one came looking for. The kind whose parents didn't care if she came home crying.
A group of girls blocked my way outside the bathroom. Lip gloss too shiny. Nails too sharp. Voices too loud.
"Where do you think you're going, little mouse?"
I clutched my bag tightly. "Don't come near me."
The leader smirked and stepped forward. I stepped back.
"I know Chase Donovan," I blurted.
That made them laugh—hard.
"Chase? Oh my god, she said she knows Chase Donovan! That's hilarious."
"Sweetheart, you know what kind of guy he is? And you think dropping his name is gonna save you?"
"I do know him," I insisted, louder now.
The leader tilted her head, pulling out a bubblegum-pink phone and snapping her fingers near my face.
"Then call him. Right now. Let's see if your imaginary boyfriend shows up."
I swallowed. My fingers shook as I pulled out my phone. I had his number saved. I just didn't know if he'd answer.
I called.
One ring. Two. Three.
Nothing.
Typical.
The second before I could hang up, I acted. I swung my bag hard into the leader's face and ran like hell.
They screamed behind me. I didn't get far.
One of them caught me, shoving me to the ground. I thrashed, kicked, bit—someone yelped.
"Crazy bitch!"
Then a bottle hit my head.
The pain was sharp and dizzying. My vision blurred. Hands grabbed at me. Someone laughed. Someone else said I was disgusting.
When it was over, I was left crumpled against the wall, bleeding and shaking.
My phone buzzed.
Chase Donovan.
"You called me?" His voice was low. Groggy. Like I'd woken him.
"Lia?" A pause. "You're crying."
My throat tightened. I tried to speak but choked.
"You got hurt?" he asked, sharper now. "Where are you?"
...
He came in under twenty minutes.
Still half-asleep, in a hoodie and sneakers. He knelt in front of me, fingers brushing the blood at my temple.
He smiled—actually smiled.
"What's so funny?" I glared up at him.
"Nothing. You just look like you picked a fight with a blender and lost."
"Jerk."
His hand was warm as it wiped my tears away.
"Who did this?"
I gave him names. Descriptions. Schools.
"I just don't want to be bullied anymore," I whispered.
"Got it," he said. "Let's get you cleaned up first."
He helped me up. I couldn't stand. I looked up at him with the most pitiful face I could muster.
He crouched, turned his back.
"Climb on. First time I've ever carried a girl, so don't ruin the moment."
I wrapped my arms around his neck.
"First time for me too," I whispered. "Not even my dad ever did this."
He paused. Then said, "Then let's count this as your first good memory."