Chapter 17 — Bodyguards
Noah didn’t come to school the next day.
Neither did Iris.
The absence spread through the hallways faster than any rumor.
“Skipping,” someone said.
“Date,” someone else corrected.
“Suspended?” a third voice offered hopefully, as if the idea of consequences was entertainment.
I kept my eyes on my locker dial.
One twist. One click. One breath.
The confession wall post had quieted down, replaced by newer drama, newer faces.
But the feeling of being watched stayed.
It followed me through algebra.
It sat beside me in English like a shadow with teeth.
After last period, I packed fast.
Hands shaking only a little.
I timed my exit for when the courtyard was still full.
Noise meant safety.
I almost made it to the gate before two boys stepped into my path.
They were older—juniors or seniors.
Both tall.
Both wearing that casual confidence athletes carried like scent.
One of them held my backpack strap.
Not rough.
Not gentle either.
“Evelyn Lin?” he asked.
My stomach dropped.
I took a step back.
His friend glanced at his phone, then at me.
“Yeah,” he said, satisfied. “It’s her.”
I turned sharply, ready to run.
The first boy lifted a hand.
“Relax,” he said. “We’re not here to mess with you.”
“That’s exactly what someone who’s here to mess with me would say,” I snapped, voice too thin.
They exchanged a look.
Then the second boy scratched the back of his neck, suddenly awkward.
“Noah sent us,” he said. “He said you walk home. He said… you’re not supposed to walk alone.”
The words hit in the wrong place.
Not relief.
A kind of quiet humiliation.
He hadn’t shown up.
He’d outsourced my safety like an assignment.
I stared at them, trying not to let my face change.
“You’re his friends?” I asked.
“Team,” the first boy said. “Basketball.”
He lifted my backpack carefully, like he’d been instructed not to crease it.
“I’m Connor,” he added. “This is Mateo.”
Mateo offered a small wave.
Neither of them looked like trouble.
That didn’t mean I trusted them.
We walked.
They flanked me loosely—too far to feel like a cage, close enough to block anyone who came near.
When a group of boys on skateboards rolled past, Connor’s posture shifted without thinking.
A half-step forward.
Protective.
Noah’s habits, copied.
At the corner near my street, Connor stopped.
“That’s your house?” he asked.
I nodded.
Mateo handed my backpack back like he was returning property.
“You’re good now,” he said. “Text Noah if anything happens.”
I didn’t answer.
Connor hesitated.
“He worries,” he said, quietly, as if admitting it embarrassed him. “He just… sucks at showing it.”
I looked at the porch light.
At the warm square of window.
At the life inside that still felt borrowed.
“I know,” I lied.
They left.
Their footsteps faded down the sidewalk.
I stood at the gate a moment longer, watching shadows stretch under the streetlight.
Three shadows now.
Then two.
Then mine alone.
I unlocked the front door.
Went inside.
And felt, briefly, like a package delivered successfully.