“Told you he was a prick,” he says.
I don’t laugh. After seeing Lance in class yesterday, I thought I could deal with him being around school, but that was more draining than I anticipated. It’s hard to see such ferocity in the face of someone you’ve been friends with your whole life.
My silence sparks Milo to say, “Just ignore him. He can’t do anything. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Inquisitor Moore said almost the same thing to me before he started my Inquest. I never believed him, and it turned out that he was dead wrong. The situation hasn’t changed that much for me, but I believe Milo when he offers the same reassurance. Inquisitor Moore couldn’t help me. There’s no reason Milo, whose talents are practically nonexistent, can help me any more than Inquisitor Moore could. Something deeper than superficial knowledge convinces me that he can. Somehow, Milo will make everything okay. Somehow.
“Thanks, Milo.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he says.
I smile up at him. In a strict sense, he’s totally right, but in more general terms he isn’t. “Yes, you did. And thanks for breakfast, too.”
Some kind of eagerness glints in his eyes despite his bored expression. “No problem. We ought to get to class, though.” He eyes the door Lance went through, and I swear he looks excited to follow him in.
“Milo?” I ask, my voice begging him to stay out of trouble. He may not be willing to help me out much, but he’s already made it clear just how little he likes Lance.
“Get to class, Libby. I’ll see you later.”
He gestures for me to get going and ambles over to the same door Lance went through. I sigh and walk away feeling certain my day is about to go from eggs-and-bacon happy to my-only-friend-and-my-ex-boyfriend-fighting-in-the-hallway kind of bad.
Chapter 10
Privilege
Nerves have me tapping my desk relentlessly as I watch the door for Milo. I haven’t heard anything in the halls or gotten any unusually threatening looks yet. That’s promising, I think. At the very least I feel confident one of them isn’t dead. I’m more worried about Milo on that front, but traitorous concern for Lance has cropped up a few times as well. It flares in me again. I shoved it out of my head right away, telling myself he deserves whatever he gets, but it is ridiculously hard to pretend seeing him dead won’t hurt me. I close my eyes and hope the general monotone atmosphere is a sign that no one got hurt. They’re both fine. Someone would have at the least blamed me if something bad had happened.
That’s a strangely hopeful thought. Or it might be if everyone didn’t fall completely silent as soon as they saw me. Ms. Hernandez stands up from her desk, ready to launch into another discussion about Perception that I doubtlessly know more about than she does. Her thin lips part to shush everyone as Milo saunters through the door, hands in his pockets, head bobbing to whatever he’s listening to on his iPod. Ms. Hernandez’s lips compress to the point of disappearing completely, but she doesn’t say anything to Milo.
Maybe his plan is working after all. That will make his day. Seeing him free of bruises or other injuries has already made mine. Milo slides into his seat, unzips his backpack, and pulls out a paper bag. Without a word, he hands me the bag and slouches down into his chair. His eyes close a second later.
“Milo,” I hiss.
Nothing.
“Milo, what happened?”
His eyes stay stubbornly closed, but Ms. Hernandez’s eyes snap to me like a predator about to attack. Her glare lingers only a second before she shivers and turns back to her lecture. She’s obviously scared of me, but unfortunately, I’m pretty scared of her too. I shrink down in my seat and rest my feet on the book rack under the chair in front of me.
“Eat,” Milo whispers.
“What?”
Opening one eye, he shakes his head and points at the bag on my desk. “Eat.”
I open the bag and peer into it. It’s not homemade this time, but a cold lunch from the cafeteria is better than nothing. Even though I put money back in my account this morning, I didn’t have time to get anything. “Thanks,” I whisper. But his eyes are already closed again.
As quiet as humanly possible, I take my lunch out of the bag and eat it while I listen to Ms. Hernandez recite the steps you should take to determine if someone is lying to you. She’s jumped quite a ways from yesterday’s painfully basic lesson plan. Discerning the truth of what someone is telling you requires first mastering the ability to feel another person’s emotions. That can take years to learn by itself. After that, you have to be able to untangle the web of emotions that surround people constantly, even more so when they’re trying to hide something. Then you need to be able to sort the individual strands of emotion to find what you’re looking for.
It’s a lengthy process for people who have spent years practicing, something none of the students in this classroom but me has had. I’ve done it so often I barely even have to think about it anymore. As long as I’m relatively calm and not too worked up to focus on my talents, I can feel lies on my skin like ants. Why she’s giving a lesson on this makes very little sense, but I actually find it rather interesting. She brings up some techniques I have never tried, being largely self-taught. The hour speeds by quickly, and the ending bell breaks Ms. Hernandez off midsentence. Despite Milo’s pretending to be asleep a few seconds earlier, he’s the first one out of his seat.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I mutter as I shove my things back into my bag. I catch up to him right outside the classroom and grab his arm. He pulls me along for a few steps until we’re clear of the doorway. The way he leans against a row of lockers and crosses his ankles doesn’t fool me. “What happened this morning with Lance?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Nothing, really, is a far cry from nothing. What happened, Milo?”
Milo sighs, but the smile creeping onto his face contradicts his irritation. “I may have said something along the lines of him being a pansy for trying to kill a girl.”
I close my eyes and take a very deep breath.
“I also might have commented on how embarrassed he must have been to have run away like a little wuss after he did it.”
“Milo…”
“And I may or may not have called him a pussy for dumping his girlfriend on her birthday.”
“Milo, you didn’t,” I plead. “Lance is going to kill you. You know that, right?”
His irritating shrug makes me punch him in the shoulder. It lands with enough force to make him wince.
“Milo, leave Lance alone. Please.” I’m begging him. I’m supposed to be some awesomely powerful person, and I’m begging. “Please?”
He slowly rolls the shoulder I punched then folds his arms across his chest. “Lance isn’t going to do anything. Guardian Clement put him on probation after he found out what he almost did to you. If he screws up on or off school property, he’s suspended for two weeks. It’ll go on his permanent record and screw up his chances of becoming a full-fledged Guardian.”
“So you were baiting him? Milo, that’s not a very good idea,” I say. “If Lance can find a way to do it without being caught, he’ll come after you. And he’ll win. No offense, but Perception isn’t going to do a whole lot against Speed and Strength.”
“Whether he finds some sneaky way to get to me or not, I seriously doubt he thinks I’ll let it slide. I’d have no problem ratting out a creep like Lance,” Milo argues.
My stomach twists uncomfortably, making my lunch want to lurch its way back up. “Have you ever seen him play football, Milo? He’s ruthless. There’s a possibility that if he comes after you, you won’t be doing any talking afterward.”
Mild surprise shows on Milo’s face, but it doesn’t last. “And why were you dating someone like that? I thought you had better taste.”
Like dating Milo instead? Shocked by the wave of excitement brought on by that thought, I smother it instantly. I have no idea how strong Milo’s Perception skills are. My voice sou
nds a little strangled when I respond. “That was before you so kindly enlightened me to his faults.”
“Oh, right,” he says.
“But that’s hardly the point, Milo. You can’t go around antagonizing Lance. He’ll hurt you. Badly.”
Dry as the desert sand, Milo says, “You know it’s almost insulting how much you doubt my ability to handle myself in a fight.”
“It’s not about doubt,” I say in exasperation, “it’s about talents. Your one talent won’t stand up against Lance’s Speed and Strength.”
I didn’t mean to hurt him, but Milo flinches at my words and his fingers subtly tug down the hem of his sleeve to cover his mangled diktats. My frustration melts into concern immediately. Of course it would be a sore spot with him having only one talent. Why did I have to throw it in his face?
Trying to apologize, I press my hand against his chest, like I often did with Lance, and feel his heart speed up at the contact. His muscles tense. I consider pulling away, but the hurt I caused him is still rippling across my skin.
“Milo,” I say hesitantly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” What do I say without bringing up his singular talent again? I can’t even apologize without making things worse. I start over. “I’m sorry, Milo. I didn’t mean it badly. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
The muscles under my hand release their tension. Relief floods over me, though I’m not sure whether it was all from me or from Milo as well.
“I’m not going to get hurt, Libby.”
“How can you possibly think that?” I ask.
He smiles in a way that makes me want to smack him without even hearing what he’s going to say. “Because, if Lance does come after me, I know you can take him for me. Why do you think I drive you around and bring you food? Some people might think I’m crazy for hanging out with you, but really, I’m just the only one smart enough to see the benefit of sticking close.”
He’s joking. I think. That couldn’t really be the reason he popped up because that would be crazy. I’m way more trouble than I’m worth. Either way, he’s a total jerk. I realize my hand is still on his chest…oops, and I take advantage of that fact, shoving him against the wall hard enough to make him grunt.
“You’re only proving my point,” he wheezes.
His eyes are laughing even if he can’t take a deep enough breath to manage the actual sound. Matching his earlier smile, I shove him one more time before letting my hand fall away. My fingers drop more slowly than need be, but only out of curiosity, I tell myself. He wears shirts three sizes too big, but there is definitely some serious muscle under there. I force myself to focus and brighten my grin even more. Milo looks at me warily. As he should.
“If you expect me to play bodyguard for you…” I say, although after feeling his chest, maybe my doubt was a little premature. “I think I deserve a little more than rides to school and food from you.”
“What did you have in mind?” Milo asks slowly.
My lips turn up wickedly. “Shopping.”
That one word, more than the threat of Lance attacking him, makes Milo’s eyes widen in agony. “Shopping? Seriously?”
“Deadly.”
“That might be more accurate than you think. I’m severely allergic to malls, boutiques, anything resembling a clothing store at all,” Milo groans.
I try to pout for him but my smiling gets in the way. “Poor baby. But that’s my price. Take it or leave it.”
For a moment I actually worry that he’ll turn me down. But only for a very brief moment. “Fine,” he says. His frown is only somewhat convincing.
I grin back at him, not feeling sorry for him in the least.
“How about tomorrow? We can spend all of Saturday shopping.”
“Fine,” he growls again.
Milo slips his hand onto my lower back, sending a shiver up my spine, and shoves me toward my next class. He’s by my side in an instant, though. Despite our newly made agreement, I get the distinct impression from the way his eyes sweep the hall that he still sees himself as my protector rather than the other way around. It’s so sweet, which is totally bizarre, but nice. Milo looks down at me and I redirect my thoughts before that line of thinking takes me somewhere I can’t afford to go.
I bump my hip into him playfully, and say, “If you’re a good boy this weekend, and provided you don’t go into anaphylactic shock at the mere sight of a shopping mall, I’ll let you help me pick out something even you will like.”
That catches his interest.
“What?” he asks. The eager glint in his eyes is delicious. What I wouldn’t give to know what he’s thinking right now.
I smile up at him sweetly. “A new car.”
His face breaks into a grin so big it very nearly reaches his ears. “Now that’s one kind of shopping I don’t mind at all.”
I just shake my head. “You’re such a guy.”
“And what’s so wrong with that?” Milo asks.
It’s an innocent question. But it hits home, stopping me in my tracks. Milo takes several more steps before realizing he’s left me behind. He turns back and frowns. Hugging myself, trembling, tears welling in my eyes, he must think I’m a lunatic. I think I’m a lunatic. Crying in the middle of a slowly emptying hallway. What is wrong with me? I don’t even realize Milo has moved until his hand touches my shoulder. I stare at his hand, watching as my tears splash down on his knuckles. This is so stupid.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Milo asks.
I shake my head. I feel like such an idiot.
“Libby…” His hand leaves my shoulder and touches my chin. I close my eyes and focus on the feel of his warm skin against mine.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Nothing…nothing. It’s just me being unstable again,” I say.
He pulls my chin up so I am looking at him. “That’s entirely possible,” he says, “but I don’t think that’s the problem right now. Why are you crying?”
My shoulders start shaking. “Lance likes cars, too,” I say, sending the rest of my tears over the edge.
It’s ridiculous to be crying over this. I hate him. I almost hope Lance does come after Milo just so I can have the chance to beat his superior smirk off his face. I could do it, too. But it still hurts to have lost him. Maybe Milo understands, or maybe he just knows what crying teenage girls need, but his arms slip around my shoulders, and he pulls me into a hug. My own arms unwrap from around my body and wind around him.
The bell for the next class rings, but Milo doesn’t pull away. I guess that’s one benefit of having a friend who couldn’t care less about his grades. Minutes pass by slowly, but eventually the aching betrayal gives way to the fact that Milo is rubbing my back in slow circles. And the fact that being in his arms feels so warm and reassuring that I never want to leave. We can’t stand in the hall forever, though. Missing his embrace before I even leave it, I push back from Milo and wipe away a few tears still lingering on my cheeks. And realize the rest of my tears have all soaked into Milo’s shirt.
“Sorry about your shirt,” I mumble through my embarrassment.
He looks down and just shrugs. “No big deal. It just gives me one more reason to bash Lance’s face into the ground.”
“I thought that was my job.”
Milo considers that for a moment. “We might have to draw straws for the privilege.”
Chapter 11
Betsy
The cashier practically throws my bags at me. Her vicious glare is nothing new. I’ve been getting those kinds of looks all day. At least she was willing to let me buy something. Others haven’t been so accommodating. I actually got thrown out of a couple of stores today. Even Milo looked like he might be getting irritated at the treatment after the last one. Where is he anyway?
I glance around me at the storefronts nearest me and spot him across the food court at an electronics store. That’s right. He was going to look for a DVD player so we could watch more than what the basic cable ch
annels in my room have to offer. I would go over and join him, but I have to use the bathroom really bad. I settle for texting him that I’ll be over in a few minutes and make a beeline for the nearest ladies’ room.
Trying to make my way through a crowd of people inexplicably gathered right into front of the bathrooms with a dozen bags gripped in my hands is no treat. I finally shoulder a woman out of my way and break through. As soon as I do a meaty hand clamps down on my arm. I smother my first thought—to take a swing at him—and turn slowly toward him.
I’ve never seen this man before, but the telltale signs of a Guardian are hard to miss. Big, muscular, evil, drone-like capacity for following orders. The blade strapped to his forearm is a pretty good clue too. He pulls me away from the crowd to a corner I’m sure isn’t within sight of any security cameras.
“Can I help you?” I ask through a forced smile.
“What’s in the bags, Cassia?”
“Afraid I’m buying Destroy the World supplies at the mall?” His mouth curls into a snarl at my sarcasm. I roll my eyes and hold my bags out to him. “You’re welcome to check them. All but the Victoria’s Secret bag. I don’t relish the idea of some creep fondling my bras.”
He clearly doesn’t appreciate my mocking. But he grabs my bags anyway. After searching them in record time he thrusts them back into my hands with a grunt.
“Disappointed?” I ask sweetly.
“You’re not fooling us.”
“I don’t have to fool you. I just have to not destroy the world and you have to keep your grubby hands off me. Unless you’re on Lazaro’s side,” I add.
“There are no sides in the Guardians,” he snaps. “That’s a lie.”
He seriously can’t be that delusional. “I was there. Howe said leave me alone. Lazaro said he’d kill me if he got the chance regardless of orders. There are definitely sides in the Guardians.”
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