Alicia left the homeroom walking on clouds, Slater Monroe’s words ringing like cathedral bells in her ears.  Habitually she clutched her binder to her chest and walked with her head down, avoiding eye contact with the mass of students that performed the dizzying ballet that was a class change.  To the small group clustered around one locker, she presented a ripe and easy target for a little hazing.  Dressed in a to-the-ankles skirt, wearing a bland brown Cardigan with a hole in one elbow and clunky but serviceable leather shoes, the group began to mentally tabulate the list of insults.

            “When did they start letting the bag ladies beg in the halls,” one blonde cheerleader-type sneered.

            “Looks like her hair was done in a blender,” said another.

            Alicia tried to ignore them and recapture the burst of excitement when Slater had called her beautiful.  Hunching her shoulders and hugging her binder tighter, she tried to slip by them.  A hand shot out and expertly knocked the binder out of her arms.  It hit the tile floor on edge and sprang open, papers flying everywhere.  The laughter made her ears burn but without a word, she knelt and began to gather everything in.  A hand touched her shoulder and she looked up into the eyes of Slater Monroe.  Her flush deepened to crimson.  Leaning over he offered her a hand and when she took it, pulled her to her feet.  Eyes still locked on hers, he pointed to the cheerleader.

            “You, pick it all up,” he said quietly.

            The girl barked a laugh.

            “As if!” she said.

            Almost reluctantly Slater’s gaze shifted from Alicia to the other girl.  It was like looking down the barrel of a gun and all mirth died instantly in the girl.

            “Yeah, sure,” she said.  “Glad to help.”

            She knelt and began to pluck papers from the floor.  Slater’s gaze felt hot on her back as she stuffed it all back into the binder and stood.  Trying for nonchalance she offered the mess back to Alicia but Slater intercepted it.  Their eyes met.

            “If you ever say another unkind word about Alicia, I will hear about it,” he said softly.  He swept the entire group with a steely look.  “Any of you.”  Dismissing them from his mind he turned to Alicia and took her hand.  “History, I believe,” he said to her.

            It took a moment for her heart to start beating again, and then she nodded.

            “Me too, as it turns out,” he grinned and her heart melted again.

            Behind them the small group stood with mouths agape.  Why would an obvious hot jock take up for a girl like that?

            “Must be his sister or something,” one said under her breath.

            “Obviously good looks doesn’t run in the family,” the cheerleader snickered.

            “Obviously brains doesn’t run in yours,” a female voice said.

            The group turned to find an elegant girl their own age with curly black hair and dark brown eyes glaring at them.  It took all a moment to realize the wall behind her was in fact the chest of the most massive boy any had ever seen.

            “I didn’t mean anything by it,” the cheerleader started to back away.  That was all it took and the cluster of girls scattered like cockroaches in sudden light.

            Nat’s rumbling chuckle made Wren smile.

            “In so few words thy tongue doth cut to the pride,” he said with a smile.

            “I don’t recognize that from Shakespeare,” she said looking up at him suspiciously.

            “Nah,” he shrugged.  “Some guy named Ryan.”

            “Are you getting all poetic on me?” she asked.

            “Don’t dance and poetry go hand in hand?” he replied, offering her his arm.  She tucked a hand into the crook at his elbow.

            “Doesn’t,” she said, correcting his English.