Certain tables belonged to certain people.
Certain hallways were not for freshmen between classes.
Certain students gave up seats when he wanted them.
If Damon told someone to move, they moved.
If he took food off somebody’s tray, nobody complained.
If he made a joke at someone’s expense, people laughed.
Not always because it was funny.
Often because laughing was safer.
Lyanna knew none of those rules.
That was her first mistake.
Her second was sitting at the wrong lunch table.
It was near the windows, away from the cafeteria crowd.
That was why she chose it.
She had been eating for less than two minutes when three boys approached.
Damon stood in the middle.
“This table’s taken.”
Lyanna looked at the empty chairs.
“Nobody’s sitting here.”
A few students nearby heard her.
Conversations quieted.
Damon smiled.
“I’m telling you somebody is.”
Lyanna lowered her eyes.
“All right.”
She picked up her tray.
That should have ended it.
But Damon had heard something he disliked in her voice.
Not disrespect.
Indifference.
Lyanna was not afraid of him yet.
For Damon, that was worse.
He kicked one leg of her chair as she stood.
The chair snapped sideways.
Lyanna lost balance.
Her tray hit the floor.
Milk spilled.
Mashed potatoes slid beneath another table.
A plastic plate spun twice before stopping.
Laughter exploded around them.
Lyanna froze.
The noise changed.
It was no longer Ridgewood.
For one terrible second, she was thirteen again in another school, watching a boy discover a photograph of Shadow on her phone.
Panther Girl.
Freak.
Animal Girl.
People surrounding her.
Phones recording.
Teachers asking questions.
Her mother packing boxes three weeks later.
Not again.
Please.
Not again.
Damon leaned closer.
“If I tell you a seat’s taken, it’s taken.”
Lyanna stared at the floor.
“Okay.”
“Say you understand.”
Her hands shook.
“I understand.”
“Good.”
He smiled at his friends.
Then walked away.
Nobody helped her.
Not immediately.
Students stepped around spilled food.
Some watched.
Some pretended not to.
Then a thin boy with glasses hurried over from another table.
He crouched and began collecting plastic utensils.
“You don’t have to do that,” Lyanna whispered.
“Neither do you.”
She looked at him.
He wore an oversized Ridgewood robotics shirt and had curly brown hair that seemed permanently confused about gravity.
“My name’s Leo.”
Lyanna picked up her cup.
“Lyanna.”
“I know.”
Her expression tightened.
He realized how that sounded.
“Attendance. Second-period biology. Mrs. Grant said your name.”
“Oh.”
Leo lowered his voice.
“Damon does that.”
“What?”
“Decides things belong to him.”
Lyanna glanced toward Damon’s table.
He was laughing loudly.
Two students were still looking in her direction.
“Then let him.”
Leo frowned.
“You don't deserve it.”
“I don't care.”
“Yes, you do.”
Lyanna looked at him.
Leo’s voice softened.
“Everybody cares.”
Something in her chest moved.
It had been a long time since a stranger had defended her without wanting something.
She picked up the last napkin.
“Thank you.”
Leo shrugged.
“I mostly came over because I hate mashed potatoes.”
Despite herself, Lyanna almost smiled.
Leo noticed.
He smiled too.
That tiny exchange changed more than either of them understood.