Chapter 2
The faint scent of fresh soap mixed with the subtle warmth of a young man surrounded me.
It made me feel safe.
It was Kellen.
The crowd grew noisy, whistles and jeers echoing all around us, but Kellen acted as if he heard nothing.
He carried me toward the infirmary with long, steady strides.
His back wasn't broad at all. I could even feel the line of his spine through his shirt.
Julianne ran after us, but she couldn't keep up with his pace.
At the infirmary, Kellen carefully laid me down on the bed.
He was drenched in sweat and casually lifted the hem of his T-shirt to wipe his face.
I turned my head away instinctively, but still caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye.
He was thin, but he had sharply defined eight-pack abs.
The nurse said, "We need to clean the wound and apply medication. Roll up her pant leg."
Before I could respond, Kellen crouched down beside me.
His long fingers gently wrapped around my ankle, slowly rolling up my sweatpants inch by inch.
His cool fingertips brushed against my overheated skin, sending a jolt straight up my leg and into my head.
I reflexively pulled my foot back, uneasy.
Kellen looked up at me, his gaze intense, his voice low and rough. "Hold still. This is going to hurt."
Julianne finally arrived, panting, just as my leg was fully bandaged.
She let out a long sigh of relief.
"Kellen, thank goodness you were here. I was so scared," she said.
Kellen stood, and the tension he always seemed to carry around me dissolved.
He reached out and ruffled Julianne's hair affectionately, smiling.
"See? She's fine. If you need anything, just call me. I'm heading out."
Before leaving, he glanced at me, nodded once, and walked away.
I sat there on the bed, my heart heavy and sour with envy.
He was the one who carried me, and the one who rolled up my pant leg.
But he probably did it only because he wanted to help Julianne take care of her friend.
He didn't care about being laughed at for carrying me, dead weight and all.
He must really like her.
I missed midterms.
My heart condition flared up again, and Mom flew me to Drayland overnight to see a specialist.
The doctor gave the same speech as always. My heart was failing. There was no miracle cure. All I could do was wait for a transplant.
Two weeks later, I returned to school.
Julianne handed me a brand-new notebook.
"I organized all the notes from the classes you missed," she said.
The handwriting inside was bold and sharp, nothing like her usual neat script.
"When did your handwriting change so much?" I asked.
Her eyes flicked away, guilt flashing briefly.
"I was rushing. It's messy. Don't judge," she said.
"Thanks, Julianne. I really appreciate it."
The truth was, I didn't need it at all.
I had private tutors for every subject.
But I still took that notebook home, treating it like a treasure.
That semester, we had gym class together with the students from the classroom next door.
Out of nowhere, a basketball came flying and slammed right into my back, nearly knocking the wind out of me.
"Oops, didn't see the walking meat mountain over there," the loudmouth from the other class said, sneering.
That punk from next door just loved picking on girls.
Julianne was just taking a sip of water when she saw what happened. She tossed her bottle aside and rushed over, demanding, "Apologize!"
"No way. What are you gonna do about it, queen bee? Gonna hit me?" the guy smirked.
He was smirking, tossing the ball up and down in his hand.
Suddenly, he swung his arm and hurled the ball straight at Julianne.
I screamed, panic taking over, and instinctively spread my arms to protect Julianne.
In a flash, someone darted right in front of me.
A heavy thud echoed.
The ball came to a sudden halt, just a few inches from my face, caught firmly by a large hand.
Kellen caught the ball with one hand, his 6'1" frame casting a shadow over me.
With broad shoulders and a wide back, he looked like a wall, more like a knight protecting his princess.
He shot the guy a cold glare, then flicked his wrist.
The basketball shot back like a cannonball.
It hit the guy square in the chest.
The guy was knocked flat on his back, lying there for ages before he could get up.
The whole place went dead silent.
Kellen's voice was icy cold as he said, "If I catch you bullying them again, next time, I won't aim for your chest."
I watched Kellen's back, feeling a wave of pride. He was way more built than he was at the start of the semester.
He was my boy, after all.
Even if I did raise him on beef jerky.
The next second, the gym teacher came rushing over.
He spotted the kid on the ground, who happened to be the principal's nephew, and without missing a beat, pointed at Kellen and shouted, "What are you doing? Hitting a classmate? Go stand in the corner until you own up to what you did!"