I peruse the unit notes on my laptop, tapping the end of my pen against my lip. This week, we're learning about conflict de-escalation among feuding parents. This unit is diving deeper and deeper into psychology with every passing moment, and I'm struggling to stay afloat. Psychology is not my best subject. I prefer the much more linear, fact-oriented social services classes, where there are fewer gray areas.

Thank goodness four out of the five professors whose classes I'm taking decided to give me extra credit for volunteering at the Mission, this class included. Considering I'm getting a degree in social work, volunteering with exactly the population I'll one day be employed in the service of, they felt they could pad my grades a bit.

I make a chart to better phrase the causes of conflict between parents and the methods I should use to address them. It takes some doing, as there is no such chart in the text. Just blocks of text.

I hate blocks of text. Put it in a diagram. Please.

I succeed in making my little chart, then spend the rest of class checking over the unit's PowerPoint to make sure I don't miss anything. Professor McClain hovers at my shoulder near the end of class. Her lectures usually only last ten minutes, then she lets us loose to finish assignments and notes while she wanders around to help. The perks of a very specialized class on a very specialized degree path include the fact that I am one of maybe fifteen people in here. She can give us all individual attention.

"I love how you format the information for your own digestion, but this isn't math, Audrey. There aren't formulas to memorize," she tells me kindly.

"I'm not trying to memorize it," I promise her. "I just worry I won't remember any of it if it's not in an easier format."

She pauses. "Would it help you if I formatted parts of the lecture differently?"

I look up at her, daring to hope. "Yes, ma'am."

She rolls her eyes lightly. "No ma'aming me. I'm not old enough," she jokes. Then she studies my little chart. "I'll take that into account when I'm editing the next PowerPoint."

"Thank you, Professor," I say with a smile.

"You're going to change the world, Audrey. I want you to remember me as one of the people who helped you grow the skills you'll use to become the president," she says with a wide grin. Before I can thank her for the compliment or argue that there are many people who would make a better president than me, she has drifted off to the next student.

Class ends. I already had my other two courses for the day, so I'm good to go home. I catch the bus and wave to Mr. Nelson before I find my seat. He chats with me about the fact that his dog just gave birth to puppies. Apparently, pure-bred French Bulldog puppies are quite a moneymaker.

I work on some homework before it's time to go to the Mission for dinner shift. I make myself a to-go cup of coffee and sip it on the bus.

I can't stop myself from thinking about Evan. Wondering about him. What is his story? How did he learn to play to guitar and sing like that? What is he doing in a Mission when his youth and kind heart could earn him a place at a relative's house?

I'm itching to ask him, though I can't help but think my curiosity is pathetic. A handsome stranger shows me respect twice and I can't get him out of my head.

I soothe my wounded pride by telling myself that I just want to get to know him.

I go through my routine at the Mission. Greet Tia. Put away my belongings. Wash my hands. Wave and greet the guests, volunteers and community service workers alike. I notice that Rainy has perfected the art of removing the pans from the wells. I give her a grin and a thumbs-up when I catch her eye.

Then a volunteer runs up to me. One of the church's: a quiet, polite teenage girl named Beth. She looks completely terrified.

Terror does not belong on this child's face. She was raised in a Christian household and works here at the Mission to show that her faith is more than just words. She gives her time freely to the people here. Fury lights my gut afire when I see how wide her brown eyes are.

"Lenny's fighting with someone on the third floor," she says. "He threw a book at me."

"Did it hit you?" Tia asks as we rush for the stairs.

"No. But it... it put a hole in the wall," she squeaks. This is probably the first brush with violence this poor kid has ever had.

Tia soothes Beth as I push open the door to the dormitory on the third floor. The church that owns the Mission urges female staff not to be in a room alone with any of the guests, but I'm not afraid with Tia and Beth behind me.

The dormitory is a long, huge room with bathrooms in the corner. There are thirty beds in here, but only two occupants because it's dinnertime.

Lenny is arguing fiercely with someone. It takes me a moment to recognize him now that he's furious and shouting. Evan.

I place myself resolutely between the two. "What is going on?"

"Audrey. Thank Christ," Evan says, catching his breath as he glares hotly at Lenny. "This asshole stole my equipment."

"It's mine. A friend gave it to me," Lenny argues. "Little punk-ass tweaker-"

"Lenny!" I shout, holding up my hand. "Enough. Let me see the equipment. And if you "accidentally" break anything, I will call the police and have you trespassed for vandalism."

Lenny shrugs. In his mind, he's already won.

He doesn't know that I've seen Evan's equipment, and can call him on his lie.

Sure enough, he pulls Evan's backpack and guitar case from under his bed. I recognize the mic stand tied to the backpack. I crouch down and gingerly open the guitar case. It's the same slightly beaten, cream-colored acoustic Evan was playing last night.

"I know for a fact these are Evan's," I say, standing up as I look at Lenny. "Stealing is against the rules. You need to leave, Lenny. Find somewhere else for the night."

Fury lights up in Lenny's eyes. I realize too late that his pupils are dilated. I realize too late that he's too close to me. I realize too late what he is about to do.

"Bitch," he spits, punching me in the face.

This isn't a movie. There is no celery-snapping sound effect. I don't go out cold. But the blow is hard enough to ring through my entire body.

I don't feel the pain at first. Just shock as the world flips upside down. I'm not sure which direction is the sky and which is the floor. I collapse back against the foot of his bed. My vision is blurry, but I hear shouts and sounds of a struggle. I clap my hands to the rapidly-growing burning on my cheek and try to get to my feet, but soft hands and sweet-smelling hair surround me.

"Just sit down, Audrey. It's okay," Beth's sweet, terrified voice says. "We have an ambulance coming, okay?" She gasps. "Tia, she's bleeding."

"Evan, hold him for a second," Tia's voice says. My vision clears just enough for me to see that Tia had been holding Lenny face-down with his hands behind his back. Evan sinks to his knees beside Lenny's form and pulls his hands farther up his spine, stretching the delicate muscles of his shoulders to the point of snapping. Lenny shouts obscenities. Tia looks back at them. "And don't break his arms!"

Evan's hold relents, but just a bit. Lenny continues hissing things that make Beth's eyes get impossibly huge. She's probably never heard such words in her life.

"Look at me," Tia says, holding my jaw gingerly. I feel something hot trickle down my chin and feel stupid for drooling. Then I look down and see a spot of crimson on my blouse.

"I'm going to look at your teeth, okay?" Tia says, pulling back the corner of my mouth. With a gentleness that still carries a perfectly maternal firmness, she runs her thumb across my upper and lower teeth on that side. "Nothing's loose. It looks like it's just your cheek bleeding. No missing teeth. Sit tight, okay?"

I nod, resting my head against the bed.

"Beth, go get Father Cooper and... and as many people as you can, alright?" Tia instructs her. Beth heeds her at once.

The room is still spinning. I feel nauseous.

I hear footsteps. Guests rush into the room, possibly alerted by Lenny's shouting or maybe Beth's mad dash downstairs.

"Hey! Did you hit Audrey, you piece of shit?" I hear the Hammond father shout.

"Oh, I'll kill you, you crusty son of a bitch," another familiar voice says.

"What kind of man hits little girls?!" a third demands.

And all of the guests, all of the people I feed, all of the friends I've made, the people I've waved at, all converge toward Lenny and Evan with rage in their eyes, eager to get revenge for me.

"Nope! No mob justice. We're giving him to the police," Tia barks authoritatively, squaring off against men twice her size. "Instead of standing around menacingly, why don't some of you go downstairs to guide the paramedics and police up here? Make yourselves useful?"

"I don't want to go back to jail," Lenny cries into the hardwood.

"Should've thought of that before you assaulted someone," Evan mutters.

Police and paramedics arrive. One holds a flashlight to my eyes while they ask me all kinds of questions. What year it is, what month, what day? What did I eat for breakfast? What's my name?

I'm tentatively diagnosed with a concussion. They ask if I live alone. When I say that I do, they recommend I come to the hospital for observation.

My skin crawls. I hate hospitals.

I shake my head. "My dad lives in the state, he can be here in just a few hours-"

"You need someone to watch over you. Make sure you don't develop any more symptoms," one of the paramedics tells me. "We can't let you go home alone."

"I can go with you," Tia offers. I manage a grateful smile. "Stay with you until your dad gets there." She looks up at the paramedics. "Would that be okay?"

They agree and talk to her, giving her instructions. But my gaze is pulled away from this scene and to another.

Evan looks like he's on the verge of being arrested by two police officers, who question him suspiciously.

I stand up. Tia and the paramedics protest this, but I brush past them to speak with the officer closes to me. "Evan didn't do anything to Lenny," I say. "Tia was the one who knocked Lenny down. She told Evan to hold him so she could make sure I was okay."

Tia hears me say her name and steps into the group. "Yeah, Evan only touched Lenny because I told him to. I was the one who tackled him away from Audrey."

The officers are clearly dubious of this. Tia is a slim woman of average height. In their eyes, it's much more likely that Evan tackled Lenny.

"Um... they're telling the truth," another voice peeps. Beth joins by my side. "Evan didn't do anything."

Faced down by three volunteers of the shelter who proclaim Evan's innocence, the officers visibly relent. For a moment I worry that they'll charge Tia for tackling Lenny, but they walk away without a word about it.

Yeah. Big difference between a homeless man tackling a person and a well-to-do woman tackling a person.

When the officers aren't paying attention anymore, Evan's gaze meets mine.

Thank you, he mouths.

I nod. The world spins.

"Okay, you got your heroism out of you for the night?" Tia asks, putting her arm around my shoulders. "Come on. Beth, will you go grab her stuff? She puts it in the locker closest to the door."

Tia ushers me past the throngs of people, guiding me with both hands on my skin, brimming with protectiveness. She guides me down the parking garage built underneath the first floor, and into her car. It's frigid in here, but she starts the engine and turns the heater on.

Beth runs down, her arms full of my things. I take them gratefully. "Thank you, Beth," I say. I see that she's crying. Her tears break my heart. "It's okay, Beth. Come here."

She leans down into the passenger's seat and gives me a hug. I hold her tightly, brushing her soft, sweet-smelling hair with my fingers. "It's okay. I'm fine," I say. She pulls away and I give her a big grin. "Just make sure everyone else gets fed, okay? Don't worry about me. Tia will take care of me."

Beth nods, sniffling and wiping her eyes. "Get better, okay?"

I nod. "I will."

Beth squeezes my hand before she closes the door. She waves us good-bye as Tia pulls out of the parking garage.

"Thank you, Tia," I mumble, laying back against the headrest. "I hate hospitals."

Now, Tia says something back to me. But I don't hear the reply properly. It rattles around in my head like the prism in a magic 8 ball.

"What was that?" I ask.

She glances at me, the light of a streetlamp throwing her worried expression into full relief. "I said, don't worry, okay? I'm taking care of you. What's your address?"

I recite my address and watch as the dark evening passes me by from the window.

Tia parks out front, then helps me to my apartment. She looks away while I change into pajamas, then tucks me into bed.

"Thank you," I murmur sleepily, snuggling into my pale pink pillow.

"You're welcome. Don't worry about anything, okay? You're safe. I'm taking care of you."

Don't forget to vote, comment and share!