"He really saved you?"

"How was it?

"Is he cute?"

"What happened?"

These questions were thrown at me in the class where questions are a grade. I said one thing—ONE THING about my arm hurting and Cheyenne's response was: "You should've let Proliator heal you and we wouldn't have this problem!"

And thus, the crowd of people (mostly girls) that had questions inside and outside of the news' report about it.

"Excuse me ladies," Dastan said after directly walking in twenty minutes after class started. The girls fled back to their work—no rush since Mrs. Hayes wasn't here—and then Dastan finally looked at me. What; was he here to feel sorry for me? Because I didn't want his sympathy. He pressed his hands to my table and I noticed that his eyes were slowly calming down to a deep brown and his cheeks had pink to them as if he was out in the cool weather for a while. "Where the hell is my camera?"

That was just like him to only care about his precious, expensive camera. I leaned over to my bag and pulled out the camera in its case. He snatched it away from me. Usually when we exchanged with something, it wasn't that forceful. That meant he was in a bad mood, I'm guessing.

He didn't even glance down to the only thing people saw of me—the "Proliator's touch," the "proof of being a damsel in distress"...or the thing normal people refer to as eleven stitches wrapped in bandages. He just took the camera from me and gave it to the partners that worked on the sports section. Then, he started walking towards the door to leave.

"Wait," Cheyenne called for some reason. He turned around and asked her what she needed with a single raise of an eyebrow. "Where's Mickie?"

"How the hell should I know?" he spat and then exited. For Dastan to cuss Cheyenne proved that he was pissed off for some reason. And from the topic of the question and answer, I'm sure his mood had something to do with Mickie. Usually he'd charm her even further or use advanced sarcasm, but directly retorting to her question wasn't normal.

I helped Cheyenne with her article—well as much as I was allowed since apparently my dusty boots, ripped jeans, and country-fied shirts didn't exactly scream fashion. And then the class was over. Immediately as we exited, Hayden caught me around the waist and immediately started to search my face.

"Are you okay? I heard about what happened and I'm—"

"I'm fine," I said in sort of a laugh. He looked down to my left arm.

"You don't look fine," he muttered with a seriously worried voice.

"Well I am. It's nothing," I smiled. Did they forget where I grew up? I've been thrown off ATVs and horses and been pricked by barbed wire. Glass was nothing.

"I'm really sorry that I didn't get out of the rally fast enough to drive you home," he apologized.

"It's not your fault," I assured. "I just started to walk home when it ended."

"Don't do that ever again," a new voice said. I looked over to see Nik. He nodded his head and then I gave an apologetic look to Hayden before walking off with Nik. "You've got to stop walking around alone. This isn't Frankford."

"I know that," I sighed. "I meant to get a ride from Hayden, but I didn't want to wait for him to get out of the pep rally."

"I don't even know why you went in the first place," he said. That's when I paused.

"You're not my brother," I told him. "I don't have to explain myself to you. I get that you care—or at least I think you care, but if you're gonna be as bossy as Sebastian, then don't."

"I just don't want you getting caught up with Vega or Hayden," he confessed. That's what it was. I stopped walking and looked up to him.

"I'm not caught up with either of them; Hayden's just my friend and—"

"And that's the whole reason you're hurt is because of him—"

"Why is it that you're trying to quickly blame someone specific when it was just my fault, Nik?" I asked. It was me who tried to intervene. It had nothing to do if Hayden gave me a ride or not. Or if I only went to the pep rally because I had to. I'm pretty sure that if I—the victim—wasn't out to blame anyone but the frat boys, then no one else should be trying to pin anything on anyone else.

"Because you still don't seem to get it," he hissed and then walked away. What was that supposed to mean?

***

"Hey," I said to Hayden. He was, for once, sitting with his jock friends instead of me. I guess because they had a game today. They were all being loud and messy, but Hayden ordered them to quiet down so he could talk to me. "Would you mind going off campus today for lunch? I'm not really in the mood to have people question me about yesterday."

Hayden looked back to his friends, briefly, like something was wrong.

"I have to stay here because it's game day," he apologized. "But I'd like to take you out after the game."

"We're not going to the party?" I asked. I realized that I sounded hopeful at that.

"His attendance is required at a party," some guy at the table yelled. The others agreed, even though—from what I've seen—Hayden wasn't much of a friend to anyone. He seemed too strict about hating people to be such an important partier.

"We can go after," he said. I bit my lip. Now more than ever, I'm sure that I wasn't allowed to go to the party. But I had promised that I would go with him. Maybe I'd be able to go because there were more people there, so the chances of me actually getting hurt was rare.

"Alright," I smiled. I assumed he would turn away from me and go back to his conversation, but he actually stood and led me over to an empty table.

"So how's your arm?" he asked as we sat.

"It's fine...really," I answered with clenched teeth. Honestly, I was tired of people asking me how I was. That and asking about— "So I heard you met the Proliator; he saved you."

As much as I wanted to deny him "saving" me, it was true no matter how stubborn I was. I would probably be raped and discarded by now if he wasn't there...let alone how the pledges would be.

I still produced an uneasy smile and muttered a: "Yeah"

"What's wrong?" Hayden asked with a knowledgeable smile.

"Nothing," I lied. He gave me a specific look and from there, we both knew I'd clarify. "Ever since I got here, it's been about the Proliator this and the Proliator that, but I still denied his existence but then when we're face to face yesterday...it was strange."

"Oh?"

"Yeah...I think I made an enemy with a superhero," I confessed.

"Why's that?" Hayden asked.

"I was being stubborn towards him, even when he kept his composure—or at least tried to," I said.

"Why were you being stubborn towards him?"

"Because I don't believe in him," I admitted. "He's just some guy causing pain to others—"

"Who deserve it—"

"—and yet expects everyone to obey him no matter if it's from a beat down to getting healed," I finished over him. Hayden and I stared back and forth, his eyes throwing waves of defense for the Proliator. I didn't want me and Hayden to fight over something so stupid. And for that to happen, I'd have to give in because heaven and hell, alike, knew it wouldn't be him. "But whatever right? I'll never have to see him again."

"Exactly—"

"Hay," or maybe 'Hey,' Dastan greeted to Hayden. We both looked up to him.

"What the hell do you want?" Hayden growled. Whoa.

"I need to talk to you about something," Dastan said, obviously. When I thought that they'd both walk away, they both sent glares to me meaning I'd have to leave. "Alone," Dastan confirmed.

"Fine," I sighed. I started walking toward Cheyenne's table, mumbling "What's another burden on my part?"

"Hi," Cheyenne smiled. Nik only glared at Hayden and Dastan behind me. "What happened with you and Hayden?"

"Nothing. Dastan just ordered my peasant self away so he can talk to Hayden," I informed with a sigh and started to eat.

"Are you sure they're just going to talk?" Nik grumbled. I glanced over my shoulder and found Hayden and Dastan to be talking fiercely to a newly-arrived Sebastian. They looked like they were nearly going to fight.

And a few seconds later, a thrown punch proved the fight.