It wasn't until the following morning I really understood the depth of the fear from my classmates. Weapons handling class sounded intriguing, but as Nancy and Enzo flanked me on either side and most of the rest of the class huddled on the other side of the room, I regretted not skipping it.

"Ignore them. Once they understand what's going on, no one is going to be blaming you." Nancy whispered, giving my arm a reassuring squeeze.

Before I could reply, a man marched in who looked the exact opposite of what I expected a weapons teacher to. Only a little taller than me and so slim it looked like a stiff breeze could take him out.

Salt and pepper greying hair was closely shaven to his head and matching grey eyes assessed us all quickly.

"Welcome to weapons handling, one of the mandatory classes here at Wyld Academy. My name is Quinn and I'll be leading this class."

Someone in the crowd laughed and Quinn zeroed in on them and raised a brow. "Ah, Mr Poysner, I taught your brother a few years back. He too soon regretted judging a book by its cover."

The nervous titters and whispers whipped through the crowd and it was somewhat nice to see someone else unnerving people as much as I apparently did.

He marched to stand in the centre of a large green mat and leaned on a box there. "Working with weapons here requires discipline, skill and dedication. If you're not willing to give that, then I may as well fail you now. Each of these weapons," he gestured to the wall behind him, which was adorned with more munitions than I had ever seen. Some I recognised, and others were totally alien to me.

I tuned back into his conversation as he flipped open the lid to the box he was leaning on. "A weapon should become an extension of your body, but first you'll learn how to handle one safely, and that's where these come in."

He held up what looked like a wooden toy sword that kids played with. As I leaned forwards with everyone else for a better look, I realised that it was, in fact, exactly what it looked like.

"How are we supposed to learn to defend ourselves against danger with a stick?" a student called out.

Quinn smiled slowly, "I'm so glad you asked. I assume you are volunteering to help me demonstrate?"

The sea of students parted and allowed the boy to move to the front, where he shuffled onto the mat, already looking like he regretted saying something.

"Pick a weapon off the wall." Quinn said patiently as he swung the wooden sword he was holding loosely in his hand.

The boy looked uncertain for a moment, before selecting an intimidatingly large sword. It dropped to the floor with a thunk and it took him two attempts to even lift it.

"Perhaps something a little lighter for you?" Quinn suggested patiently. "Remember, swords are just aggressive knives. Anything sharp enough can kill if you know how to use it."

I snorted a little at that. "And what? And guns are enthusiastic hole punches?" I muttered, half under my breath and making Nancy giggle.

Quinn's eagle eyes landed on us and pinned us with his gaze until we fell silent again. The boy picked a smaller blade. Although it was still the length of my forearm and looked wicked sharp, even from this distance.

"Take your place opposite me. Class, please count us in for three." Quinn said calmly.

We dutifully counted down and in a quick movement, the boy was disarmed and on his back on the floor, the tip of the wooden sword at his throat.

They held that position just long enough for the boy to gulp and his eyes flickered towards us, the look in them pleading for anyone to help. Then Quinn stepped back and offered the boy a hand to his feet. "Now we've got that out of the way. Are you going to listen to me and learn, because if not I suggest you leave now."

The collective intake of breath around us said our teacher had achieved his aim. Not only did no one leave, but we all stood a little straighter and hung off his every word as well.

The next forty-five minutes involved practising stances and slowly recreating the swings and

My arms burned as we slumped against the wall outside the training hall. I was relieved to see I wasn't the only one. Even those who handled their wooden weapons with confidence at the start of the session were sweating and stumbling out the door.

"I used muscles I didn't even know I had." Nancy groaned as she slumped onto the bench in the locker room.

"You had muscles?" I wheezed, fumbling with the lock and retrieving my bag.

"Pathetic." Ariana's disgust was palpable as she stormed passed, barging me into the locker.

I turned to throw back a comment, but she was already storming out and I didn't have the energy to chase her down.

"She's not worth it." Nancy said, leaning over to pat my leg in what I think she hoped was a comforting gesture.

"I'm aware." I dropped onto the bench beside her as other students filtered out.

Were we just particularly unfit, because my jelly legs just didn't want to move right now? "God, how are we supposed to do this every week?" I groaned.

"Maybe that's why we have study sessions after the class? They knew we'd be a mess. I guess we are first years. Maybe it gets easier the more we practise?" Nancy suggested, sitting up to rummage through her bag.

"Maybe. I don't think I'm made for this, though. This body was made for comfort, not speed." I joked.

It was amazing what a few days of regular meals could do. My body had spent so long getting used to skipping meals occasionally when bills were due, or if I forgot to eat. Now I was eating regularly, it was clearly panic-storing the fat.

"I have something for you." Nancy said softly, making me sit up.

Her hand was still in her bag as she examined my expression, and I frowned. "What is it? You don't need to get me anything."

I had never been particularly good at accepting things from others. I hated feeling like I owed someone. The look in her eye told me she knew this, but there was a determined glint too that said she didn't care.

"Don't freak out, ok? This is my old one. I didn't pay anything for it and I think you need one so we can all stay in touch." She said, slowly revealing the phone.

I stiffened, automatically wanting to say I didn't need charity, but she continued. "It's more for me than you, anyway. I want to be able to keep in touch with you. Text you random things. It's what friends do."

Her hand darted forwards and placed it in mine, closing my fingers around it and offering a hopeful smile that said please-don't-reject-it. It was a dirty trick.

I looked down at it quietly and as my finger brushed the screen; it lit up, revealing a background photo of us both grinning on the night out. I didn't remember it being taken, but I still smiled looking at it.

"Can you say something? I'm starting to freak out. You're never normally this quiet." Nancy laughed nervously.

I wasn't, but she had surprised the hell out of me. It was strange to think of someone even noticing I didn't have something. Let alone going out of their way to get me it.

I never really accumulated much in the way of personal items. In my years on the street, I soon learned that the less I owned, the less I had to lose, and I became a less interesting target as a result. Plus, with less to carry, it was easier to move from place to place. Expensive personal items like phones were a luxury I just couldn't afford.

"I-I don't know what to say." I whispered, still staring at the phone. At the lifeline she had given me to the outside world.

"Does this mean you're not mad at me?" She asked hopefully.

I shook my head. "I'm not mad at you. I surprised as hell and grateful and...just thank you."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Good, because I had a long list of other reasons to give you about why you should take it, but I can't remember them all so I would have had to check the notes on my phone."

I laughed softly, still a little in awe. "Maybe you can text them to me." I teased.

Nancy laughed and got to her feet. "Maybe I will. I've put in mine and Enzo's numbers for you so you can reach us anytime. How are things with Enzo now?"

I shrugged and got to my feet to follow her out of the room, safely stowing my new phone in my bag as I did. "Better? I think. He's more pissed off that I've been seen with Blake than anything else right now."

"And how do you feel about Blake?"

I tried to ignore her probing gaze. "I like him. He has got that darkness in him and a past to match, but I don't know. There's something else there, too."

"You like like him." She didn't ask it like a question. It was more a statement of fact.

It was a fact. I liked him and his strange ways and the mystery he wore like a mask to protect himself. He was like a puzzle to be solved and something about that pulled me in. Was this why girls fell for the bad boys?

"Maybe I do." I shrugged.

She laughed and bumped my hip with her own. "You're not the only one. Most girls either are terrified of him or want to be with him, some boys too."

He could be scary. I was pretty aware of that fact. But the scary was the good kind. The kind that looked out for others, even if he liked to pretend he didn't care half the time.

"We should get changed before our study sesh." Nancy sighed as we stopped outside her room.

"Sounds like a plan. Meet you out here in twenty minutes?"

She scowled, "You drastically overestimate my ability to move quickly after that class."

"Fine." I laughed, "Half an hour. Or I'm dragging you to the library in your towel."

Nancy let out a dramatic gasp of horror. "You wouldn't dare."

"Don't test me, witch!" I called over my shoulder as I headed for my room, "Tick Tock."

I heard Nancy curse as she dived into her room and snorted. I was still smiling when I pushed open the door to my room and felt it catch on something behind it.

Pushing the door shut with a frown, I knelt to retrieve the piece of paper it had caught on.

'Heard the Tucker Witch got you a phone. Text me' with a barely legible number scrawled underneath.

I knew immediately who it was from, though how he knew she had given me a phone immediately made me suspicious.

Dumping my bag on the bed, I pulled out the phone and typed in the provided number and fired off a text.

'How did you know I got a phone, Blake?'

The response came through almost immediately. 'How do you know it's Blake? This number could belong to any other impossibly attractive man who is interested in you.'

Before I could type a reply, the phone buzzed with the arrival of another text. 'No, you're right. There are no other attractive guys. It is me.'

My lips curved into a smile, and I shook my head at his antics. 'You're ridiculous Mr King.'