The fluorescent lights in the main office buzzed like an angry hornet.

Claire stood at the front desk. She handed a pink absence slip to the secretary. Her hands felt incredibly heavy this morning.

"I have an appointment at a private SAT prep center downtown," Claire lied. Her voice was steady, practiced.

"Of course, Claire," the secretary smiled, signing the bottom of the slip. "Good luck with your studying."

Claire took the slip and turned around.

She nearly collided with a solid wall of black leather.

Bishop was walking into the office just as the late bell rang.

He stopped. His dark eyes flicked down to the pink absence slip in her hand. His brow furrowed slightly.

He looked at her pale face, but he didn't say a word. He just stepped aside to let her pass.

By noon, the smell of sterile alcohol and bleach filled Claire's lungs.

She sat in a large leather recliner in the downtown oncology center.

A thick IV needle was taped securely to the back of her left hand. The skin around the needle was already turning a sickening shade of purple.

The cold, toxic chemotherapy fluid dripped slowly into her vein.

A massive wave of nausea hit her instantly. Claire gripped the padded armrests of the chair. Her knuckles turned white.

She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on breathing.

Three hours later, the nurse finally pulled the needle out.

Claire slumped back in the chair. Her entire body felt like it was made of lead.

"You need to eat something, sweetie," the nurse said gently, handing her a small cup of water. "You're getting too thin."

At three o'clock, Claire forced herself onto a city bus to head back to the high school. She had left her AP Literature notebook in her locker, and she needed it to study.

She walked onto the campus just as the parking lot emptied out.

To avoid running into any lingering teachers, she walked around the back of the school, cutting behind the old, abandoned gym equipment shed.

The weeds here were waist-high. No one ever came back here.

Suddenly, the heavy, sickening sound of a fist hitting a jaw echoed through the quiet air.

Claire froze. Her legs were too weak from the chemo to run.

She crept forward and peered through the rusted chain-link fence.

Two massive boys wearing rival high school letterman jackets were circling Bishop.

Bishop's lip was split open. Bright red blood dripped down his chin and stained the collar of his white t-shirt.

But he didn't look scared. He looked like a feral animal. His eyes were wide and filled with a reckless, violent joy.

He lunged forward. He grabbed the heavier boy by the waist and drove him backward.

They slammed into the brick wall of the shed with a bone-rattling crash.

The second boy grabbed a rusted metal pipe from the dirt. He raised it high, stepping up behind Bishop's blind spot.

Claire didn't think.

She bent down, grabbed a heavy rock from the dirt, and threw it with all her remaining strength.

The rock smashed into an empty metal trash can.

The loud, ringing crash startled everyone.

The two rival boys looked toward the fence. Thinking it was a security guard, they dropped the pipe and scrambled over the back wall, running away.

Bishop leaned heavily against the brick wall. He was breathing hard. He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

He turned his head. His sharp eyes locked onto Claire standing behind the fence.

Claire gripped the chain-link wire.

The adrenaline left her body. The nausea from the chemo violently returned.

She doubled over, clutching her stomach, and began to dry heave onto the grass.

Bishop's eyes widened. The violent rage vanished from his face instantly.

He jogged over to the fence, pushed the broken gate open, and stopped right in front of her.

He looked at her pale, sweating face. He thought she was having a panic attack from seeing the blood.

He reached out. His large, rough hand awkwardly but gently patted the middle of her back.

"Are you stupid?" Bishop muttered, his voice thick with frustration and concern. "What the hell are you doing back here?"

Claire leaned against the metal fence to keep from falling. She looked at the blood soaking his shirt.

She forced a weak, trembling smile.

"I got lost," she whispered.

A harsh beam of white light sliced through the dusk, hitting Bishop's bloodied face.

"Nobody move!" a furious voice shouted.

Vice Principal Alistair Prynne marched around the corner of the shed, holding a heavy black flashlight. He was breathing heavily, his face red with anger.

Bishop reacted instantly.

He stepped sideways, using his broad shoulders to completely block Claire from Prynne's line of sight.

"Get out of here," Bishop whispered harshly over his shoulder. "Run."

Claire didn't move. She knew Prynne had been looking for an excuse to expel Bishop all year. If she ran, Bishop was finished.

Prynne stopped a few feet away. He shined the light directly into Bishop's eyes and smiled a nasty, triumphant smile.

"Fighting again, Dalton?" Prynne sneered. "I caught you red-handed. The school board is going to love this."

Bishop's jaw tightened. He stood up straighter, preparing to take the full blame. "I was just-"

A small, freezing cold hand grabbed the back of Bishop's leather jacket and pulled hard.

Claire stepped out from behind him.

She widened her eyes and let her bottom lip tremble, perfectly faking absolute terror.

Prynne's mouth dropped open. He lowered the flashlight. "Miss Hansen? What are you doing out here?"

"It was an accident, Mr. Prynne," Claire said. She forced a tear to well up in her eye. "Bishop wasn't fighting."

Bishop slowly turned his head. He stared at her, completely stunned.

Claire pointed a shaking finger at the rusted metal pipe lying in the dirt.

"I was trying to take a shortcut," Claire lied smoothly. "I tripped over that pipe. I almost fell into that pile of rusted metal."

She took a deep breath. "Bishop was walking by. He grabbed me to stop me from falling, but he lost his balance and hit his face on the brick wall."

To sell the lie, Claire carefully pulled up the left sleeve of her oversized sweater just enough to expose the inside of her wrist, deliberately keeping the fabric gathered over the telltale needle mark in the center of her vein. She exposed the edge of the massive, dark purple bruise that covered her pale skin. It was the fresh hematoma from the chemotherapy IV she had received hours ago. She silently prayed that Prynne, a privileged administrator who rarely looked closely at anything, wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a medical hematoma and a blunt-force injury.

"He saved me from getting hurt worse," Claire whispered.

Prynne stared at the ugly, dark bruise on the honor student's wrist. He looked at her pale, sickly face. He believed every word.

Prynne frowned and looked at Bishop. "Is this true, Dalton?"

Bishop's eyes were glued to the purple bruise on Claire's wrist.

His chest stopped moving. His eyes darkened with a sudden, intense emotion. He swallowed hard.

"Yeah," Bishop grunted.

Prynne sighed, clearly disappointed he couldn't expel Bishop today. "Fine. But stay out of this area, both of you."

Prynne turned and walked away, his flashlight beam bouncing off the grass.

The second Prynne was out of sight, Bishop moved.

He reached out and grabbed Claire's left wrist. His grip was tight, almost painful.

Claire gasped.

Bishop pulled her arm up, forcing her to look at the dark purple bruise.

"What the hell is this?" Bishop demanded. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. "You didn't get this from falling."

Claire's heart hammered against her ribs. She tried to yank her arm back, but his grip was like iron.

"I bruise easily," Claire said, her voice shaking slightly. "Let me go."

Bishop stepped closer. He backed her up until her shoulders hit the chain-link fence. He towered over her.

"Why did you lie for me?" he asked, his eyes searching her face for the truth.

Claire looked up into his dark, angry eyes.

"Because you're a good person," she said softly.

Bishop flinched. He looked at her like she had just slapped him.

A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped his lips. The anger in his eyes turned into something cold and broken.

He dropped her wrist. He took a large step back, putting distance between them.

"Stay away from me, Claire," Bishop said coldly. "Don't play these games with me."

He turned and walked away into the dark, his shoulders tense and rigid.

Claire watched him go. Her legs finally gave out.

She slid down the chain-link fence and sat in the dirt, gasping for air.

She looked at the needle mark hidden in the center of the bruise. Her secret was safe for another day.

Monday morning brought a cold drizzle and the suffocating heat of the school gymnasium.

The entire student body was packed onto the wooden bleachers for the weekly morning assembly.

Claire sat in the middle row. Her skin was a terrifying shade of gray. The weekend chemotherapy session had drained every ounce of energy from her cells.

Willow sat next to her, loudly gossiping about a senior's breakup. Claire couldn't hear a word. There was a loud, high-pitched ringing in her ears.

Down on the gym floor, Vice Principal Prynne tapped the microphone.

"Before we dismiss," Prynne announced, his voice echoing loudly. "I want to address a disciplinary issue. Bishop Dalton, come down here."

The gym went dead silent. Hundreds of heads turned toward the very top corner of the bleachers.

Bishop stood up slowly. He wore a black hoodie pulled up over his head. He kept his hands in his pockets.

He walked down the wooden steps. He didn't rush. He ignored the whispers and the stares.

He reached the microphone. He didn't look at Prynne.

Bishop flicked the metal mesh of the microphone with his finger.

A horrific, piercing screech of feedback blasted through the speakers.

Students covered their ears and groaned.

"I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused," Bishop said into the mic. His voice was flat, bored, and entirely unapologetic.

Some of the football players in the front row booed. A group of girls whispered about the fading cut on his lip.

Prynne snatched the microphone away.

"This is exactly the kind of toxic behavior we will not tolerate!" Prynne yelled. "You are a cancer to this school, Dalton!"

Up in the bleachers, Claire's hands balled into tight fists.

She thought about him taking the blame in the classroom. She thought about him saving the boy in the alley. She thought about him standing in front of her to block Prynne's flashlight.

He wasn't a monster. The people cheering against him were the real monsters.

The anger flared hot in her chest. Combined with the toxic chemicals in her blood, it was too much.

A massive wave of blackness rushed into Claire's vision.

The ringing in her ears turned into a roar.

Claire slumped forward. Her body went completely limp.

Willow screamed. She grabbed Claire's shoulders to stop her from tumbling down the steep wooden bleachers.

The scream cut through the noise of the gym.

Down on the floor, Bishop had been turning to walk away.

He stopped dead. Willow's piercing scream sliced through the deafening noise of the gymnasium. Bishop's head whipped around, his dark eyes frantically scanning the massive wall of wooden bleachers. He saw the sudden commotion, a ripple of panic spreading through the middle rows, and then his gaze locked onto the center of the chaos. He finally saw Claire's lifeless body slumped against Willow.

Something feral and terrifying ignited in Bishop's eyes.

He didn't use the stairs. He vaulted off the side of the stage, landing heavily on the hardwood floor.

"Dalton! Get back here!" Prynne screamed.

Bishop ignored him. He shoved his way through the crowd of standing students. He moved with such violent purpose that people scrambled out of his way.

He took the wooden bleacher steps two at a time.

He reached Claire. He looked at her chalk-white face and the cold sweat on her forehead. His jaw locked so tight the muscle jumped.

He shoved Willow out of the way without a word.

Bishop bent down. He slid one massive arm under Claire's knees and the other behind her back.

He lifted her effortlessly against his chest.

A collective gasp echoed through the entire gymnasium. Everyone was staring.

Claire's head rolled against his shoulder. She could smell the clean scent of laundry detergent and mint tobacco on his hoodie.

She blinked her eyes open weakly. She saw the hundreds of faces staring at them.

"Put me down," Claire whispered, her voice barely audible. "Everyone is looking."

Bishop's arms tightened around her like iron bands. He looked down at her, his eyes blazing with a fierce, uncompromising heat.

"Shut up," Bishop ordered softly. "I'm taking you to the nurse."

He carried her down the steps and out the double doors, leaving the entire school in stunned silence.