Glass Houses

—Shane had convinced her—to do some home study and get back to class when she was better, and Monica had had some time to let things blow over.

The week slipped away. She fell into a regular routine—up late with Michael and Shane and Eve, sleep until noon, argue over bathroom rights, cook, clean, study, do it all again. It felt…good. Real, somehow, in a way that dorm life didn’t, exactly.

The following Monday, when she got up and made breakfast, she had to make it for two: Shane was awake, looking grumpy and groggy. He silently grabbed the bacon and fried some up while she did the eggs; there wasn’t any banter, as there had been between him and Eve a couple of mornings back. She tried a little conversation, but he wasn’t in the mood. He just grunted replies. She waited until he was done with his breakfast—which included a cup of coffee, brewed in the tiny little coffeemaker on the corner of the counter—before she asked, “What are you doing up so early?”

Shane leaned his chair back on two legs, balancing as he chewed. “Ask Michael.”

Can’t exactly do that… “You doing something for him?”

“Yeah.” He thumped his chair back down and brushed his hand over his hair, which still looked like a mess. “Don’t expect me to dress up or anything.”

“What?”

“What you see is what you get.” She just looked at him, frowning, trying to figure out what he was saying. “I’m taking you to class. You were going back today, right?”

“You’re kidding,” she said flatly. He shrugged. “You’re kidding. I’m not some six- year-old who needs her big brother to walk her to school! No way, Shane!”

“Michael thinks you should have an escort. Brandon was pretty pissed. He could find a way to take it out on you, even if he can’t do it himself. He’s got plenty of people who’d kick your ass on his say-so.” Shane’s eyes slid away from hers. “Like Monica.”

Oh, crap. “Monica belongs to Brandon?”

“The whole Morrell family does, far as I know. He’s their own personal badass. So.” He rubbed his hands together. “What exciting classes do we have today?”

“You can’t go to class with me!”

“Hey, you’re welcome to knock me out and stop me, but until you do, I’m your date for the day. So. What classes?”

“Calculus II, Physics of Sound, Chemistry III, chem lab, and Biochemistry.”

“Holy crap. You really are smart. Right, I’ll take some comics or something. Maybe my iPod.”

She kept glaring at him. It didn’t seem to do any good—if anything, it just made him more cheerful.

“I always wanted to be a big man on campus,” Shane said. “Guess this is my chance.”

“I’m dead,” she moaned, and rested her forehead on her hands.

“Not yet. And that’s kind of the point.”

She was afraid Shane would make a big deal out of it, but he didn’t. He even combed his hair, which turned out to make him look totally hot in ways that she was afraid to notice. Especially if she had to spend the whole day with him. He’d picked a plain white shirt and his best pair of blue jeans, which were still out at the knees and frayed at the hems. And plain running shoes. “In case we have to do any retreating,” he said. “Plus, kicking somebody when you’re wearing flip-flops hurts.”

“But you’re not kicking anybody,” she said quickly. “Right?”

“Nobody who doesn’t deserve it,” he said. “What else do I need to fit in?”

“Backpack.” She found her spare—she’d brought two—and tossed it to him. He stuck in some paperbacks, a PSP, and his iPod and headphones, then raided the cabinets for Twinkies and bottled water. “We’re not exactly going to the wilderness, Shane. You don’t have to take everything. There are vending machines.”

“Yeah? I didn’t see any lunch in that schedule. You’ll thank me later.”

In fact, she did feel better with Shane loping along beside her; he was watching the shadows, the dark alleys, the empty buildings. Watching everything. Even though he’d packed the iPod, he wasn’t listening to it. She missed hers, all of a sudden, and wondered if Monica had it.

They made it to campus without incident, and they were halfway across it, heading for her first class, when Claire suddenly thought of something and came to a full stop. Shane kept going for a couple of paces, then looked back.

“Monica,” she said. “Monica’s going to be hanging around. She usually is. She’ll see you.”

“I know.” Shane hitched his backpack to a more comfortable spot. “Let’s go.”

“But—Monica!”

He just looked at her, and started walking. She stayed where she was. “Hey! You’re supposed to be with me, not leaving me!”

“Monica’s my business,” he said. “Drop it.” He waited for her, and she reluctantly caught up. “She doesn’t mess with us, I won’t mess with her. How’s that?”

Wishful thinking, to Claire’s mind. If Monica really had gotten it in for Shane, even a year or two ago, and gone far enough to kill his sister, she couldn’t imagine any situation where Shane just walked away. Shane wasn’t a walking-away kind of guy.

The square concrete courtyard between the Architecture Building and the Math Sciences Building was packed with students crossing between classes. Now that Claire knew what to look for, she couldn’t help but notice how many of them had bracelets—leather, metal, even braided cloth—with symbols on them.

And how many students didn’t.

The ones who wore the symbols were the shiny, confident ones. Sorority girls. Frat guys. Athletes. Popular kids. The loners, the sideliners, the dull and average and strange…they were the ones who weren’t Protected.

They were the cattle.

Shane was scanning the crowd. Claire kept walking quickly toward the Math Building; she knew for a fact that Monica wouldn’t be caught dead—or killing anybody—in a place that geeky. The only problem was that the third building on the Quad was the Business Administration Building, and that was, of course, where Monica liked to spend her time hanging out, looking for rich boys.

Almost there…

She was actually on the steps leading up to the Math Building when she heard Shane stop behind her. He was staring off into the Quad, and as Claire turned, she saw Monica, surrounded by a clique of admirers, staring right back at him. The two of them might as well have been alone. It was the kind of look that people in love exchanged, or people who were about to kill each other.

“Son of a bitch,” Shane breathed. He sounded shaken.

“Come on,” Claire said, and grabbed his elbow. She was afraid he wouldn’t let her pull him on, but he did, as if his mind was somewhere else. When he finally glanced at her, his eyes were dark and hard.

“Not here,” she said. “She won’t come in.”

“Why not?”

“It would embarrass her.”

He nodded slowly, as if that made sense to him, and followed her to class.

Claire had a hard time keeping her mind on the droning lecture, which was familiar anyway, and she’d read far ahead of where the professor was teaching…but mostly, she kept thinking about Shane, sitting motionless next to her, hands on the desk, staring blankly into space. He wasn’t even listening to his iPod. She could sense the tenseness in his body, like he was just waiting for the chance to hit something.

I knew this was a bad idea.

It was an hour-and-a-half lecture with a fifteen-minute break in the middle; when Shane got up and walked out, she hastily followed him. He went up to the glass doors and looked out over the Quad.

“She’s gone,” he said, without looking at Claire. “Quit worrying about me. I’m okay.”

“She—Eve said she burned your house.” No reply. “And—your sister—?”

“I couldn’t get her out,” Shane said. “She was twelve, and I couldn’t get her out of the house. That was my job. Watch out for her.”