A car drove slowly by us and I yelled out, "Help!" as my eyes connected with those of the driver's, a woman. But she looked away and sped off down the highway.

Red Shirt's hot breath was at my ear. "Relax, pretty thing, I've got you. Feisty, aren't you? I just wanna get to know you. You kept running away from me at the bar. Let's go somewhere where we can get acquainted." His hand ran up my ribcage and cupped my breast, squeezing it harshly.

"No!" I screamed, kicking backward with my legs, connecting with his shins. He let out a pained grunt and let go of me. I whirled around, and struck with my fist, connecting with the side of his head. He released an enraged growl and struck back at me. Pain exploded behind my eye and I stumbled, off balance, my butt landing in the dirt, a whoosh of air escaping my mouth. I crab-crawled backward in the dirt as Red Shirt stalked toward me. I sprang to my feet just in time to see a car pull up right behind Red Shirt's and a man jump out of the driver’s seat. I turned to run when the man called out, "Tenleigh! It's okay." I whipped my head back around and saw it was Jamie Kearney walking toward Red Shirt and I stopped where I was, tears running down my cheeks as I heaved in big breaths of air.

Jamie was in my grade in school, his father was Edward Kearney, the man my mama had had an affair with.

"Hey, man," Red Shirt said, taking a step toward him. "We got this covered—" Jamie punched him in the face and Red Shirt went down hard in the gravel, not even breaking his own fall. I cried out, bringing my hands up to my mouth. I was shaking all over. As Jamie hefted Red Shirt up and carried him over his shoulder to his car, I quickly took stock of myself. My sweater was torn and hanging where Red Shirt had grabbed it, and my eye felt like it was quickly swelling closed. I brought my finger up to my mouth and when I brought it down, there was blood on it.

Jamie threw an unconscious Red Shirt into his still idling car and then reached in and pulled the keys out of the ignition. He leaned in and did something I couldn't see, and when he leaned back up, he was holding a pair of jeans in one hand and the keys in the other. He slammed the door shut and brought his arm back, throwing the keys into the forest next to the highway.

"You all right?" he asked, throwing the jeans over his arm and turning toward me.

I nodded my head shakily as he approached me. His lips thinned as he took me in, but he didn't touch me. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

I hesitated. I'd gone to school with Jamie for the last four years, but I didn't really know him too well. In fact, I avoided him whenever and wherever I could—I could only figure he didn't look too fondly on any member of my family, including me. He'd been there that day my mama had dragged us up his long driveway—the day his father had spit on us. I'd seen him watching us out the window as we'd turned away.

He watched me now as I hesitated and then he reached in his pocket, bringing something red and shiny out. He walked it over to me, holding it out so that I could take it from his outstretched hand. It was a Swiss Army knife.

"If I try anything that makes you uncomfortable, you stab me in the eye with that," he said, a glimmer of a smile on his lips.

I released a breath and smiled a small smile back at him, my racing heart slowing enough that I could get a full breath through my body again. I took the knife from him. I didn't say anything, but I followed him to his car and got in the passenger side. He got in and threw the jeans in the back seat. I glanced back at them, confused, and then sat huddled against the passenger door as Jamie pulled out onto the highway. I looked out the back window—Red Shirt still hadn't sat up in his car.

"What if he's dead?" I asked.

Jamie glanced in his rearview mirror. "He's not dead. He's just going to wake up with a big headache and a massive hangover . . . and he'll have to walk himself back to his hotel . . . pant-less." He looked over at me, and the side of his lip quirked up slightly. I stared at him with my one good eye, my own lip quirking up, too, as I pictured him walking along the highway naked from the waist down. But then my expression sobered.

"He could find out my name," I said.

Jamie looked over at me and then back at the highway as he turned off onto the road leading up into the hills.

"He won't bother you." He was quiet for a second. "I'll make sure of it, okay?"

I glanced at him. "Okay." I don't know why I trusted that he would, but I did. Jamie hung with the popular kids, the small group at our high school who lived in Evansly and had parents who were executives at the mines—the rich kids. I didn't know if he'd be considered "rich" by all standards, but by mine, he most definitely was. Our lives were legions apart.

I directed him up the hill to my trailer and when he pulled up in front of it, he sat staring at it for several moments. I was too achy and numb to care. In that moment, my little trailer looked good to me and I wanted to get inside and lie down on the small couch I slept on. I pulled the door handle and the door clicked open.

"Hey, Tenleigh," Jamie said and I paused, but didn't turn toward him. "This is kinda weird timing, but would you, uh, want to go to the prom next week? I mean, with me?"

I looked back over my shoulder. Jamie was good-looking—not in the same way Kyland was—but he had a nice face, a kind face, actually. "Thanks, Jamie, but uh, no. I don't dance, and . . ." I can't afford a dress or shoes and I'm kinda desperately in love with someone.