The bell rings, and the hallway empties slowly. You grab your bag, shrugging into your coat, but Rhonda’s already there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jacket over her shoulder like it’s her armor.

“You ready?” she asks, voice low, eyes scanning the hall like she’s daring anyone to comment.

“Uh… yeah,” you mutter, glancing around nervously. You both know this walk is supposed to be secret—no one can see you together.

She sighs dramatically, like she’s putting up with a lot of injustice in the world. “Good. Because I don’t intend to let anything happen to you tonight.”

The rain has started again. It’s light at first, misting the streets. She tosses her jacket toward you without waiting for you to react.

“Put it on,” she orders softly. “You’re shivering. I can see it.”

You fumble into it, the leather warm, heavy, and slightly too big—but perfect. She smirks at the way your shoulders slump into it.

“Better,” she says, stepping close so that your elbows brush. “You look… like you belong somewhere.”

You try not to let your chest feel too tight. “Thanks,” you whisper.

The walk is quiet at first, rain drumming softly on the sidewalks. But every so often, Rhonda glances at you. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t touch—but you feel her eyes, vigilant, protective, like she’s guarding you with her very presence.

Halfway down the street, a group of older boys laughs behind you. You stiffen.

“Relax,” she says without turning her head. “They don’t exist.”

And somehow, her words feel like a shield. You realize she’s serious. Anyone who tried to make you feel small would regret it if Rhonda were near.

A puddle jumps up as you step into it. She catches your elbow, steadying you without looking at you. “Careful,” she mutters. Then, softer: “You’re mine tonight.”

Your stomach flips. “Yours?” you whisper, unsure if she meant it seriously or teasingly.

She smirks without breaking her gaze ahead. “For the next fifteen minutes, anyway.”

You laugh quietly. It’s stolen, private, perfect.

By the time you reach your street, the rain is heavier. She drapes her arm lightly over your shoulder, leaning just enough to touch. “Almost there,” she says. “Stay close.”

You do. And even though it’s just a few blocks, it feels like she’s giving you the world.

At your doorstep, she hesitates. Her eyes flick from your face to the wet street, to the empty night. “You made it,” she murmurs. “No one touched you. No one looked at you wrong.”

You grin, heart still racing. “Thanks to you.”

Her smirk softens into something quieter, more vulnerable. “I meant it,” she says. “I’d do this… every day. I’d walk you home, give you my jacket, make sure you’re safe. Even if no one knew.”

You step closer, emboldened. “And I’d let you.”

Her eyes flash—briefly surprised, then steady. “Good.”

She lets her arm drop, brushing your hand lightly as she steps back. “Go inside. Sleep well. And remember—”

You grin. “Yes?”

Her lips twitch faintly. “I’ve got you.”

And for a fleeting, perfect moment, the rain doesn’t feel cold. The night doesn’t feel empty. It’s just you, her, and the small, electric promise of a secret that’s yours alone.