Page 7 of Bad For A Weekend

It’s been two weeks since I started my job in their home, but this is the first time I’m taking Baylor to school. She needed time to recover, so she did her schoolwork virtually. During that time, I upgraded their home’s security and learned their routines. Baylor mostly stayed in her room, so this is also the first time we’re interacting one on one.

Hearing motion from the backseat, I glance in the rearview to see her fidgeting with her backpack. Anxiety about returning to school is coming off her in waves. I almost ask her if she’s okay, but then I remember it’s not my place.

This is different from working in schools where my job on paper was security, but that didn’t even begin to cover what it actually entailed. I was an ally, a stand-in parent, and a trusted counselor to kids who didn’t necessarily have that at home. It was an aspect of the job that was as rewarding as it was challenging.

Some of my kids had shit home lives that resulted in their behavior. Unfortunately, I saw more of them fail than succeed, and I took it hard when I thought a student was making progress, only to learn they fucked up again. In a lot of ways, I felt responsible for them.

Especially with Ryan. I’ll never forgive myself for not helping him enough. I clear his face from my mind. Thinking about him triggers me, and I can’t be triggered right now. So instead, I think about all the students who would see me out in the world and tell me what a difference I made in their lives.

I lived for those moments. They made it all worth it.

Until they didn’t.

My job isn’t about any of that anymore, though. My job is to keep Baylor safe. That’s it. I won’t be asking her questions. I won’t be getting to know her. I won’t be anything but a protective shield for her.

“Baylor,” she corrects belatedly. “Call me Baylor.”

I tip my chin, glancing at her in the rearview briefly before returning my focus to the road. Until this morning, she didn’t bother covering up the injuries to her face, neck and arms, but today her skin looks flawless. She must’ve had a busy morning covering up the healing bruises marring her pale skin. But it’s a bummer she had to cover her freckles to hide the green and yellow marks. They’re cute, but she looks much older than eighteen without them. At least until you see her school uniform.

It makes all the porn I’ve watched with that particular kink feel even sleazier.

“You’re picking up Ziggy, right?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s good.” Her uninjured foot bounces frantically.

Minutes later, we reach an iron gate, much like the one at the Giles’ home residence. These people live in a whole other world than the one I came from. It’s wild to me that while there are kids a matter of miles away without food on their tables, these kids have bodyguards for drivers and haven’t seen a day of financial struggle in their lives.

It should piss me off, but it doesn’t. I’m happy to see kids who have the privilege of just being kids. That’s how they all should have it. I guarantee the world wouldn’t be as fucked today if they did.

Once Ziggy is in the backseat, Baylor relaxes. During her hiatus from school, this kid was at her house every day. Most of the time in her room with the door shut, but Corey didn’t seem to have any reservations about it. My parents didn’t have that kind of trust in Hudson and me.

Yet, I can’t quite figure Baylor and Ziggy out. They’re not affectionate like a boyfriend and girlfriend would be at that age, so maybe they’re just friends. But in my experience, teenage boys don’t hang out with chicks they don’t want to bang. Unless he’s gay?

Could be that he has no game. Seems highly unlikely for the lovechild of Criminal. Of course I did a background check on the kid and his parents. There’s no such thing as being overly cautious when there are active threats against the girl. Which is what I’m tackling today. There are thousands of emails Hudson’s IT team and I need to sift through.

“Maybe it’s too soon to go back,” Baylor says. I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but what the hell else am I supposed to do while sitting in L.A. traffic?

“What are you worried about?” Ziggy asks.

“Everyone will be talking about me behind my back and breaking their necks to get a look at the girl who was abducted.”

“You’re giving our classmates too much credit. The kids we go to school with are too self-absorbed and jealous of the attention you’ve received in the media to care about how you look.” Ziggy drapes an arm around Baylor, and she snuggles into him.

Maybe he has game after all.

“Promise you won’t leave my side.”

“Do I ever anyway?”

“Good point.”

I tune out after that, and thirty minutes later, we arrive at Watson Sacks Academy, otherwise known as the premiere high school for rich kids of L.A. I’m pleased when my ID is checked at the gate before I can pull to the front of the school for drop-off.

The safety measures don’t stop there either. I immediately spot security walking the grounds and cameras pointing in every direction. That makes me feel better about leaving her here unattended.

Putting the SUV in park, I retrieve Baylor’s crutches out of the back before opening her door. She takes the hand I offer, and I hold it tight as she swings her legs out the side. But the kid is short, barely over five feet, and she’d have to jump to reach the ground. Not something she should be doing with her bum ankle.

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