The atmosphere in class after the office incident was different. Cas didn't put his head down. He sat up, his back straight, a silent, brooding presence in the back of the room.
Genesis kept glancing at him. His face was pale, a sickly, grayish color under the fluorescent lights. His lips, usually just pale, were completely bloodless.
She knew why. He hadn't eaten. Probably not since yesterday. Maybe not even then. The money he'd earned, the money he'd been beaten for, had gone to his aunt. He had nothing left for himself.
She had an energy bar in her bag. She could just walk back and put it on his desk. But she hesitated, picturing him pushing it away, the humiliation in his eyes.
While she was debating, she saw his body sway.
Just a slight, almost imperceptible movement.
Then he blinked, slowly, like he was trying to clear his vision. He put a hand on his desk to steady himself, but his arm seemed to give way.
In front of the entire class, Cas Riley slid silently from his chair and collapsed onto the floor.
A collective gasp went through the room.
Genesis was moving before anyone else. She was out of her seat and kneeling by his side in a heartbeat. She touched his cheek. His skin was clammy and ice-cold. His breathing was shallow.
"He hasn't eaten, he's fainting!" she said, her voice cutting through the panicked chatter. She looked up at a stunned Mrs. Gable. "Call the nurse! Now! He needs sugar, quickly!"
Without waiting, she dug into her own backpack, her hands searching for the chocolate bar she always kept for emergencies. She found it, ripped open the wrapper, and broke off a small piece. Gently, she pushed it past his lips, into his mouth, hoping some of it would dissolve and be absorbed.
A few of the boys started to move toward him, intending to lift him.
"Don't move him!" Genesis commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Someone go to the nurse's office and get a gurney or a wheelchair."
Her calm, authoritative presence had a startling effect. Everyone, including Mrs. Gable, seemed to follow her lead.
The school nurse arrived moments later, took one look at Cas, and confirmed the obvious. "Hypoglycemia. Severe," she muttered, assessing the situation.
They got him to the nurse's office, a small, quiet room that smelled of rubbing alcohol. Genesis watched as the nurse gave him a glucose injection. Slowly, so slowly, a little color returned to his face.
"Are you family?" the nurse asked, looking at Genesis.
"No. Just a classmate."
The nurse shook her head. "Well, you probably saved him from a seizure, classmate. Good job."
Genesis didn't stay. He would hate waking up to find her hovering over him, seeing him so weak. Instead, she ran to the small deli across the street from the school. She bought a hot grilled cheese sandwich, still warm in its paper wrapping, and a carton of milk.
When she returned, he was awake. He was lying on the cot, staring at the ceiling, looking lost and disoriented.
He saw her enter, and a flicker of his old defensiveness crossed his face. He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness made him sink back onto the pillow.
Genesis said nothing. She just walked over and placed the food on the small table beside the cot. "You're awake," she said softly. "You should eat something."
He looked at the sandwich, then at her. He opened his mouth, and she braced herself for the "get lost," for the rejection.
But it didn't come.
He just watched her, his eyes filled with a raw, unguarded vulnerability she had never seen before. It was confusion, exhaustion, and something else. Something that looked terrifyingly like trust.
He made a weak attempt to reach for the sandwich, but his hand was shaking too badly.
Without a word, Genesis picked it up, unwrapped the paper, and held it out for him.
He froze, his gaze fixed on the sandwich she held just inches from his mouth. A war was raging inside him. She could see it in the tightening of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes.
Then, slowly, he leaned forward and took a small bite.
He chewed, his eyes never leaving hers. The simple act of him accepting food from her hand was more profound, more intimate, than a kiss. It was an admission of need. A surrender.
For the first time in what was probably a very, very long time, Cas Riley was letting someone take care of him.
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