Rak
I stared at the crumpled map in my hands like it was written in ancient hieroglyphs. Seriously, who designed this place? It's not a campus; it's a concrete labyrinth designed specifically to make me look like a total lost puppy.
I've passed the same weirdly shaped fountain three times now. Or maybe there are just three identical fountains? Great. My first day and I'm already destined to be "that girl" who walks into Intro to Psych twenty minutes late with a face the color of a tomato.
The buildings all look the same—just endless bricks and glass. I checked my phone again. Building C, Room 402. I'm currently standing in front of something called "The Hall of Sciences," which is definitely not Building C.
"Ugh, come on," I muttered, spinning in a slow circle. I'm officially a university student and I can't even find a door.
I was mid-scroll when—thwack.
My forehead slammed right into something solid. Like, "hitting a brick wall" solid, except the wall was wearing a denim jacket.
"Oh!" I gasped, my heart doing a literal backflip. I jumped back so hard I almost tripped over my own sneakers, but my hand—my traitorous, clumsy hand—decided to lose its grip.
In slow motion, my plastic cup tilted. A waterfall of peach-flavored tea and half-melted ice cubes dumped directly onto the stranger's very clean, very expensive-looking white sneakers.
The silence that followed was terrifying. I just stood there, clutching my empty cup, staring at the soggy mess on the pavement. Please let the ground open up and swallow me whole right now.
"I am so, so sorry," I squeaked, my voice hitting a pitch only dogs could hear. "I wasn't looking, and the map, and—oh god, your shoes."
"Watch where you're going," a sharp, icy voice snapped.
I snapped my head up, my apology dying in my throat. Standing right there was a girl with hair like a sheet of ink and eyes so dark they looked like bottomless pits. She looked like she wanted to delete me from existence.
"H-huh?" I managed, my brain short-circuiting.
But then, my gaze shifted just an inch past her shoulder, and the world slowed down.
Standing right behind the girl with the black hair was her. The girl who had been living rent-free in my head for months. Lin Yan. She was staring at me, those cold eyes catching a flicker of warm, light-brown honey in the sunlight. She didn't say a word, but her stare was so intense I felt like I was being dissected under a microscope.
Before I could even breathe, a hand shoved my shoulder, hard. I stumbled back, my sneakers squeaking on the pavement as I barely kept my balance.
"Do you know how much these shoes cost?"
A guy was looming over me now—tall, with olive skin and dark, messy hair. His face was twisted in a sneer that made my stomach drop. "You would have to sell your damn kidneys to buy them back for her!"
He yelled it loud enough for the entire courtyard to hear. Suddenly, I wasn't just a lost freshman; I was the girl who had just committed a social crime. I could feel the heat creeping up my neck, turning my face a deep, humiliating red, as a circle of strangers began to slow down and stare.
Lin Yan didn't just stand there. She moved. She stepped toward me, her shadow falling over my sneakers like a shroud. Up close, that honey-gold light in her eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, flat indifference that was somehow scarier than the guy's yelling.
"Clean them," she said. Her voice was low, melodic, and terrifyingly calm.
My brain stalled. "Clean them? I—I'm so sorry, but how—"
I didn't get to finish. Before I could even blink, her hand shot out, her fingers twisting into my hair with a sudden, violent grip. She jerked my head down, forcing me toward the pavement. I sucked in a sharp, jagged breath, my teeth clenching to keep a scream from tearing out of my throat. The scalp-searing pain was dizzying, but the weight of her hand holding me down was worse.
"I said," Lin Yan leaned down, her breath cold against my ear, "clean my shoes."
The girl with the ink-black hair let out a sharp, mocking laugh and flicked a wad of cheap, scratchy cafeteria napkins at my face. They hit my nose and fluttered to the ground, landing in the puddle of sticky peach tea.
"Get to work, freshman," the guy sneered, crossing his arms.
I stayed there, forced onto my knees in the middle of the concrete. My vision blurred, and when I looked up, I didn't see a single person stepping forward to help. Instead, I saw a sea of glowing smartphone screens. A dozen lenses were pointed at me, capturing every second of my soul breaking. The red 'recording' dots felt like tiny laser sights aimed at my forehead.
Biting my lip until I tasted salt, I reached for the soggy napkins. My hands shook so hard I could barely grip the paper. I felt the grit of the pavement against my palms and the weight of Lin Yan's gaze on the back of my neck as I began to scrub the sticky brown stain off her white leather shoes. Each wipe was a fresh wave of heat in my chest, a silent plea for the earth to just crack open and take me.