THE GREAT CAMPUS ESCAPE
THYME'S POV (Age 18):
Khun Ahan Yimgin.
My full name. From her mouth. She knew my full name? My full name, no less?
The question reverberated in my mind, and the crowd of girls felt less like a fan group and more like an interrogation team. This was by design.
I forced my lips into a smile, though my fists were at my sides. "Yes, that's me. Can I help you?" Just be nice. Smile. Perhaps they'll leave me alone.
"'Thyme, are you trying to escape us?' Dom's loud, slightly irritated voice sounded from behind me. His footsteps stopped as if cut off. 'Whoa,' he breathed, his cheerful tone vanishing in an instant as he clearly took in the literal wall of angry girls facing me.
The self-appointed leader, her arms crossed firmly, waved him off and bluntly said, "Are you Meta's Boyfriend?""
The question struck me like a gut punch. Are they serious?
"No, I'm not!" The denial leapt from my mouth, probably too hastily.
"I don't think so," another girl cut in, her tone shrill and frosty. "Meta only has three friends, and they're all in Engineering."
"I." How could I possibly say this? I couldn't tell a bunch of strangers the embarrassing truth.
"Right she is!" another of them chimed in, holding out a finger in my direction. "We're fans of Meta since high school. We've never seen you. What's your history with him?"
They all seemed to bend forward, their faces a swirl of angry eyes and pursed lips, the questions slicing in sharper, like little needles piercing my skin.
"I'm not his b—" I tried again, but they were closing in, their combined weight sucking oxygen from my lungs. They were starting to scare me.
I decided on the spot. I grabbed Dom's sturdy arm and Lance's smaller one.
"Sorry, guys, help me!" Grabbing them with a strength born of raw panic, I dragged them along – I saw the flash of surprise, maybe annoyance, on both their faces – using them as a clumsy human shield between me and the girls, and then took off.
"Hey! Don't be a coward!" a chorus of angry shouts bellowed after me.
Shit, they were fast. What do these girls eat for breakfast? They were keeping up with me. As I couldn't help but think that things couldn't get any worse, I spotted them: another group hanging around outside my faculty building. My own fan club. Their expressions weren't scowling like the girls', but had that eerie, fanatical hope that always made my skin prickle.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath, thinking furiously. What do I do? What do I do?
"That's Thyme, guys!" one of them yelled, his voice far too loud and over-the-top. They saw me.
Now both packs of them were running, closing in on both sides. I was the target in a game of tag acted out on the campus without my permission. I wasn't going to try parkour today, but I was actually considering it.
I spotted the football field—a huge expanse of green. Open space. Go.
I sprinted towards the chain-link fence and leapt over it, trying to slow them down. No luck. A few of them deviated to search for an alternate course and others, seemingly in a state of utter incredulity, simply climbed up the fence right behind me, their enraged shouts echoing over the field. My loyal fans were hot on my tail, a strange mix of excited and stalker-like, but all of them pleasantly fit.
I wove and dodged through a football practice, players scrambling out of the way in bewilderment.
"Move!" I yelled, my voice cracking.
They stared at me like I was insane, which was an improvement over whatever buzz there had been. Then, out of the pandemonium, I spotted him. The reason behind it all. Meta.
He was dressed in a soccer uniform, jogging easily across the field with the team. Of course he was. Amidst the chaos that I was unleashing, he was completely, maddeningly calm, as if taking an easy practice, blissfully oblivious. It just made me angrier. My first impulse was to stop and scold him, but the roar of the crowd behind me was a very good reminder that I must keep going. He saw me. His still too-bright eyes widened marginally. "Hey, Snotty Kid, what do you think you're doing here?" he bellowed out, his voice sounding so frustratingly careless like he hadn't just witnessed the stampede nearly breathing down my back.
"No time to explain!" I shouted, and in pure impulse, I wrapped my hand around his arm. He felt like boulder. I pulled him with all my strength. "Run!"
"'Wait! What are you—' He tried to toughen himself up, struggling against my pull, but then he looked beyond my shoulder, his eyes slightly widening as he saw the stampede. For a moment, his usual bored haughtiness dropped away, being replaced by an expression of dawning realization—maybe even genuine alarm—struggling in his eyes."
And then he was running alongside me, keeping stride.
"'Hey! Meta, where are you going?!' one of his teammates yelled, his voice a mixture of confusion and irritation," but we just ran. When you've got a hundred people running after you, you don't waste time explaining. You just run like hell.".
"Need my bag," Meta wheezed with gasps. I nodded. He pulled me towards a bench, took his bag in one smooth motion, and then gestured toward the parking lot. "This way."
I lagged behind, stunned, until I spotted it. A black, shiny sedan that screamed money. A BMW. This dude has a BMW? Of course. This was our getaway car. My life was now absurd.
"What are you staring at? Get in," Meta's voice broke through. Right. Running. Not the time to be impressed by a car.
"Sure. sorry," I grumbled and slid into the passenger seat. I shut the door so gently you'd have expected it to be glass. My month's allowance would probably not cover a scratch on the finish.
"'Why so tight?' Meta asked, and though I didn't look, I could hear the infuriating sneer in his voice. He well knew why. Who would not be tight in a car more costly than my education? One wrong move and I'd be in his debt forever."
"Drive already!" I urged, looking out the window. "They're coming! Your people will identify your car!"
"Where to?" he asked, still ludicrously calm.
"Anywhere! Get us out of here before they apprehend us!"
"All right," he answered, and the motor burbled to life with a growling rumble.
"Get on! Now!" I could see them, his followers and my own groupies, a paralyzing combined crowd, pouring into the parking lot.
"'Relax,' Meta said, his voice precisely level, his hands tight on the wheel as the crowd poured into the lot. That maddening calm never faltered." "They won't be able to catch us."
I was not at all relaxed. All of this was his doing! Or. was it mine? I wanted to bang my head on the dashboard, but everything looked too costly to ruin. This was definitely no dream.
Meta finally floored it, and the car sped down the street, escaping the crowd's screams.
"Shit!" The oath just came out of me, half relief, lingering fear. I put a hand over my mouth, shocked.
"'Is that your favorite word?' Meta smiled, full-on, almost with a mischievous glint to his eyes."
"No! I just—I get nervous around you, and I said—" I shoved my hand over my mouth again. Shoot, Thyme! Shoo!
"This is humiliating," I grumbled to myself, my face burning. Meta just laughed and laughed, a low whoop at first that grew into a full, guffawing sound that seemed to fill up the fancy car.
I hadn't seen him clearly yesterday, but close up like this, I couldn't help but appreciate how handsome he was. His laugh, though. it was. odd. It wasn't a nice laugh; it was one of those laughs that gives you the shivers. Handsome, but in a scary, devilish way.
"Oh, so you get nervous?" he started, his eyes glinting.
"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" I broke in.
"'Relax, Snotty Kid,' he grinned, glancing over at me for a moment. 'I was going to say I can be kinda scary sometimes. Perhaps that's why.'"
"Oh. Sure," I said, trying to act like I'd taken it as what I'd thought.
"Did you think something else?" he asked, the smirk returning.
"Can you please just watch the road?" I snapped.
He laughed again but mercifully dropped it. I had no idea where we were going, only that it was far far away from the madness that had taken over my life.
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2030's THYME'S POV (Age 23):
Hilarious what lingers, isn't it? Not the grand scenes—the ones you try to recall. It's the tiny, desperate glimpses. That pursuit. Good Lord, that pursuit. Just us scrambling like rodents through back streets, our hearts pounding against our chests so viciously I figured they'd burst right out.
It was supposed to be another escape. Just terror and fatigue. But now? After it all burned down? I realize it so clearly. That wasn't just destiny driving us along; that was it booting us straight off the ledge.
We thought it was exhilaration. That fleeting heartbeat, the gasping, stupid laughter as we cowered behind a leaning dumpster. It was soaring. Stupid. So goddamn stupid. That frantic, gasping run wasn't liberation. It was the first stitch in a shroud. It tied us so securely, him and I, intertwining us just before the blade descended. One crazy run. and it triggered the whole damn tragedy.
Each step is ringing out louder now in this silence he left behind. Should have let them catch us. Should have just stopped.
