"We cannot kidnap him," Aren announced, her face in a frown as her eyes squinted at the sun. She locked her fingers behind her head and stretched-out her shoulders. They were strolling past the Quinton Hill University Quad with Aren walking in between San and Sereia.
"We'd be so famous if we could," Sereia sighed, her shoulders were slumped and her hands shoved in her beige sweatpants' pockets. She kicked a stray stone just as San let out a low groan of frustration.
"Can you guys not?! Please? Think about the project instead, will you? What if someone hears this ominous bullshit and reports you?!"
"Weak," Sereia grimaced as Aren said, "Our college is owned by the Mafia, quite literally, who do you think would mind?"
"Uh, I don't know, the fucking police?" San wheezed in exasperation.
"Fuck, that'd be so much fun." Sereia's heart raced at the mere thought of something as exciting happening in her life.
"I'd rather you do drugs," San sighed.
"What the fuck dude? My parents will throw me off a cliff!" Sereia gasped, hazel eyes bulging with a scandal.
"So, murders and kidnappings are fine but they draw the line at drugs?" Aren asked with a scoff.
"Any sort of self-harm," Sereia clarified with a nod of her head.
San nodded too as they walked a moment in silence. San was dressed in a crisp white shirt and plaid pants, looking ahead; Aren, dressed in an orange dress was looking up at the cloudy sky and Sereia, having thrown on a black tee-shirt and beige sweatpants, looking down at the cobbled ground.
"Wait a minute," San suddenly stopped.
"Ha, you sound like the meme," Aren snorted, halting beside him.
"Why are you tagging along with us? Are we friends? Who even are you?" San wondered out loud, looking Aren in the eye.
She blinked her baby blue eyes, repeatedly, in order to distract San's randomly generated glare.
"I thought I was gonna film you and girlfriend over there," Aren clicked her tongue, gesturing towards Sereia's back.
"She's my girlfriend," San narrowed his eyes at Aren, craning his neck ever-so-slightly to not make his vertical shortcomings obvious.
"Of course, of course," Aren raised her hands in surrender, "I'll call her my dude then."
"Hmph," San grunted, though, before he could continue his assessment of the new person, Sereia ran up to them and grabbed their arms to shake them violently in order to pass her excitement.
"Ahhhh, do you think we should drug his evening coffee, puncture his car tires, disguise ourselves as kind strangers, get him to ride our car in a drowsy state and stuff him in a basement for the weekend?" she proposed.
San groaned.
"You should have been a writer," Aren snorted, still trying to get over the dizzying violence.
"Meh," Sereia shrugged, "I have a theatre elective. I scriptwrite with Mrs. Dursly and she is, quite respectfully, off her rockers."
"Sereia calling someone off is a big deal. She usually loves that sort," San clarified the intensity of the situation.
"No way, should I join? I hate the dance prof and woodworking isn't for my pretty hands," Aren held up her bejewelled fingers against the sun and they glittered like some royal treasury.
"You should, it's fun!" Sereia clapped, hazel eyes gleaming with utter joy. Aren grinned and the girls clasped their hands, giggling over tippy-toes.
"Yeah, tag around with the new girl and fucking abandon me," San rolled his eyes and walked around them.
Sereia instantly let go of Aren's hands and slotted her arm around San's shoulder as they walked off, "There's no one for me but you, bestie."
"Kill yourself, you cringe queen," San grimaced.
"Trust me, I would if I could," Sereia deadpanned.
San snorted as Aren jogged back to their side.
"What elective does he have?" Aren raised a brow in curiosity.
Sereia gulped down a laugh, "Ancient history."
"krkrkrkrk," Aren jammed her teeth and made a noise inside her mouth, "I respect you so much for that."
"Lizard who? Aren Lou," San scoffed.
"Ms. Theodore!" a gruff voice called out from behind them. Consequently, Sereia stiffened with her foot still in air and her shoulders folded inwards. "A word with you, please," the voice demanded and Sereia forced a smile as she turned around to face none other than Professor Wallace.
He stood against the sun and his shadow ate up Sereia's entire frame. Her friends never stopped beside her, having recognized the voice as a trauma response from the first day of the semester, San merely slotted an arm around Aren's back while she slotted hers around his shoulders and they pranced past her in eerie synchronization.
"Yes," Sereia coughed because her throat was clogged up, "Yes, Professor?"
His overwhelming presence closed the distance between them as Sereia came to an awakening epiphany, Professor Wallace could recognize backs too!
He stood a respectable hand away, but his enormous frame made Sereia think that he was right on her nose.
"I heard you were planning my kidnapping?"
His voice was grimly low but San and Aren, hiding behind a tree, bit their tongues to stop their horrified screams from escaping their mouth and becoming background music to which their friend dies.
"Ha, ha, ha," Sereia laughed, her eyes, nose, throat, stomach – and hopefully soon enough – veins, went dry under Professor Wallace's scorching intimidation. Only one word crossed her rapidly drying brain.
DENY. DENY. DENY.
"I have no idea of what you're talking about, um, I have no idea—" she flailed her hands behind her back, "Who are you again? I, uh, assumed you were a professor? Yes. I fell down the Psychology tower after first period—and, I don't know who I am anymore," she babbled.
"Communications is a department, Ms. Theodore, where word travels at an alarmingly high rate. Nonetheless, I see that you're missing nine credits—"
"No, seriously, who are you?" Sereia cut in, forehead frowning and eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"Ms. Theodore, my patience knows limits no matter who your parents are."
"Ah! Professor Wallace! I have the best project prepared for you!" Sereia clapped, suddenly her eyes opened bigger, her smile grew wider and her head tilted to a fanciful ninety-degrees.
Professor Wallace witnessed her antics with a dead stare until Sereia stood up straight and looked down, head hung with shame.
"Good," he drawled, "I do not entertain tardiness or ridiculousness of any kind, so, I hope you indeed have a better project to back up your words and actions from today. Do you understand the importance of missing your credits, Ms. Theodore? Not everything should be treated as fun and games just because you have parents good enough to handle the consequences. I will not have my overall class evaluation fall owing to the likes of you, am I clear? Meet me in my office at five and you better have your project in hand for a flip review."
With that he walked past her, leaving her vulnerable under the sun and to a thousand eyes that always followed him.
"The fuck you looking at?! Scram!" Aren shouted, scowling at crowd forming around Sereia.
San and Aren ran up to her and Sereia looked up to face them with a smile. Her eyes quivered under the strain of not blinking and her cheeks bulked up with the force of her smile. She wished to die. She wished to die. She wished to die so much but she was so gosh darned blessed. The silent crowd dissipated with the sound of dragging feet and heads whelmed with judgement.
"He, uh, he was just concerned by my credit score," Sereia's voice wavered as she explained, "He was being honest. I had been babbling dumb stuff all day long," she opened her mouth and grinned, teeth out, eyes unblinking. She hated herself for being this way. Pathetic. Weak. Sensitive.
"Uh, it's alright, let me help you with the pro—"
"No! No, please, I don't wanna be a last-minute burden, you know I hate that shit!" Sereia winced, waving her hands in strong denial. "I can do it, of course, I am Sereia Ruth Theodore after-all, I can do anything." She held up two thumbs in San's face.
He nodded and gave her an understanding pat on the back, "I'll get to my classes then, all the best?" he asked.
"Yes, please, thank you! Have a good day!" Sereia breathed out and her eyes finally blinked as she waved them goodbye before running away.
"What the fuck? Why did you not help her? She—"
"She functions better this way," San clarified before Aren could blow up on him, "She has her pride, she never cries and wants to be self-sufficient. She says a lot but at the end of the day she is just a girl and the only way I can help her is by letting her breath by herself."
"What the fuck is that poetry," Aren scowled, hands clasped behind her head, "I'm not a literature major for a reason."
San pursed his lips as a sigh slouched his shoulders. "Do you have a hoodie?" he asked, eyeing Aren's strawberry blonde hair with disdain.
"Aw, do you wanna steal mine and relish in my scent at night?" Aren wiggled her eyebrows as San rounded her with scrutiny.
"Don't be obvious, lay low and do not let your dazzling hair out, okay?" San fished out a black baseball cap from his bag and eased it on her head.
"What are you on about?" Aren asked, brows furrowed in confusion.
"You're Sereia's proxy for the day, of course," San stated as if Aren peaked the epitome of foolishness for not realising the true nature of their hour-long friendship.
"Day one and you're already using me," Aren held a thumbs-up, mouth agape.
"Consider this your initiation," San mocked a two-finger salute with a click of his tongue, "Give me your number and I'll send Rei's schedule."
"Not calling her Siri every day, all day, is a missed opportunity," Aren shook her head with disappointment as she pulled out a galaxy flip phone from her dress pocket.
"You're rich," San sated, left brow raised upon instinct and the corner of his mouth drooped in impression, "Couldn't have guessed."
"And you aren't?" Aren frowned, her eyes stilled over San's silver studs and glistening necklace.
"All thrifted or gifted," San pulled out his phone and swayed its cracked screen in Aren's face.