"Of course," Lawrence said, looking down at her with amusement sparked in his dark eyes and a small smirk playing on his pouty lips.
"Wait, what? What do you mean you're on all socials?! I have never seen—"
"I have accounts, to…observe and merely that," Sereia cut in Felix's words with a flick of her pony tail.
Felix gasped as a giddy sort of shock enveloped his body. "Is there a possibility of me getting stalked by Theodore?" he all but gushed as he pressed his forehead in Lawrence's bicep and rubbed it coyly. "Ohhh, how exciting! I should start making thirst traps!" he poked his friend's back as his eyes stared at Sereia's retreating silhouette.
"Get a life, dude," Lawrence pressed a finger over his friend's forehead and pushed him away, "And keep your oily face away from my leather."
It had been a year and six months since he enrolled at Quinton Hill University – where had Sereia Theodore been all this while? Why was this the first time they were crossing paths? Had she been up to something embarrassing again?
"You talk to Wallace for Prof Mildred, I'll be back," Lawrence patted a still-dazed Felix on his back and jogged down the hallway, having no general idea of where she might have gone. He pulled out his phone and searched for a contact he hadn't looked at since middle school. His thumb wandered over the contact's name, meandering, instigated by general curiosity and hindered by good sense.
What would he even say? Hello, I would like to know the whereabouts of your dear friend because I am about to commit some crimes against her and would genuinely adore your help? Thank you very much for your time; I did not fathom the consideration of you actually answering my call, so, now I really have to commit a crime just to stay true to my word. G'day.
"Ugh, this is dumb," Lawrence groaned and pocketed his phone. He stood at the doorstep of the Administrative Block, facing five different directions in which the bane of his existence could have possibly wandered off to make merry. "I'm getting dumber just thinking of her," Lawrence uttered in sudden realisation, "I could have just asked Wallce about her." He tsked.
The golden hour was waning into the darker hues of a summer night. Flocks of birds circled in the sky, hastily retreating for shelter after a long day. Traffic grew louder across the street as the world busied itself with personal follies like heading home, hanging out with friends or drinking on the streets. The opportunities to engage were endless, yet so limiting to Sereia as she walked with her head bent and eyes stalking the crevices of the pavement. The ants had yet to retreat, she concluded, as she walked past an anthill at the foot of a tree. Some creatures only knew how to live by the grind.
"Your topic happens to be genuinely pleasing but your conversations seem shallow, even when I am skimming, Ms. Theodore, did you AI generate them? Do you think your Communications 101 Professor would not be able to differentiate a human conversation from AI? I do not know if your audacity mocks me or merely leads your general sense astray," Professor Wallace's criticism resonated in her head.
That was understandable enough.
Sereia's shoulders slumped as she made her way to the dormitories block and called San.
"Ah, you alive?" he instantly picked up and replied.
"Unfortunate, I know, come down."
"What's up?"
"I need you to exhaust your social relations and give me twenty people to talk to."
"Texting is easy but Prof Wall would know."
"Fuck me."
"You don't say. Time and Place?"
"Saaaan," Sereia whined, quite irritably.
"Okay, okay, Aren and I can be two. You need eighteen other willing participants."
"Aren would agree? My topic is kinda sensitive..." Sereia scrunched her nose as San walked through the dormitory glass doors and hung up on the call. He was wearing a cropped white tee but the view of his toned torso was hindered by a leather jacket. His silhouette was elongated by a pair of black flannels and chunky timberlands, which only implied one thing.
"Good, I was afraid you'd look like a train wreck. We're heading to Knightley's. I've already texted Aren," he announced. His tone left no room for argument and his ears remained unphased by Sereia's groans.
"You're horribly fast at making decisions, especially unconsented ones, did anyone ever tell you that?" Sereia snapped but allowed San to interlock their arms.
"You're looking the cleanest I have seen you in a long while," San remarked, "Did you dry shampoo your hair?" he sniffed the lemony scent emanating from her sleek ponytail.
"Yeah well," Sereia shrugged but her shoulders straightened a bit with pride. Earning genuine compliments from the ever perfectionist San was a chore but so overwhelmingly wholesome that it made her insides giddy.
"Knightley's will be perfect for talking. Everybody drinks and trauma dumps if given a chance and you can add a pre-requisite to your topic, 'Childhood Memories: yadayada OR yadayada, a drunken perspective.' Perfect, is it not?" San clapped, his mouth stretching into a dimpled smile.
Sereia sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, which was a considerable feat for her back and neck because San's shoulder was around her torso.
"What would I do without you?"
"Perish." San broke into an evil laughter, reverberating through his chest and small shoulders.
"Aren't you both a hotspot of misunderstandings tonight," Aren's voice halted their leisurely stroll to a stop. They turned around to witness the literal moon within proximity, considering the silver sequins on her dress which dazzled their perspective. Aren had neon green ramp heels on with a silver short dress and a complimentary make-up look of rhinestones around her eyes to tell the town that their local disco-ball had arrived.
"Aren't you a traffic accident in the making," San obliged with a straight face.
"Gorgeous nonetheless," Sereia smiled.
"Well, someone had to steal the show and its clearly not the two of you," Aren shook her head with disappointment, "One's heading to make tik-tok thirst traps and the other's heading to a---" Aren scrutinised Sereia's raven hair pulled up in a slick pony tail complementing the pointy shoulder black dress she had on, "What is that? A business acquisition? Disney's corporate villain?"
"Ha, Ha, so funny," Sereia leered.
"Look at this, I am pretty and functional," Aren slid her bejewelled hand into the dress' side and pulled out hair ties and a make-up palette.
San clapped at the reveal and interjected, "Our Uber's here so let's take this witchy hoo-haa under the roof."
Sereia found it hard to even drink water in a moving vehicle, oftentimes, but somehow Aren surrendered all her rings to San and worked her hands in Sereia's hair and on Sereia's face with magical precision. When they stepped inside Knightley's, Sereia no longer looked like she was there to acquire the business but to increase sales instead. It was implausible how much a few braids, a graphic liner and the perfect lip stick combo could give one courage to walk in a crowded place like they owned it.
The lights were dim, the interior was polished, the tiles were lit florescent and it was all reflected on Aren's dress.
Aren clapped twice in front of her friends' faces to single-out their attention on her (which was useless because there was no way anyone would be able to look away from her. She was lighting up everyone's peripherals.)
"Okay, our mission is to score nine guys and nine girls into spilling their childhood tea," Aren announced.
"Aye Captain!" San mocked a salute as Sereia merely nodded.
"I've sent the questionnaire on our group chat, in case you find someone appropriate and I'm unavailable," Sereia informed, shaking her phone in a redundant gesture of proving her point.
"Good, let's scatter and PARTYY!" Aren shouted as she walked away and blended into the crowd with no hesitation.
"She's scarily extroverted," San shuddered, "Do you think she had any friends before us?"
Sereia's eyes followed Aren's trail. The girl already had her arms wrapped around a guy's neck with another feeling up her back.
"I think she has a cult and we're her new targets," Sereia shuddered.
"Real," San shook his head and passed a back-pat of encouragement to Sereia, "You can do it. Go ahead," before he too, walked straight into the mouth of a hungry crowd which engulfed a pretty person like him in no time. Sereia remained standing with a clenched jaw, working with yet another deadline.
"Wait, but didn't Aren have to work on her project as well? Why the fuck is she here to help me?!"
Her question disappeared under the overwhelming bass of the pop music. The crowd took to the floor, a couple or two at a time, getting handsy or generally establishing dominance over the spotlights with finesse in movement. Aren was in the latter, holding up to her dance elective; she glided over the floor, moving in between bodies, her hands and feet synchronised in sharp movements while her face urged sultry yearning. Aren was scarily good at the people-thing, no wonder she's in communications.
Her confidence was high enough to feed the crowd, so, Sereia decided to fuel herself off of her.
She too stepped into the crowd, though, owing to her ineptness at dancing, she took an empty booth instead and ordered herself some food and drinks. The assortment of flavours in Knightley's snacks had always been supreme to Sereia's palate and the couches too were horribly comfortable for a dance bar. It was as if all of Knightley were conspiring against her completion of assignment.
She hated owing to her friends or asking for help…but just this once—they wouldn't mind, would they?
"What's got your pretty head all wound up?"
Sereia raised her brows at the sudden intrusion of a male figure on her couch.