Sereia's feet brought her jog to a halt when the distance grew safer and farther away from the racing whispers of potential rumours. Her chest heaved and fell erratically as she took a seat on a wooden bench under a lush tree, near the isolated university chapel.
"Out of sight, out of mind," she repeated to herself and raised her legs over the bench to cross them. "It was so embarrassing, why did I do that? That was fucking dumb, I should just die, maybe. Ugh," she ran her hands over her face, "It was Aren's first time hanging out with us. She'll think I'm a loudmouth loser and Wallace's fanarmy is gonna—ARGH!" she screamed out in frustration as she looked down at her outfit.
A plain black tee-shirt paired with beige sweatpants.
Sereia's hands grappled at her bag and she pulled out her iphone, stared at its dead black screen for a moment, then shoved it back to search for her android. She turned on the front camera of her Samsung and barfed at the sight which graced her.
Greasy black hair pulled up in a messy bun, an oily T-zone and—when was the last time she cleaned her glasses?
"AAAAAA! My dreams of being a popular pretty girl with a chill vibe and a morbid sense of humour are now shattered beyond replaceable repair!!!"
Repulsed, Sereia flung her phone back in her bag and pulled out her laptop instead. She flicked it open and her finger rotated over the cursor until the screen lit-up. She hastened to enter the password as her mouth repeated words of affirmation, "It's okay, stage two was being the best in class. I can always do that. I merely gave everyone else an yearlong head start and here we are now, I'll surpass them soon enough."
The screen lit up and her browser popped open with eighteen tabs of webcomics, nine tabs of YouTube rant reviews and four separate Chinese dramas in a loud proclamation of:
'Who am I kidding? This is a lost cause. Let us just jump off a high building.'
"No!" Sereia countered herself, "I won't choose death. I will make it crawl to me and until then, I will grovel," she reassured herself and dragged her cursor to click open a brand-new tab.
Then, she typed in: Chat GPT.
"Smart work overpowers grovelling, of course," she whispered with a nod began working on a two-month long project with a seven-hour deadline. It was more than enough for a professional procrastinator like her.
The summer sun exhausted its utility whilst youth evaded it actively. Though, as evening drew closer and the wind turned cooler, even the isolated chapel started receiving its fair share of visitors in the faces of horny young adults trying to perform the devil's tango or simply finding paths down throat-town. After the audio-visual of one such visitor got too graphic to ignore, Sereia decided it was time to hit print.
"I did what I could," she murmured to herself, "I went over as many paraphraser tools as I could to avoid plagiarism," she nodded whilst shoving the laptop in her bag, "But, how can one even plagiarise memories of one's childhood?" she finally looked up at the sky with bright hazel eyes and a toothy smile gracing her face. "I chose the best topic ever, after all!"
Sereia skipped down the cobbled path with Frank Sinatra's 'I love you baby' vibing in her head.
Their project was to devise a topic, initiate a hypothesis around that topic and conversate with a minimum of twenty people to draw a legitimate conclusion to the proposed hypothesis, compile it on paper and present it to the class.
Sereia decided her topic to be, 'Childhood memories: nostalgia eating away at your hearts and wallets OR trauma you grew in and out of.' For which she merely framed ten questions and asked Chat GPT to answer those questions in detail from the perspective of all 16 MBTI types. The remaining 4 she generated from Character AI.
"Sereia Theodore, you're so perfect," She patted her back, unaware of the stares she received when she got her project printed at the library.
"Today will be a good day," She exhaled with a skip in her step as she made her way to the girls' dormitories in order to wash-up and dress more professionally.
And it wasn't until she was standing outside Professor Wallace's office door that her stomach began churning and a salty bile rose in her throat.
"Heh," Sereia laughed at herself, "Anxiety," she said with a smile directed at the few other students standing outside the very same door. All with legitimate projects in hand, filled with experiences of real people, brimming with real words and emotions. She felt her feet grow cold inside her chunky loafers, which was quite an impossible feat. Everyone's project files looked thicker and their front pages were more stylised than hers. She used font Aptos, for heaven's sake! Her heartbeat thundered in her ears and her hands grow sweatier and clammier around the folder she was holding.
"Fuck." Someone cursed.
"Fuck indeed," Sereia exhaled and her knees hit the floor with a loud thump. The burden of procrastinated responsibilities finally unloaded over her shoulders as she sank further. There was awareness in a corner of Sereia's brain, of her emotions and the weakness they brought; she was aware of the vulnerability they entailed and the power they held over her. Yet, the agglomeration gnawed at her from within.
A pair of hands grabbed her arms and a concerned pair of dark eyes stared grounded her back to reality.
"Are you okay?" the boy asked and his pretty face twisted into a frown.
Sereia nodded, bucking up.
"I'm perfect, I am incredible, I am better than you and you should know it," Sereia worded between harsh intakes of breaths and eloquent pauses. She clenched her jaw as she got up and he pulled his hands away to rest them in the air, away from her – probably repulsed?
"Damn girl, good for you," he wriggled his fingers as if to represent her equally wobbly state-of-being before shoving his hands in his pockets.
Sereia turned her back to the door just as the Professor's voice called, "NEXT!" she heaved a few breaths, uttered, "Fuck it. Best be I'm dead," and entered the room.
"What the heck's her deal?" the boy scoffed as soon as the door banged shut in his face.
"Dude, that's prissy Theodore. Allegedly, she threatened to kidnap and kill Wallace all morning," his friend clarified with a scoff.
"No way—"
But the boy's disbelief was suspended by the muted but physically loud crowd outside the door, nodding in cult-like synchronization.
"Wallace wouldn't fret over a small fry like her…" the boy shrugged, yet, a small frown creeped its way on his forehead.
"He wouldn't, but you're missing the point. She's a Theodore. Ring a bell?" his friend emphasised.
Suddenly, the boy was hit with a rush of memories. Childhood memories of a dark-haired girl hogging his brother's attention. A tall girl standing between him and his brother in every photograph from pre-primary to seventh grade. The round face of frizzy haired teenager pressed under the weight of his brother's book shelf. The sharp, unforgettable, hazel eyes which were now bespectacled.
"She looks way different than her pictures, dude," the boy concluded after a trip down memory lane.
"Bro, you've been stalking her? Where the fuck? She has no socials! Or does she? Tell me, tell me!" his friend pressed.
"No, dammit, she's uh, someone I used to know," he shrugged his shoulders and turned to face his friend, "But have you been trying to stalk her?!"
The boy's friend elbowed his side, "Fuck dude, I merely observe the life of pretty and rich people online. They put it there willingly."
"Of course," the boy scoffed. "So, why did she threaten to kill Wallace?" his dark eyes burned holes of curiosity through the door.
"Dunno all that much," his friend shrugged, "Do any of y'all know about its?"
"Amnesia," someone uttered.
"Wallace pushed her down the Psychology tower," someone jabbed. It cracked the boy up.
"Credit score," someone else announced.
"Hey, that seems plausible!" the boy's friend pointed a finger and raised a hand. He and the random stranger high-fived and in that moment, the Random Stranger attained nirvana for he just touched hands with the Felix Rodrigo, the absolute best friend of the campus' golden boy, the Lawrence Vincent.
Even standing in close proximity to them was blessing enough, Random Stranger knew, because rumour had it that one could absorb their good luck through mere vibes and even attain their unearthly glow through a single touch. Random Stranger wondered if now he was glowing as Felix and Lawrence were, standing outside of an office door, now that his fate was being rewritten with the hues of the setting sun seeping through the imperial lobby windows.
Felix's silken brown hair burned auburn under the golden hour whilst Lawrence's dark head was hallowed upon nature's touch. They stood tall, lean, muscular and the fine finishing of their dress shirts paired with washed jeans made everyone else hyperaware of the dangling threads in their own fits.
The holes in Felix and Lawrence's clothes were fashion, their dangling threads were trend, the grime under their shoes was probably infused with diamond dust and all of that on Random Stranger was nothing but an increased Insecurity Stat.
The smiles on their pleasant faces left throats of random strangers parched from sharp intakes of open-mouthed breaths. It is in the destiny of random strangers like Random Stranger to merely grace his eyes with their outstanding presence and—
The office door was pulled open, Professor Wallace called out, "NEXT!" and Random Stranger scrambled inside.
Sereia Theodore stomped out with a scowl on her face.
"This door is not sound proof," she seethed, "I did not threaten Professor Wallace physically, I am on all social medias and I am not a small fry!" she placed her hand against her forehead and aligned it directly under Lawrence's chin. She clenched her jaw before grudging curse words would escape her lips and instead, she spat, "I am a pretty big fry."
Then, she wished death upon herself. Again. Because what the fuck was that preschool retort?!