Messy Bun

The tile is cold against my thighs. My back pressed to the hallway wall, my arms sprawled beside me, the tote bag half-unzipped and the tablet peeking out like it—too—es exhausted. I close my eyes, trying to slow my breath, letting the chaotic thudding of my heart simmer into something quieter.

Then something cold touches me. A chilled sensation brushes my upper arm and startles me awake. I blink open my eyes, frown slightly at the brightness, and tilt my head.

Elliot stands above me, holding out a cold soda can. He doesn't speak. Not at first. Just raises one eyebrow like he's watching something mildly amusing on TV. His lips tug into a crooked, entertained smile.

I squint at him. "How did you find me? You stalking me now?"

He finally huffs a laugh and crouches. "You're kind of hard to miss when you dash across the quad like a whole-ass action movie extra. Damn, maybe a few director majors will come to you after this."