Plain Jane (H.S.)

Ch...1?

The brisk wind cascades over the branches of the skeletal winter trees. The wind bites the student's noses, nipping their cheeks and chins. It paints them with fuchsia blotches. I caught myself with a tinge of-

Here we fucking go again. Would you just give me a bit of peace and quiet? I'm trying to escape this reality here, not write fucking slam poetry.

Virid metal lockers blur on either side as I jog through the extended corridor.

I don't know where I'm going. My plan was to run. Just run as far away from here as possible. If I go far enough, I'll plummet off the map and back into my body.

I'm living in a fanfic. One would think I'd be elated, right? To live out my every daydream and wattpad illusion? To be that special girl with the coveted Harry Styles? No. I am confused, alone, and my skin crawls with unfamiliarity. None of this is ideal if there isn't a way out. I want Brenda. I want Laci. I want my mother. 

One of my arms is curled around a binder and textbook. I turn the corner, sprinting down another hallway. Whipping past some open doors, the chatter of the classrooms fades in and out.

Whatever I did last night got me trapped. I'm in a cage and this universe is unlikely to grant me the key.

Speeding through the hallways, I am nearing the the parking lot. The expanse of the campus enables me to run further than I'd expected. Jasmine's pair of lungs keep up more efficiently than Jane's. I could run all the way home if I wanted. Well, to my 'other home' where my 'other mother' resides.

It won't feel like home. Nothing does. I should be driving my tattered Honda civic to get frozen yogurt. I should be inhaling the tomato soupy musk of my house. I should be hiding in a massive hoodie, instead of my outfits being chosen for me. I should be interrogating the boy Laci has over. I want to be Jane, I want to be Jane, I want to be-

"OOf!" We both utter as our bodies collide. My textbook and binder slap on the concrete, along with a pair of car keys and Rayban sunglasses. I hold above my stomach, where my belongings had forced the air out. The pain and shock swept away with the horrifying realization of whose glasses those were.

What a fucking cliche.

Adjacent to the mess is a pair of brown chelsea boots, confirming my suspicion. I refuse to lift my vision. I'm not ready to see him in full; to embarrass myself again. I reverse apprehensively. He's not real if I don't see him, so I treat him like a ghost.

He crouches down, illustrious chestnut curls emerging into view. He's in a black plaid flannel and tight skinny jeans, like he would have worn 8 years ago.

I'm stunned when he holds my book and binder up to take. This is a dopamine and epinephrine overload. I still don't look at him, only his tattoo'd forearms. My fight or flight is screaming about the threat to run away from. That threat is mortification which will no doubt happen like it did with Niall. Keeping my sight on only his tattoos, I snatch my belongings and sprint the opposite direction.

"W-wait!" His accent echoes down the hallway before his footsteps follow.

Picking up the pace, I whip around a corner in hopes that I'll lose him.

"Stop! Please!"

I continue down, hearing his feet stomp close up behind me.

Women's bathroom. Perfect!

Once I cross the threshold to safety, I keep my hands on my knees until my heart slows down. To be sure, I sit on a toilet for a pathetic 20 minutes. Phew, I lost him.