Page 9 of Boots & Scars

"Shoot!" I exclaimed, feeling a jolt of panic surge through me. "I'm going to be late."

"What?" Holly's confusion mirrored my own frantic thoughts.

The librarian appeared from behind a nearby shelf, finger pressed to her lips in a familiar gesture. We both nodded apologetically.

"My stats final," I whispered urgently, stuffing my books into my bag haphazardly. "It starts at ten thirty and it's across campus. I'll meet you at River Styx after?"

"Definitely," she replied.

With a final glance at Holly, I bolted from the library; the door swinging shut behind me. My footsteps echoed through the nearly empty hallway as I dashed towards the exit, heart pounding in my chest like a drum.

I stepped out onto the campus, the cool breeze brushing against my face, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the sprawling grounds. Students milled about, some rushing to their next class, others lounging on the lawn, books and laptops scattered around them.

As I walked, my footsteps fell into a steady rhythm, echoing off the cobblestone path that wound its way through the campus. Tall oak trees lined either side of the path, their leaves rustling softly in the wind. The branches formed a natural canopy overhead, dappling the ground with patches of light and shadow.

I passed by the fountain in the center of campus, its water sparkling in the sunlight as it cascaded down in a soothing melody. A group of students sat on its edge, chatting animatedly, their laughter ringing out like music. The sight brought a small smile to my lips; it felt like I was part of something bigger here.

My destination loomed ahead: the old brick building where my stats final awaited. Its ivy-covered walls stood as a testament to its history, each brick seemingly holding stories from years past. I quickened my pace, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

As I walked through the quad, I caught snippets of conversations—plans for spring break, complaints about upcoming exams, excitement about new relationships. It was a tapestry of life unfolding around me, vibrant and full of energy.

And I was part of it.

I passed by the student union building where a group had gathered for some kind of rally. Their signs and banners flapped in the breeze, colorful and bold. The speakers' voices rose above the crowd's murmur, impassioned and fervent.

A squirrel darted across my path, pausing briefly to eye me before scampering up one of the oaks. I watched it disappear into the branches with a small chuckle.

A low, gravelly voice sliced through the hum of campus life, sharp and unforgiving. It pulled me from my rush, freezing me mid-stride. I scanned the area, seeking the source of the confrontation.

"I've known a thousand sorry motherfuckers just like you — rich frat boys with Daddy's money who think you own the whole goddamn world without lifting a perfectly manicured finger. Daddy's probably bailed you out more than a few times, hmm? Well, let me tell you something, son. Daddy won't be able to bail you out of what I'm about to do to you."

The voice came from behind a cluster of hedges that bordered the walkway. I sidestepped around them cautiously and spotted the owner of the voice.

He stood there, towering over a boy who couldn't be much older than me. The aggressor was a sight to behold — broad-shouldered, with arms that told stories of manual labor rather than gym sessions. His jaw was set, his eyes narrowed into slits that spelled danger.

The recipient of his threat stood in stark contrast: a typical frat boy dressed in our school's crisp uniform. He looked shocked and maybe intimidated, his blonde hair perfectly styled as if he had walked straight out of a salon and into this mess.

In front of him, slightly to one side, was a girl. Her hair fell over her face in disarray, partially concealing her expression. She clutched her books against her chest like a shield; her knuckles white from the grip. She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, clearly wishing she could be anywhere but here.

I couldn't peel my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me. The boy in the uniform opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out — he simply gaped at his accuser like a fish out of water.

The girl caught my gaze for a moment; there was a silent plea in her eyes that tugged at my conscience. I took an involuntary step forward, propelled by an instinct to help despite having no idea what was going on or what I could possibly do to diffuse the situation.

The tension hung between them like a heavy curtain, and for a moment nobody moved or spoke; even the surrounding sounds seemed to hush in anticipation of what might happen next.

"Excuse me," I called out, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. I stepped closer to the scene, aware of thedelicate balance of tension that hung in the air. "I can see there's some tension here. Is everything all right?"

The frat boy glanced at me. "This freak just started yelling at me for no reason," he said, gesturing dismissively at the man standing before him.

I took in the aggressor more closely now — he could've been mistaken for an actor playing a rugged role on screen. Scars laced his face like threads in a tapestry, each one telling a tale of survival and struggle, but they didn't take away from his high cheeks or his defined jawline. His eyes were sharp, missing nothing, and his presence commanded the space around him.

"No reason, huh?" The man's voice dripped with sarcasm as he locked eyes with the frat boy.

"It's true!" The boy's voice wavered slightly under the intensity of the gaze upon him.

I interjected quickly, hoping to diffuse the brewing storm. "Maybe we can find a better way to solve this," I said. "Everyone makes mistakes. Maybe we can talk through it and clear up any misunderstandings. What do you think?"

The man cocked his head to the side, his gaze shifting to me now. A small, amused smirk played on his lips as he seemed to size me up. "What I think?" he echoed, almost playfully. "Well, I think no means no, sweetheart." He flicked a glance back at the frat boy. "Ask him what he thinks, hmm?"

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