Hunted

Act 13; Call Me

Dulcet's Dalliance Academia had a lean set of dorm rules no one ever followed anyway because they were told to. It was followed because it was convenient, and when they don't, then no one really cared much so long as no other party was troubled.

Some of the rules, as abridged as they could get, were:

Curfew at 9:00 pm.

No visitation during school nights.

Noise minimized to earphones/headphones where only the single listener could hear.

Lights out by 12:00 midnight.

Dorm Head/Representative checks each room before lights out.

Random inspection on every room at least once every month by Dorm Head/ Representative.

And all those merely scratched the surface. Upon the establishment of the dormitories twelve generations ago, the rules never changed, but its normalization and infliction had lessened as the generations grew lenient. Now, most of the dormitories were packed with uneven genders, and with the LGBTQ+ alliance implemented by the school, almost all of the Departments had a co-ed assignment to dorm buildings.

Unlike what most parents feared when they enrolled their children to the dormitories, not once had any of the students, not even in rumors, were reported to do any disliked acts with each other that would be considered appropriate only after marriage.

It seemed, as most couldn't believe, that the majority of students were more interested in their studies and extracurricular activities than having sex every chance they could get.

Noah thought he'd be one of the few students who didn't classify as rebels to break all those rules in one night.

It was 11:30 when he finally conceded to bring her to school. Odds were with her, because it played in her hand that he was a dorm student. Whatever it was that was going on with her, she must really need to disappear to ask a complete stranger if he could give her a roof over her head.

Shouldn't world renowned ballerinas be, like, filthy rich or something? Her small mannerisms, the straightness in her stance and seat, the way she walked with her head raised just right-not too high and not too low-the regality of her walk... That couldn't all be because of ballet, could it?

Sometimes she walked funny too, her feet pointing outward with every step. When she caught him looking at her shoes, she'd correct herself and try to walk like him, but she looked uncomfortable after a while, so he decided not to stare so much. That part proved harder to do.

He couldn't help himself! Before he knew it, he'd find himself studying her features, her small hands, her long limbs that weren't too long as to make her upper body seem too short, the graceful stride, the calm aura, the determination that suddenly came over her expression and demeanor once he finally agreed to bring her to DDA... She was weird.

In a sense that she wasn't like anyone he's ever met, she was weird.

"Excuse me."

He looked up from the key in his scooter's ignition when she spoke. "Yeah?"

"I never caught your name." Her tone was factual, but she wasn't looking at him, and he wondered if she was embarrassed.

He silently shrugged it off. "Call me Noah. Noah Cooley." He knew her name but he had to ask. If only for formality's sake. "And your name?" Oh, what formality was he talking about? He was an eighteen-year-old about to bring a prima ballerina to school after most-probably saving her from a suicide attempt. Formality was thrown out the window the moment he decided he'd follow the runaway dancer to an abandoned building just to return a baseball cap.

The dancer girl was quiet for a while. Then, "Call me Kacey. Kacey Boyne."

He stared at her, the key in the ignition but his hand wouldn't turn it. The name was familiar. Too familiar. But it definitely wasn't hers. "You mean the girl from that Sci-Fi series?" He had to ask. Was she trying to make an alias? Why the heck would she?

She looked alarmed, as though she couldn't believe what she was looking at. Did he grow a second head? "You know it!?" She shot back, though her voice didn't raise by a fraction. It was her expression that was hilarious.

He blinked. "It was a pretty good series. Too bad it got canceled during the final season. I got disappointed that the reboots were all shams that got canceled halfway through too."

"I know right!?" He almost stepped back, wondering where the sudden fangirl came from. She started prattling on about how she adored the crazy plot and unlimited references and how sad it was that the new characters never got the chance to really develop. It wasn't really what she was saying but more on how she was saying it that got Noah amazed at her.

She was passionate. But she was able to quell that passion and speak without raising her voice, without distorting her expression too much. It was her accentuations that made her points understandable, and he wondered how she'd do against a debate with one of the Student Governors in his school, who were state champions.

She didn't realize she was out of breath until she tried breathing, and she had to blink a few times to remember where she was. She covered her mouth in embarrassment, her eyes unable to meet his. Oh God, she just lost it, didn't she? She's been through so much in the pass hour alone, she wasn't able to control herself! She didn't even notice herself going on and on about things he might already know himself!

She bit her lower lip. Great... Now he probably won't help me anymore, and I'd have nowhere to go. She wanted to cry all over again.

"Um. You don't mind riding a scooter, do you?"

She jerked her head toward him, and bit her tongue to keep herself from saying anything stupid again. She bowed her head, if only so he wouldn't notice the glassiness in her eyes, and nodded.

He smiled as gently as he could. What the heck did he think he was doing again? He shook the thought away as he offered the spare helmet he always kept under the seat and let her put it on herself. It was a rider's helmet that always reminded him of the Power Rangers, so he never wore it. At least, wearing that, she could cover her face.

He placed her baseball cap under the seat and locked it neatly. The valet in the corner was giving him a death glare, so he thought it'd be wise to make haste.

"Get on." He said, turning the ignition on.

She stood there, as though unsure what to do, her hands holding the sides of the helmet on her head.

He had the goggles of his helmet over his eyes, so she didn't see him cock a brow. "Something wrong?"

She shook her head, then took a seat behind him. Even though she wore pants, she side-saddled. He wondered about it, but said nothing, and waited.

"Um. You okay with nothing to hold onto?" He asked, looking back at her.

Her shoulders jerked up, but a moment later her hand moved, fingers shaking towars his waist, then stopped half-way.

"It's all right." He reassured. "You don't have to hug me. Just scrunching up my jacket would be fine."

She seemed to relax. Then she held on his back, her fingers clutching the cloth. She had small hands, he realized, then the thought came back up. What the heck do I think I'm doing!?

She was a stranger. No, scratch that. She was a world-renowned ballerina who was in trouble and should be brought to the police, not to his dorm building. He was the stranger, a nobody who happened to put his nose where it didn't belong. He should bring her to the police and put her into protection, even though a part of him believed his school could do a much better job.

He made up his mind. He'd bring her to the nearest police station three blocks north.

"Thank you."

She rested the temple of the helmet on his back, and he thought he was jerked awake. He stayed still for a bit, processing what she said. Her voice was so soft, muffled by the helmet, he almost didn't hear it with the traffic blaring in the distance, with the city making its own deafening music.

He drove out of the parking area and into the street, heading west.