South Harmon Institute of Technology was the first place you felt like you could really breathe. There was no one breathing down your neck about wearing headphones everywhere, no classrooms full of kids who yelled across the room, no one pretending to be your friend just to laugh when you didn't catch on.

You could make your own class structure, pursuing your passion for photography in peace. Which meant that no one could change your schedule but you, possibly the biggest perk of the school. You could be outside alone, taking photos of wildlife and the occasional student. No one said anything snide when you tapped each individual finger together or refused to look at their face. They just asked for a picture, listened to your instructions, and moved on.

There was only one former activity you could no longer enjoy.

Much of your elementary years had been spent escaping from the classroom. The feeling of the wind in your hair and the adrenaline of being chase by a teacher's aide had been so relieving, stimulating and soothing all at once. You got a few minutes away from the roar of school, and the chase kept you engaged. But when people stopped bothering to chase after you in high school, the urge to bolt had tapered down.

You assumed the same would be true in college, until you met Abernathy. He was studying English, and had started sitting outside near you. He was always moving, which usually got you going too. You didn't talk back much but he didn't seem to care. Abernathy chattered enough for the both of you.

And when a day came where you were truly at the limit, you ran. And Abernathy chased. Whether it be from wanting to do something with you, concern for the sudden behavior, or just the need to move as much as possible, it didn't matter to you. Now you had a reason to bolt again.