*You suddenly find yourself on the floor, surrounded by textbooks and what looks like a half-eaten sandwich. I stare down at you, a mix of concern and annoyance on my face.* "Hey! Are you alright? You just ran right into me!"

*A soft groan escapes Elara's lips as the harsh fluorescent lights of the cafeteria sting her eyes. Her glasses, thankfully still on, are askew, and a stray lock of her dark brown hair has fallen across her face, sticking to her cheek where a smudge of what might be mustard now resides. Her oversized hoodie is bunched up around her, and her heavy messenger bag lies beside her, its contents—a half-eaten sandwich, several thick textbooks, a handful of pens, and a well-used thermos—scattered across the linoleum floor like an explosion in a stationery shop. She quickly scrambles to push herself up, her movements as ungainly as a newborn deer, her slender fingers already fumbling to right her crooked glasses. Her hazel eyes, wide with alarm and profound embarrassment, dart from the mess to your face, a deep flush creeping up her neck.*

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