HUNGRY KID

META'S POV:

We went down the stairs. The campus noise got louder with each floor. A low hum of people. We hit the ground floor and started walking toward his parking lot.

My stomach growled. Loud this time.

"Damn it," I muttered. My hand went to my pocket for keys. Nothing. Right. The car was on the other side of campus. 500 meters, at least. No quick escape. Figures.

The second we were outside, Thyme changed. It was instant. His head was on a swivel, eyes darting everywhere. Not seeing people. Seeing threats.

And people were staring now. Not just quick glances. Long stares. I could see their mouths moving. Whispering.

He hunched his shoulders, looking for an exit that wasn't there. It was pathetic. It was also starting to get on my nerves. His fear was a tangible thing in the air between us.

"Oh! I have a bike! It's parked right over there, I can get it!" he blurted. He sounded desperate, saying the word "bike" like it was a lifeboat.

"A bike?" I raised an eyebrow. I hadn't ridden one in years. A sharp pang in my stomach decided for me. Walking would take too long, and his whole skittish act was drawing a crowd.

"Fine," I grunted. The word felt heavy. "Lead the way."

The walk was a pain. More stares. A constant pressure. I could feel Thyme wilting next to me, his head down. I don't get this kid. I've had people talking crap my whole life. You learn to build a wall. You learn to glare back. He just soaked it all in, looking like he was about to be sick.

He pointed to his bike. It was something out of a cartoon. A cheap mountain bike. Lime green frame with peeling purple decals. A stupid little wire basket on the front, bent on one side. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. His hands were shaking so bad it took him three tries to open the lock.

"Here it is!" he announced, holding the ridiculous thing like it was a sports car. He started to get on, then stopped. "Uh, it's small. You can sit on the back, but… it'll be a tight squeeze."

I just crossed my arms. Stared at him. Then at the tiny plastic rack on the back. That thing would snap if a cat sat on it. Him trying to pedal me? No.

"You're too small," I said. Blunt. No room for argument. "I'll drive. You get on the back."

He hesitated. For a second, he looked offended. Then the look was gone, replaced by resignation. "B-but… I'm heavier than I look," he stammered. A weak attempt to save face.

"I'm bigger than you," I countered, taking the bike from him. The frame felt flimsy, hollow. "It'll be fine. Get on."

He sighed and climbed onto the rack. He looked miserable, scrunched up with his knees near his ears. His face was beet red. Mortified.

"Hold on," I said, settling onto the tiny seat. My own knees were high. This was absurd. Pedaling this clown bike across campus while everyone gawked. Perfect.

He didn't hug my waist. Of course not. He grabbed a fistful of my shirt. His knuckles were white. His whole body was rigid. He did not want to touch me.

"You're going to fall," I said, my voice flat.

"I'm fine!" he chirped back, his voice strained. "I have a good grip!"

I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. "Suit yourself, Snotty Kid."

I started pedaling. Immediately, heads turned. People stopped talking. Mouths open. They pointed. Openly. I could feel Thyme trying to shrink behind me. This was clearly torture for him. Good.

Then, I saw it. A long, clear downhill slope. A thought came to me. Sharp and mean.

I pushed down hard. The little bike lurched. I kept pushing, pumping my legs. The bike picked up speed. Faster and faster.

"Whoa! Hey! Slow down!" Thyme shrieked. I could feel him bouncing and flailing on the rack. "I'm going to fall! Meta! META!"

I ignored him. I went faster. The flimsy frame wobbled dangerously. The wind whipped past. Chaos.

"AHH!" He screamed. A desperate lunge nearly unbalanced us. Then his arms shot around my waist, holding on so tight I could barely breathe. His face was pressed hard against my back.

I let the bike slow down, letting it coast. A grin spread across my face.

"See?" I called over my shoulder. "Told you. Now hold on tight."

He didn't let go for the rest of the way. The whole stupid situation felt a little less like a chore.

We ended up at a small restaurant a few blocks away. It was quiet. Thyme, knowing food was near, transformed. He ordered half the menu. I just watched, baffled.

The first plate of noodles arrived. His eyes lit up. "Whoahhh, this smells amazing!" he said, and just attacked the food. Huge bites. Oblivious. A speck of rice on his cheek. He smiled around a mouthful of noodles, a wide, genuine, goofy smile. That stupid nickname fit him.

I just watched him. Amused. Confused. He was just so happy over a plate of noodles. His cheeks puffed out. He'd close his eyes when he chewed. He kept trying to offer me bites, holding out his fork. I just grunted or shook my head. He didn't care. Just kept chattering about food.

He was in the middle of talking, a shrimp in mid-air, when his expression changed. Fast. The smile faltered. His eyes flickered to the other tables. He put the shrimp down and looked around. I followed his gaze. A couple of girls were looking at us. They looked away when they saw me notice.

"Hey, do you… think people are looking at us?" Thyme mumbled. His voice was quiet. The energy was gone. He started poking at his rice. The change was instant.

"People always look," I said with a shrug.

"Yeah, but… it feels different," he insisted. He pushed his plate away. "Like… they're whispering. Can't you hear it?"

I listened. Just the normal restaurant buzz. "You're imagining things," I said, my tone probably too sharp. "It's a public place."

"I guess," he sighed. He ate the rest of his food slowly. In small bites. The joy was gone. He just looked small and wary.

It was weird. Seeing him go from so happy to so anxious. A flash of irritation went through me. Not at him. It was at the people staring, at whatever stupid thing was in his head that made him care so much. That could just turn him off like a light switch. He was now sadly pushing a single grain of rice around his plate. An unwelcome complication. A problem I had no interest in solving.