Chapter 2: Rush and Ragging
Clara Thomson's Home
Morning | Chaos
The alarm blared, but Clara Thomson was half-buried under her blankets, groaning as sunlight streamed through her curtains. "Five more minutes," she mumbled, swatting at her phone. The clock read 8:45 AM—college started at 10:00, and she was way behind.
Downstairs, Sophie stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, as Clara stumbled in, her hair still damp from a rushed shower, a few strands knotted with her signature jingling clips. "Clara Thomson, you're gonna be late again," Sophie scolded, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Why do you sleep like a hibernating bear?"
Clara grinned, unfazed, grabbing a slice of toast. "Love you too, Mom." She darted to the dining table where her dad, Tom, was waiting with a plate of scrambled eggs. He was her best friend, always ready with a smile and a quick joke, his glasses slipping down his nose as he scooped eggs onto her fork.
"Open wide, champ," Tom said, feeding her a bite as she juggled her backpack. "You're gonna need fuel to outrun those tray-throwing boys."
Clara laughed, nearly choking. "Dad, not you too!" She swallowed, then kissed his cheek. "You're the best. Gotta run!"
Sophie sighed dramatically. "Kiss your poor mom too, you heathen!" Clara spun back, planting a quick kiss on Sophie's forehead before bolting for the door, her damp hair bouncing, clips jingling with every step. But halfway down the front path, she froze, slapping her forehead. "My plants!"
She sprinted back, ignoring Sophie's exasperated shout—"Clara Thomson, you're already late!"—and raced up the stairs to the second-floor balcony where her beloved garden thrived. The small, sunlit space was a burst of life: pots of vibrant marigolds spilled golden petals, delicate ferns swayed in the breeze, and a row of succulents sat like tiny sculptures on a wooden rack. At the heart of it all was Clara's pride—a climbing rose bush, its deep red blooms curling around a trellis, their sweet scent filling the air. She'd nurtured it from a cutting, and it was her ritual to tend it daily.
Clara grabbed a watering can, splashing water over the pots with practiced care, whispering, "Don't wilt on me, babies." Sophie appeared at the balcony door, hands on hips. "Clara Thomson, you're going to miss your bus! Plants won't die in one day!"
"Almost done, Mom!" Clara called, dashing downstairs, her clips jingling wildly. But at the bottom step, she hesitated, a soft smile crossing her face. She spun around, bolted back up to the balcony, and carefully plucked a single red rose from the bush, its petals velvety and fragrant. Holding it gently, she murmured, "For luck," and tucked it into her hand, her heart a little lighter.
Sophie threw up her hands as Clara raced past again. "You're impossible, child!"
Clara grinned, kissing the air toward her mom and dad as she sprinted out the door, the red rose clutched tightly. "Love you both!" she yelled, her voice fading as she ran toward the bus stop, her damp hair swinging and clips clinking in rhythm.
Tom chuckled from the kitchen. "That girl's a whirlwind."
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St. Thomas College of Arts and Science
Morning | Ragging Shenanigans
The college courtyard buzzed with energy as Matt, Lucas, and Adrian stood near the canteen, surrounded by a gaggle of fresher girls they'd rounded up under the guise of "ragging." Lucas, in his element, strutted like a game show host, his black t-shirt and slicked-back hair drawing giggles from the crowd. Adrian leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, half-amused, half-exasperated. Matt stood slightly apart, his expression sharp but alert, his mind still lingering on Anna and the fresher who'd mocked him.
"Alright, ladies!" Lucas clapped his hands, grinning. "Today's task: sing for us. Loud and proud. Show us what you've got!"
The girls exchanged nervous glances but complied, breaking into a mix of pop songs, ballads, and even a shaky rendition of the college anthem. Matt barely listened to the voices, his attention fixed on their hair—specifically, any sign of jingling clips. That clinking sound from yesterday was burned into his brain, a taunt he couldn't shake.
Dana and Lila stood near the back, whispering as they watched the seniors. Dana nudged Lila, nodding toward Matt. "That's him, right? Matt Grayson. Look at those cheekbones—no wonder the girls are swooning."
Lila giggled, stealing a glance. "He's gorgeous, but he looks… intense. Like he's plotting something."
They overheard a few girls nearby gushing. "That's Matt Grayson," one whispered. "Most romantic guy on campus. Him and his girlfriend were, like, legendary."
Dana raised an eyebrow. "Clara Thomson's missing out. She'd lose it seeing this guy's face. Too bad she's late—again."
Lila smirked. "She's probably still untangling her hair. Bet she'd regret mouthing off if she knew he was the tray-thrower."
The singing continued, but Matt's focus sharpened every time a girl moved, his ears straining for that telltale jingle. Nothing yet. Lucas, meanwhile, was having the time of his life, winking at the singers and tossing out playful critiques. "Nice pipes, but more passion next time!" he called to one shy girl, who blushed furiously.
Adrian checked his watch, then nudged Lucas. "It's 9:55. Classes start at 10:00. Wrap this up before we get busted."
Lucas sighed dramatically. "Fine, fun police. Alright, ladies, you're free! Scramble to class!" The girls dispersed in a rush, laughing and chattering as they hurried toward the buildings.
Just then, Clara Thomson came barreling through the courtyard, her backpack bouncing, damp hair swinging, and those jingling clips clinking with every step, the red rose still clutched in her hand. She was a blur, weaving through the crowd, oblivious to the seniors nearby. Matt's head snapped up at the sound, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the chaos. That jingle—it was her. He stepped forward, craning his neck, but the swarm of students swallowed her before he could spot her face.
"Damn it," he muttered, clenching his fists.
Lucas caught his reaction and grinned. "Was that her? The jingle?"
Matt nodded, his voice tight. "Yeah. She was here, and I missed her."
Adrian smirked, clapping Matt's shoulder. "Relax, detective. You'll get your showdown. Campus isn't that big."
Lucas rubbed his hands together, eyes gleaming. "Oh, this is war now. I'm finding Jingle Girl before lunch. Bet she's a firecracker, just like I thought."
Matt didn't respond, but as he watched the courtyard empty, a mix of irritation and intrigue churned in his chest. The fresher was a mystery he couldn't ignore, and Anna's shadow lingered in the back of his mind.
To be continued…