Wet leaves slap my skin as I push past strings of broken branches, loosely tethered to the maples and oaks around them. My feet are struggling to grip the loose soil, mushing into pockets of mud, and slipping on wet, mossy rocks. This forest hasn’t been explored yet, hasn’t had trails dug into its face or streams carved in like the twisted smile of a jack-o’-lantern. It lies untouched outside an all-boys school – a natural prison for some, but an escape route for me.

I can feel my heart racing. Its voice screams in my ears, beating twice for every stride and reminding me to keep running. My university sweater is soaked with fear and dripping with sweat. I don’t dare look back, don’t dare pause for a second and wonder if they’re still after me.

Oh god, I can hear them now.

“You five go this way; we’ll go left. He’s around here somewhere.”

The unknown voice breaks through the stiff air like the crack of a wooden bat, a loud, shattering noise that demands attention. My pace quickens, but I don’t know how long I can keep running or how I’m going to find my way out of this northeastern jungle. My arms are already riddled with deep scratches and a ripened bruise – tokens from last night’s venture.

Suddenly, an unrecognizable voice breaks through the air: “Hey guys, the Dean will be really mad if we’re not back by 8. Forget Ben – you know he’ll be back by morning.”

I push on; they’re closer than I realized. I’m exhausted, but I need to go further to find a place to hide. I see a large oak – my perfect hiding spot. Crouching in the thick brush close to it, I catch the slightest view of Charlie’s dark curls bouncing away from where I stoop.

I see more now – one, two, three boys, all wearing crimson sweaters. They’re leaving, turning away and heading back for the school. I wait for them to vanish from my sight, for the minutes to pass until Tom begrudgingly follows, obviously discontented that he hasn’t had the chance to claw at my neck and bring me back to the headmaster like a bad puppy, beaten and worn.

I wait and count the seconds, minutes, hours – however long it takes until I know they’re gone. I stand up and lean against a tree to empty my shoe of dirt and rocks, a collection I’ve formed since this morning. I gaze into the trees around me, thinking about my next move and the future that lies beyond. But my thoughts are shattered when I hear a crunch of leaves behind me and Tom’s greedy laugh. My head bows. My getaway has failed. It’s over.