SHE runs into Caia on a Thursday afternoon, quite literally so.

Running down the hallway, duffle thrown over her shoulder, she turns the corner just as Caia steps out of a classroom—the Ace West Environmental Club in tow—in just as much of a hurry.

They tumble into one another, legs tangling as Caia's embrace of folders, books and sheets of paper fly all over the place. Townes's arm aches from the hit as she scrambles into a crouch, reaching for the book closest to her.

Soon crouched by her side, Caia—keeping her gaze forward, not even sparing her a glance—hastily collects some of the sheets into an untidy pile on the floor. "I've got it. Go; you'll be late for practice."