Feeling hollow, drained, and maybe just on the verge of passing out from hunger, I trudge across campus, each step heavier than the last. My hair is messily pulled into a top-knot, and my vision blurs slightly around the edges. The smell of food suddenly hits me like a brick wall—grilled meat, something warm and greasy. My stomach growls loudly in response, a reminder of how empty it is. I stop in my tracks, eyes locking onto a table set up ahead with coolers and boxes. My feet start moving again, this time with more purpose, as if my stomach has taken full control.

As I get closer, I realize the table is set up for some kind of Christian organization. Part of me wants to turn around, walk the other way, but I'm too hungry to care. Right now, I'd kneel at the altar of anyone who's willing to give me food.

"Good morning, Miss!" one of the guys behind the table calls out enthusiastically as I approach. He's tall, lanky, with a bright smile that seems a little too eager. Another guy stands beside him, equally tall and pale, and they both watch me with expectant eyes.

"Are you a registered voter?" the first one asks.

I nod automatically, my focus still on the boxes of food. The smell of hamburgers and hot dogs is overwhelming, and I feel lightheaded with hunger.

"Would you like to sign a petition?" he continues.

I shrug, barely processing what he's saying.

"It's to protect the right for public schools to waive teaching the Theory of Evolution to Christian students," he explains, like that's a perfectly normal thing to ask someone on a college campus.

My skin crawls at the idea. Raised in a household that taught the difference between religious allegory and scientific fact, I want to snap back, but my stomach tightens painfully. Hunger wins over principle, at least for now. I just wont give them real information and I'll be fine.

"Sure," I mutter, trying not to sound too eager as I eye the coolers. I just need to get this over with. Whatever it takes to get some food in my system.

"Great!" The guy beams, handing me a clipboard with a form attached. "Just fill this out, and then you can help yourself to whatever you like."

I take the pen and start scribbling on the form, using made up information without hesitation. My body feels like it's running on fumes, and the only thing keeping me going is the promise of food on the other side of this interaction. As I scrawl fake details, I can feel my vision blurring again, little stars dancing in the corners of my eyes.

They must see me struggling because the first guy pushes a bottle of water toward me. "Here," he says with a polite smile. "It's a big campus to walk across."

I don't even pause to thank him before unscrewing the cap and guzzling half the bottle. The water soothes the raw feeling in my throat, but it does little to calm the hunger gnawing at my insides. I barely notice when the second guy slides another bottle of water toward me, his expression amused.

"Very big," he repeats.

"Yeah," I manage to say, finishing the first bottle and forcing myself to complete the form. It's nothing more than a name, a fake email, and a made-up address. I hand it back to them, and they exchange it for food with the kind of enthusiasm that makes me feel like they've won something.

"Thanks, Lily!" the first guy says. "Help yourself, and be sure to tell your friends!"

I nod quickly, grabbing what I can without looking like a pig. But as I walk away, shoveling the food into my mouth, something catches my eye. A person, unfamiliar, is walking toward me from the opposite direction, their gaze fixed on me in a way that feels unnerving. My stomach flips again, this time not from hunger. The intensity of their stare makes my skin prickle with unease. I don't recognize them, but it feels like they know me.

I avert my eyes, focusing on the food, but the unease lingers. It couldn't be... could it? Could they be connected to the people who have Ptolemy? The ones calling themselves "Grunge"?

After a moment goes by, my phone buzzes. I pull it from my pocket, dread pooling in my stomach as I glance at the screen. A new message, from the blocked number again.

Enjoy your food.

My heart skips a beat, and I freeze in place, the half-eaten food turning to ash in my mouth. I don't dare look back, but the sickening sensation of being watched crawls up my spine. They're watching me. They've been watching me this whole time. I glance behind me, but the person who was looking at me is apparently gone.

I drop the half-eaten hot dog into the nearest trash can, suddenly nauseous. The food I was desperate for just minutes ago now feels like a trap, like something tainted. I don't think I can eat another bite. But I least I managed some, and that would have to do for now. As I neared my classroom building, I couldn't help but glance all around. There were plenty of students milling around, but none looking directly at me.

I pushed my way through the doors and walked into my class. I wasn't the first one there, a few other students sitting in their usual places. The only person who looked up at me was my professor, and she smiled when she saw me. I work for her doing research, she's essentially my mentor. Taking a shaky breath, I find the courage to smile back and find a seat.

I must look a little off because my professor, Dr. Gilbert, frowns a little as she watches me, but she turns her attention back to her laptop and the projector as she prepares for the lecture. This is a relatively small class with about thirty people, but I don't know everyone very well, and in light of recent events, that scares me a little. I take out my own laptop and a pen and notebook. Since I'm a little early, I decide to start doing some research and sketch out a plan of action.

Thinking of the table I visited earlier, I look up the next local school board meeting and begin to frame a presentation about the problem of censorship and religious manipulation in public schools. Ideas come to me in a blur. I'm sure other people would agree with me that students have the right to learn scientific facts in school and that the "freedom" they were talking about the table was anything but.

I'm barely listening to the lecture while it happens, not really noticing any new information on the slides when I look up. I continue drawing up my ideas for a presentation to the school board. I even sketch out flyers I could hand out and ideas for social media posts on a new social media profile. Maybe if this takes off, I could request a grant to fund the project, or even accrue a donor base, sponsors. By the end of the class, I feel like I have a plan and I decide to bring it to Dr. Gilbert.

She looks over my document and my rough draft for a speech to give at the school board meeting. She's nodding approvingly then she looks up at me with a smile.

"This stuff has been really bothering you, huh?" She says gently. "But I can see you've got good foundations here for how to make a change. Is there anything I can do to help you with this?"

The words fly out of my mouth before I can think twice. "Actually, yes. I think I'd like to apply for a grant to help with generating the materials I'm going to make, and..." here I hesitate, "would it be possible for you and the TA's to come and support me?" I don't know if she can do that, but I realize I shouldn't be making moves like this alone.

She seems to consider this. She nods slowly. "I'll help you with the grant, for sure. Bring this up at the next Student Union meeting. I bet you'll get even more support there."

This brings me some hope. I'm the social media manger for the Student Union, which is a building for students to relax and study on campus more than an actual union. The next meeting is two days from now, which will give me some more time to refine my plan. The school board meeting is a few days after that. If I move fast enough, maybe I can gather enough support and raise money for Ptolemy, except no one else will know it's for Ptolemy. It will be for... "Protesting Ptolemy," Claudius Ptolemy, that is, and it'll be a little metaphorical.