Not wanting to lose this opportunity you dart forward, your feet pounding into the thin, dense carpet, propelling you toward the shoes. Above you the chair squeaks as the person shifts their body, crossing one ankle over the other. You note details of the legs as you can see them better: freshly shaven, pale, elegant... definitely a woman's legs, at the very least.
You emerge from under the seat and get bathed in the fluorescent lights of the lecture hall once more. With a glance up you see the worn treads of a running shoe, and to your right you see a white ankle sock barely peeking over the top of a gray New Balance larger than some forms of public transit. Sure in your purpose you walk to one of the lime green laces brushing the floor and grab hold.
When you lift the aglet off the carpet and begin climbing the lace swings forward, bringing you into contact with the suede. Thinking quickly you swing your legs up and begin walking up the huge indented N, pulling yourself along the lace with your arms. It's a mercifully short climb, and soon you're standing at the tongue of her shoe.
Curious you look up, wondering if you can identify the titaness from here, but your view is blocked by her other leg resting just above you. You take several steps back, walking down the crossed laces until you're at the bottom, and check the view again. You can't believe it, but you know her! Straight black hair, dark eyes, slightly Asian features, it's-
Your train of thought is derailed when she lifts up the shoe you're on, tossing you against the laces. You grab on tight as it swings back down and bounces off the floor, making your body flop up and down. The incessant pounding continues for over a minute while she idly pounds her heel into the ground, oblivious to how much discomfort it's causing you and your presence as a whole.
When it stops you're able to collect your thoughts again. This is definitely Julie! You had a class with her last semester, and you often pass each other on your way out of this lecture, stopping to talk each time you do. She must have been here early hoping to see you, but never would have expected to see you like this - for that matter, while she is a good deal taller than you normally you never expected to be looking up at her ankle.
Emboldened by a friendly face you run back up the laces, ready to grab on in case her foot kicks up again, until you reach the top. You wedge yourself in between her shoe's tongue and her ankle, then begin frantically striking the smooth skin - slapping, poking, drawing patterns with your finger, anything you think will get her attention. The weight on her leg shifts, and you look up to see her ankle lifting. The important question, though, is does she notice you?
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