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She traced her finger over her lower lip as if thinking. “Well, if you’re not sure, you should take your time with it. Get to know them up close and personal. I mean, I guess that’s what dating is all about. You don’t have to commit and probably shouldn’t until you’re pretty sure you want to.”
“I guess I worry they will get jealous eventually. They’re all friends. I don’t want to make them fight or anything.”
“What can you do? I mean it’s their choice, right? They don’t have to date you.”
That might have been part of the answer. They did have a choice, too, didn’t they? Figuring out what they really wanted from me was what confused me.
Karen flicked a finger across her brow. “So if they know you are dating each of them and are okay with that, you shouldn’t worry, either. Not unless you’re unhappy.”
“They’re really nice,” I said.
“There’s a lot of nice people.” Her smile brightened. “Boy, for someone who has never dated before, you are sure in a pickle of a problem.”
I laughed, pushing a palm against my forehead. “It was kind of an accident.”
The coaches whistled at everyone, announcing we should go ahead and change. We still had twenty minutes before the end of class so we had plenty of time, but Nathan and Gabriel hadn’t returned, and I wondered what Mr. Hendricks had them doing.
I walked quietly back to the locker room with Karen. I was feeling better after talking with her. Maybe the guys were right to say I should stop worrying so much. Dating wasn’t a commitment. After all, in the books I read, people went out on several dates before they asked someone to go steady. Maybe I was overreacting.
I opened my locker, removed the clothes I was going to wear home and padded over to the bathroom stalls to change. I wasn’t overly modest around the other girls, but I had to use the restroom and wanted to accomplish two things at once.
When I returned, a collection of girls stood together in the middle of the locker aisles, and they were all talking in loud voices.
I spotted Karen standing away from the group and I approached her side. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“Some stuff is missing,” she said, concern etched on her face. “We’ve got a thief among us.”
“It was my favorite bracelet. My dad gave it to me,” one of the girls spoke over the others.
“My brand new tennis shoes are gone!”
I stood by, stunned and unsure of what to do. I tried to think of what was in my own locker that someone might be interested in taking, but with the cluster of girls huddled in the area, I couldn’t get to it.
“Girls!” Coach French showed up, looking peeved that she had to intervene. “Why is everyone shouting?”
“Our stuff is missing.”
The other girls started talking at once. They were relaying the list of items that appeared to be stolen.
“Okay, okay,” Coach French said. “Listen up everyone. All of you girls, go back there,” she said, pointing over to the unused shower room. “No one leaves. I’m going to call in some help. We’re going to talk to everyone individually and inspect lockers.”
My hand fluttered to the phone in my bra, but I stopped short of removing it. I was worried maybe the violin or something else might have been taken but if it was, it wasn’t enough to call up the guys about right now. They couldn’t just walk in and take over.
I marched with the others toward the open shower room. The showers overhead rattled me, and I felt my stomach starting to churn like I did every time I thought of taking a shower instead of a bath. My mind flashed with images of being tied to the stool in the shower by my mother. I swallowed my fears and willed myself to remain calm. The showers weren’t on and knowing I didn’t have to take one ebbed some of my shaking, but only just.
There was only one open archway that lead in, so someone couldn’t duck out and run away. The old beige tiles were heavily cracked, and the room was heady with must. No one used the showers since we were given little time before the bell rang to change, and we were the last class. One could simply go home and shower when they got there, so using the dingy old showers wasn’t a big deal.
I hid my hands behind my back to mask my shaking fingers. I didn’t want to appear so nervous.
Karen glanced down at me. “You look pale. Are you okay?”
I swallowed again, trying to come up with something honest I could relay to her that would make sense. It wasn’t like I could tell her about my shower phobia. “I didn’t look before, but I was wondering if my violin was still there.”
Karen nodded. “I was thinking of that. I left my cell phone in my locker. I hope it’s still there. I don’t want to have to pay a couple hundred dollars for another one.”
I was sharing my sympathy, crossing my fingers that neither of us had stuff missing. I was hoping this would get resolved quickly.
We all seemed to be holding our breath, waiting to overhear, but the murmur of adult voices, what we suspected were the other coaches, weren’t easy to listen in on. The voices reverberated against the walls and they were speaking too low.
Coach French appeared in the archway of the shower room. “Emily Adams. Come with me, please?”
I shoved a finger to my lip. One by one, the girls were called out, and they didn’t return. Soon, Coach French didn’t come back, but simply shouted out a name from deeper in the locker rooms. That girl would leave alone to face off with the coaches.
Our numbers dwindled. Karen left, her name being called halfway down the list. I thought at first Coach was calling us alphabetically but at some point, I ended up alone with another girl in the class and I knew I wasn’t that low on the alphabetical list.
Coach French appeared in the archway, looking annoyed and tired. “Just checking to see how many we had left. Sharon?” she asked.
The other girl nodded, following Coach French into the locker room.
This was too strange. Why was I last? Before with other people in the shower room, it hadn’t been too bad. Now alone, I had nothing to look at except the shower heads and the drains. A wave of lightheadedness swept over me but I forced my teeth down on my tongue, willing myself to remain strong. I had to focus. I’d get called up soon. My fingers hovered over the phone in my bra again, but since the bell hadn’t sounded yet for dismissal, I was sure everyone else was in class.
Minutes passed. No one called for me. What was going on?
Coach French’s murmuring voice, along with a couple of male voices, echoed back to me.
I sucked in a breath, thinking of Mr. Blackbourne. I pulled my phone from my bra, found his app on my phone. My finger hovered over the white button. I knew I didn’t have anything to worry about. I didn’t steal anything, but I was uncomfortable. I hated the thought of calling on him if this turned out to not be a big deal.
His voice echoed through my head.
We will come for you every time, for any reason. Until the day you tell us to stop, we will always be right behind you.
I swallowed, hitting the white button and hoping I was doing the right thing.
“Miss Sang Sorenson,” a familiar voice had me jumping.
I dropped the phone at my feet. It bounced off of one corner of the case and slid across the floor.
Mr. McCoy’s swollen figure lumbered in the archway. His watery eyes narrowed on me and his bristling mustache twitched under his nose. “So you’re our thief.”
I took a step back, putting up my hands in a defensive stance. Where were the other coaches? “What do you mean? I didn’t take anything.”
“You’re the last one, and everyone else was clean.”
“Check my locker,” I said. “I don’t have anything that belongs to other people.”
“You could have easily gotten one of those accomplices to help you.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
He smirked, taking a step forward. “Wouldn’t you?”
A rattling echo sounded. My phone was vibrating.
>
I inched closer to the phone to pick it up.
“Don’t move,” Mr. McCoy said, his crackling voice full of warning. He walked over to the phone, bending over to collect it from the tiles. He turned it around to look at the face. From the distance, I could tell the screen was cracked.
My heart thundered.
Mr. McCoy flicked through the phone. “Calling for help, huh?” He smirked, typing in a message with his thumbs. “Mr. Blackbourne wants to know where you are. I’ll tell him you’re going home, so he won’t bother stepping in this time.”
My skin crawled. I had orders, I reminded myself. Avoid McCoy at all costs. Even if he wants me to stay, find Mr. Blackbourne’s office and lock myself in.
I side stepped toward the wall, trying to take a wide berth around him to avoid getting in arm’s reach. I clenched my fists, holding them to my thighs as I walked.
