Siler doesn’t answer when I text him.
It’s my fault for pushing him away since I’ve been here, but I need to hear his voice.
Since being dropped off at campus, I’ve wandered the grounds.
Listless.
JJ would talk to me, but I’m not ready to say anything about my health to him. Our interactions would inevitably become tinged with sympathy, careful words, pity…
I almost text Mya, but delete it. She’d only make me feel worse.
On my walk back to my dorm room, I groan and stop short. I have a test in my Economics class tomorrow, and my notes are in the backpack I forgot at the Art Gallery. I need it.
But there is no way I want to go anywhere near a gallery full of Rockefeller Amherst snobs.
Maybe I shouldn’t care… What difference does failing a test make when my life is winding to an end? In fact, what difference does being here make at all?
Tears roll while I find myself walking toward the gallery, like my feet have a mind of their own. A block from the D’Ornay Exhibits, I stop.
Get a grip. There are still more tests. Maybe this doctor is wrong… the last one was…
I cross the street and go into the bakery JJ gets my muffins from, glancing back at the gallery. The street is lined with expensive cars, the door propped open, and it looks packed inside.
Instead of eating my muffin or drinking a single drop of coffee, I play with them while watching the party across the street, trying to come up with a plan to sneak in for my backpack. I feel rather brazen sitting in the bakery, stealing glances out the window before ducking back into the corner of the quaint shop lit by string lights.
I don’t want to walk back in the dark, so I have to do something now. Dragging my feet, I dump my untouched items in the garbage. Pretending to be caught up looking at the bulletin board full of ads near the door, I keep glancing over to the gallery. Maybe JJ will answer my text and bring it across the street.
I should’ve thought of that sooner, but blame my preoccupation on the news I was given earlier.
I wait, skirting around customers coming in after their workdays end, with no response from JJ. A nervous flutter hits my chest when a Bentley parks outside the shop, and three attractive young men get out. Each one unbelievably wealthy looking. They walk across to the gallery, shoving one another and laughing.
Yeah, I can’t be seen there in my Old Navy jeans and fake cashmere cream sweater. No way .
I rack my brain for a solution when I remember the staff restroom next to the backroom where my backpack is. It has a window that, if unlocked, I could maneuver open and slip in.
Like I’m up to no good, I slip out the back of the bakery into the alley, intent on walking the rest of the block to cross over at the corner and then down the alley behind the gallery. I probably look mental as I run across the street at the corner, nearly colliding with a stunned bike rider.
The alley has more expensive cars in it, likely for the party. I just hope they’re all empty as I stick to the shadows, running behind the back of the buildings.
Thank you, God.
The window is open halfway. The janky screen pops out easily, and I haul myself into the dark, empty bathroom.
Almost there.
I have to nudge the toe of my foot against the black Porsche parked next to the window, but I manage to propel myself into the room, taking a minute to catch my breath. Fear of being caught makes me lock the door quickly.
I almost die on the spot when I hear a snicker outside the window. “What the fuck was that?”
“Shhh… come on, let’s go, man,” another guy says. “We were leaving, remember?”
I crawl to the corner, out of sight of the window, my heart trying to take flight out of my body.
“Leave? Not anymore… this just got interesting,” he laughs. “Let’s go meet the party crasher.”
No, no, no… why couldn’t I just fail the test?
Maybe I can wait until they come back in, slip out the window, and get away. Except as I’m figuring out how to do that, the doorknob rattles and a guy’s voice sings out, “Open up, open up… we know you’re in there.”
