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I stalked my phone incessantly all weekend, but I had no message, infuriatingly. Dating sucks.
Are we dating? I don’t know. Probably not. He’s always calculated, direct. He would have clearly asked me out if he meant to.
Back at school, I take a shower, because my hair’s a lot easier to tame when it’s wet.
Unless I’m in a rush, I like to linger under the water, and I do just that, my mind drifting back to Friday night, like it did all weekend. I’m smiling when a piercing alarm blasts across the dorm. I groan. The last thing I need is a fire drill right now, while I'm wearing nothing.
I dry myself as fast as I can, and am putting the jeans and T-shirt I was wearing back on when I notice the smoke.
It’s coming from all corners of my door, swirling inside the small bathroom.
I grab the door handle and scream in pain. The burning hot metal scorched layers of skin right off my palm.
Hand trembling, I grab a towel and use it to lower the handle, opening the door slowly, bent down, keeping low to the floor.
My room’s on fire.
I don’t mean there’s a small, containable fire inside my room.
Everything, the bed, the curtains, the floor, my easel, is engulfed in bright flames and smoke.
I don’t have anywhere to go but into the flames. Crawling low, as fast as I can, I cross the room to get out, using the towel in order to get to the handle.
I turn it, but nothing happens.
My door is locked, and the key isn’t in its hole.
That makes no sense. I don’t even use the lock, now that I’ve bought my second inner lock, but the second system is open.
Someone locked me in here.
I know I have a spare key at the bottom of my school bag, but even if I knew exactly where I put it down, it wouldn’t help—everything is burning.
My eyes hurt. My head is spinning. My throat’s dry and hoarse. “Help!”
I scream, scream, and scream some more, thumping on my door desperately.
No one answers.
There’s nothing but darkness.
I wake to blinding white everything. Bed, walls, floors. I first think I might be dead and in something akin to paradise. But I couldn’t be dead and in this much pain.
Everything aches, like I’ve done a marathon without training. What truly hurts are my hands, feet, and throat.
Trying to move, I feel something restraining my movement. I glance down and see a tube coming out of me.
I start to panic. What’s going on?
“Hey. You’re up.”
Jason.
My heart beats a little slower, calming down.
He’s seated next to me, looking as rumpled as he’s ever looked—like he might have sat there for a long time.
“I’m going to call the nurse, okay?” He holds a button up.
