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When Sparks Fly

Page 11

by Portia MacIntosh

Panic hits me, and I bolt for the door, clumsily crashing into it. A loud snapping noise follows. I look down at the floor and see a splintered piece of wood and a paper sign saying to ensure the doorstop is in place at all times, because the door gets stuck. Oh God.

I try the door, but it won’t open. This is so embarrassing. Why did I stalk him into the actual toilet? And now I’ve trapped us both in here. He’s technically a hostage at this point.

I hear a flush and a few seconds later Mr L emerges from the cubicle.

‘Hi,’ he says with a cheeky laugh. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

He washes his hands, smiling at me in the mirror as I try to find the words.

‘The door is jammed,’ I blurt out. I didn’t look very hard for the right words, it turns out.

‘Oh?’ he says.

‘You’re welcome to try and open it, I won’t be offended, but I can’t get it open,’ I tell him.

Mr L tries the door and shakes his head.

‘Oh boy, that is stuck.’

‘Can you call the pub for help?’ I suggest. ‘I left my bag with my friends.’

He looks sheepish.

‘I left my phone on my table too,’ he tells me.

Shit. I start to feel the walls closing in.

‘I’ve just learned, in the most inconvenient way, that I’m a little claustrophobic,’ I inform him – I’m technically informing myself too. I had no idea.

I slide down the wall, sinking to the floor, unsure what else to do.

‘Don’t worry,’ he reassures me, sitting down next to me and placing an arm around my shoulders. ‘Someone will come up soon and either open the door from the outside or realise we’re stuck and get help.’

‘Thanks,’ I reply, but I am really panicking. If he wasn’t so hot, and I wasn’t trying to play it vaguely cool still, I would probably be really embarrassing myself right about now.

He squeezes my shoulder gently.

‘Hey, what’s your favourite movie?’ he asks me, his tone more upbeat.

‘Titanic,’ I tell him, my voice wobbling.

He laughs.

‘Titanic? No wonder you’re claustrophobic,’ he jokes. ‘That film would give anyone ideas.’

I can’t help but laugh too.

‘At least we’re on dry land, right?’ he reminds me, and I nod. ‘And no water is coming in. Not unless someone turns a tap on.’

I relax a little, laughing at his joke.

‘What’s your favourite film?’ I ask.

‘The Godfather,’ he replies.

‘Don’t all boys say that?’

‘Yes, but I mean it,’ he says with a smile. ‘You can learn a lot about family and loyalty from it.’