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I reach out and take the key ring from her outstretched hand before smiling. “Thank you so much, Laura—and have fun! I wish I could go out tonight, but there is no way I’m passing this class if I don’t study. I swear, each week, I think it’s going to get a little easier… it just gets harder.”
“It’ll pay off. You’ll have a ton of career options when you graduate with this under your belt.” She gestures around us. “And it’ll be a dream. Trust me.”
I nod and wave goodbye as she leaves me truly alone for the first time since I started school.
It’s so quiet it’s almost eerie, but I ignore the feeling and make sure all of the doors are securely locked before returning to my studying. It takes a little while, but I finally get into a groove, relishing in the blissful sound of silence, trying to accomplish as much as I can.
The next time I look up, weary-eyed and losing my steam, it’s almost 1:00 a.m.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, standing from the bench and lifting my arms above me in a stretch that relieves some of the stiffness from hours of being still.
I didn’t realize how late it had gotten, but I’m feeling so much better about this ridiculous test next week. I really want to start the year off right by acing my first test as an official Northwestern student.
Creak.
My eyes widen when I hear something in the front of the building. The lights in the rink are set based on activity, so most of the building is dark, aside from my spot at a table in the back near the heater.
What thehellwas that?
I inch toward the front of the building, fear creeping into my chest with each step I take.
I double-checked the doors. There’s nothing here, Caroline.
You’re alone, it’s dark, and this building is empty.
You’re overthinking.
Quit being a scaredy bitch, as Lena would say.
My pep talk doesn’t actually work because halfway through my tiptoe to the front, there’s another loud creak that this time sounds like a door opening.
I reach for the first thing I can grab in the dimly lit room, which just so happens to be a hockey stick.
It’s a hockey rink. Who breaks into a hockey rink?
Oh god, what if someone knew I was here and they were waiting for the perfect time to strike and it isn’t actually even a robbery? What if they’re going to kidnap me? Would my dad pay the ransom?
Stop.
Get it together.
This is your brain overreacting and reaching, I tell myself. This is exactly what happens when I listen to too many true crime podcasts. I get paranoid.
I make my way to the exit door that opens to the front of the building, and honestly, I’m cursing these stupid lights and wondering why in the hell they haven’t turned on.
It’s even darker up here, and I can hardly make out the door handle to grab it with my free hand, my other is occupied with the large hockey stick I’m wielding as a weapon.
Blindly, I feel for the handle, wrapping my hand around the cool metal of it before swinging it open.
When I do, there’s a darkened figure standing on the other side, and I don’t think.
I react. I spent the last few minutes talking myself out of it being a serial killer who was planning on kidnapping me, and it turns out that I didn’t actually talk myself out of anything.
I swing that damn hockey stick as hard as I can until it collides with the looming person in front of me, earning a guttural groan, the man doubling over in pain.
Wow, I didn’t realize I actually had that in me.
“What the fuck, Caroline?”
