Chapter 9: The closet at the end of the hall

The school day dragged on like a slow-motion movie. I spent every lunch break watching the library door, waiting for a dark coat to appear. By the time the final bell rang, my nerves were frayed.

I met Jaxson behind the old equipment shed near the ice rink. He was leaning against the weathered wood, his hood pulled low. He didn't look like the star captain; he looked like a hunter.

"Target is moving," he whispered as I approached. He didn't look at me, but I saw his hand twitch toward his pocket. "Miller. He told the guys he was going to the gym, but he just headed toward the basement of the arts building. No one goes down there this late."

"You think it's him?" I asked, my voice barely a breath. "Your best friend?"

Jaxson’s jaw tightened. A small muscle near his ear ticked. "I think he’s hiding something. Let's go."

We shadowed Miller from a distance. The arts building was a maze of narrow hallways smelling of turpentine and wet clay. The floorboards groaned under our weight. Miller moved fast, glancing over his shoulder twice. Each time, we ducked into a doorway, my back pressing against the cold bricks, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Miller stopped at a heavy oak door at the end of the basement hall—the old costume storage room. He pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked it, and slipped inside.

"We need to hear what he’s doing," Jaxson hissed.

We crept toward the door. Just as Jaxson reached for the handle, we heard heavy footsteps coming from the other end of the hall. Someone was coming.

"Hide," Jaxson mouthed.

There was nowhere to go. The hallway was a straight line of locked doors. Except for the narrow janitor's closet right next to us. Jaxson didn't wait for me to agree. He grabbed my waist, his large hand firm and warm through my hoodie, and pulled me inside.

He shut the door just as a flashlight beam swept across the hallway.

The closet was tiny. It was filled with the sharp, chemical scent of floor wax and old, damp mops. I was forced flat against the back wall, and Jaxson had to press himself directly against me to close the door. There wasn't an inch of space left between us.

I couldn't move. My nose was inches from the hollow of his throat. I could smell his soap—something like cedar and ice—and the faint, metallic scent of the locker room. His chest rose and fell against mine, a steady, heavy rhythm. Every time he took a breath, I felt the buttons of his jacket press into my stomach.

"Don't move," he whispered into my hair. The heat of his breath tickled my scalp.

I froze. I didn't even dare to blink. Outside, the footsteps stopped right in front of our door. I saw a thin line of light at the bottom of the closet. My lungs burned. I wanted to gasp for air, but the space was too small.

Jaxson reached out, his arm brushing mine as he braced his hand against the wall behind my head. He was shielding me, his body a solid weight. I looked up, and even in the dark, I could see the glint in his eyes. He wasn't looking at the door anymore. He was looking down at me.

In the silence, every small sound felt like an explosion. The drip of a faucet nearby. The rustle of Jaxson’s nylon jacket as he shifted his weight. The thundering of my own heart, which was surely vibrating through his own ribs.

His eyes dropped to my lips. I remembered what he said in the pool house— Stop that, you'll make it bleed. I realized I was biting my lip again. I forced myself to stop, my mouth opening just a fraction. Jaxson’s head tilted, just an inch, his face descending toward mine. The air in the closet grew thick, making it hard to swallow.

The footsteps outside finally moved on. The light at the bottom of the door vanished.

Jaxson didn't move away immediately. He stayed there for a long beat, his hand still braced against the wall, his breath ghosting over my skin. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words were stuck.

Finally, he cleared his throat and stepped back, creating a cold gap between us that made me feel suddenly exposed. He cracked the door open and peered out.

"Clear," he whispered, his voice rougher than usual.

We stepped out into the hall. My legs felt like they were made of water. Jaxson didn't look at me as he walked toward the costume room where Miller had disappeared. The door was slightly ajar now. Miller was gone, having slipped out a side exit.

Jaxson reached down and picked up a crumpled piece of yellow notebook paper from the floor. He smoothed it out, his brow furrowed.

"What is it?" I asked.

He read it twice, then let out a sharp, annoyed huff of air. He handed it to me.

Meet me at the basement door after 5. Don't let Jax see. I've been craving those lips all day. - C.

Jaxson rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. "It’s not him. Miller isn't the stalker. He’s just hooking up with someone. 'C.' Probably Cassie from the dance team. That’s why he’s been so jumpy. He’s been hiding a girlfriend from me."

I looked at the note. The 'C' was curly and feminine. It seemed like a perfect explanation. Miller was just a teenage boy with a secret crush. Jaxson looked relieved, his shoulders losing their tension.

"We wasted our time," Jaxson muttered, turning to walk toward the exit.

I stayed behind for a second, looking at the door. Something felt off. I reached out to pull the heavy oak door shut, but my hand stopped.

There, on the inside of the door frame, right at eye level, was a tiny, black circle. It was smaller than a shirt button. I leaned in, my breath hitching. It wasn't a screw or a knot in the wood. It was a camera lens.

And it was pointed exactly where we had been standing.

"Jaxson," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Look."