Chapter 75 Bathroom lock

Chapter 75 Bathroom lock
The morning bell for second period fades behind the doors of the old gym wing. This part is mostly abandoned during the winter semester. The varsity teams use the new athletic center across the quad, leaving these dark corridors to the lower-grade storage crates and the broken desks the district hasn't cleared out yet.

I push open the door to the girls' restroom at the end of the hall. It has the old wooden door with the frosted glass pane that reads Women in faded gold paint. Inside, the space is three narrow stalls with green painted metal dividers and two porcelain sinks mounted under a cloudy, silver-spotted mirror. One of the pipes under the basin drips, the water hitting the drain with a hollow click.

I turn the brass tap on the right sink, letting the freezing water run over my fingers until my knuckles turn a dull pink. I cup my hands, splashing the water onto my face to kill the burning behind my eyelids. I haven't slept more than two hours since I left the Oakhaven theater. Every time I closed my eyes in my bedroom, I saw the white wool of Chloe’s coat.

I reach for a brown paper towel from the metal dispenser, pressing the rough paper against my cheeks.

The door behind me swings open.

The sound of the hinges is followed by the click of heel striking the tile floor. I watch the reflection in the cloudy glass of the mirror as Chloe steps into the room.

She walks past me, until she reaches the main door. She reaches out her right hand, her fingers wrapping around the deadbolt. With a twist of her wrist, she turns the knob until the metal tongue enters the strike plate.

Chloe turns around, leaning her lower back against the wood of the door. She crosses her arms over her chest, her fingers tapping a slowly against the green wool of her vest.

"Take the paper away from your face, Maya," she says. "We don't have enough time for you to pretend you're surprised."

I slowly lower my hands, balling the damp paper towel inside my fist. I turn around, my lower back hitting the rim of the porcelain sink, the cold metal of the tap digging into my spine. "You've locked the door, Chloe. What are you doing?"

"I'm clearing the table," she says simply. She takes two steps forward, stopping a few inches from where I stand. The scent of her lemon like perfume, fills the room, overriding the smell of the disinfectant. "Because the garbage you and Jackson were spitting out in the Oakhaven lobby yesterday was insulting. A prescription? A broken projector bulb? Do you actually think I’m that stupid?"

I tighten my grip on the paper towel until my fingernails pierce the damp layers. "Jackson was at the theater because his practice was cut short. I was there because—"

"Stop," Chloe cuts me off, her right hand lifting, her fingers spread flat in dismissive. "Don't say another word of that script. It’s pathetic, Maya. I stood there and watched his hand wrapped around yours. I saw the way you two ripped your fingers apart like you’d been burned by the heater vents. I know exactly what you were doing in Theater 4."

My jaw tightens so hard the bone behind my ear thumps. I keep my eyes on her face, refusing to look down at the floor tiles. "If you know so much, why didn't you say it to his face while we were standing there?"

"Because Jackson’s father was waiting for us at the lounge," Chloe says, her voice hardening. "Because if I had started a scene in a common commercial plaza three towns over, Jackson would have dug his heels in. He’s stubborn, and when he gets defensive about you, he makes mistakes that his father has to fix with a checkbook."

She takes another step closer, her blue eyes narrowing until the skin around her lids turns tight.

"Arthur Thorne spent forty minutes at dinner talking about the recruitment for the northern universities," Chloe continues, her fingers tracking the gold trim of her school vest. "The scouts from Michigan are sitting in the premium box on Friday night. They aren't just looking at his stats on the ice, Maya. They are looking at his family. They are looking at the Thorne name on the dealership placards. They want a captain who looks like he belongs on a billboard, not someone who spends his Tuesday afternoons hiding in the back row of a twenty-mile theater with a girl from the lower lane."

"This has nothing to do with the scouts, Chloe," I say, my voice steady despite the panic clawing at my chest. "You're here because you're terrified he doesn't want you."

A. ugly line appears at the corner of Chloe’s mouth. Her chest heaves as she steps into my space, her face closer to mine to the point I can feel her hot breath against my cheek.

"I don't care what he wants in the dark, Maya," she whispers, her teeth showing slightly behind her lips. "I care about what happens on Saturday morning. I care about the head table at the sports gala. I care about the fact that his family and my family have had our names on the same country club since before we were born. You think you stole him the first time because he bought you those cheap silver bracelets and drove you around the lower valley after the away games?"

She lets out a dry snort through her nose, her eyes scanning my uniform with total disgust.

"I stayed quiet the first time because I knew it wouldn't last," she says, her fingers reaching out to tap the gray fabric of my cardigan, right over my collarbone. "I knew the second Arthur looked at his bank statements, the game would be over. And I was right. Jackson came right back to line the moment his dad threatened to pull the truck and the summer league fees. He didn't even hesitate, Maya. He left you sitting in that lower district apartment with your brother’s broken leg and he didn't look back once."

The mention of Leo’s leg makes the air leave my throat in a cold rush. The green tiles of the bathroom seem to lean inward, the dripping of the leaky pipe under the sink sounding like a hammer striking.

"He’s with you now because he has to be," I say, my voice trembling but flat. "He doesn't love you. He’s playing the part for his father."

"And he will keep playing it," Chloe snaps, her voice rising by a fraction before she controls it again. "Because I am the one who makes his father happy. I am the one who sits next to him at the dinners while his dad signs the cross-transit leases for the Mason showroom. If Jackson stays with me, his life stays perfect. If he goes back to you, Arthur will strip him down to his bare shoes, and he will do worse to your family than he did the first time."

She leans back, her arms crossing over her chest again as she studies my face.

"I didn't tell Arthur about yesterday," she says quietly. "Not because I’m protecting Jackson, but because I’m protecting the timeline. The game is on Friday. The scouts leave on Saturday. If Jackson gets distracted this week because his dad finds out he’s been sneaking down to the lower alley again, the whole season is ruined."

She walks back to the door, her heels clicking against the wet tiles. She reaches for the brass deadbolt, her fingers lingering on the knob before she turns it back.

"Stay away from his, Maya," she says, without turning around to face me. "Don't answer his messages after six o'clock. If I see your name on his display screen one more time before the Friday buzzer—or if I see you anywhere near his truck in the school lot—I won't wait for the game to finish. I’ll call Arthur from my cell phone right from the hallway, and you can see how long your mother keeps her warehouse shift when the Thorne dealership pulls its corporate supply account."

The deadbolt clicks open with a sharp slide.

Chloe pushes the door forward, the frosted glass pane rattling in its wood frame as she steps out into the gray corridor of the old gym wing. The door swings shut behind her automatically, the latch clicking into place.

My knees give out. I slide down the front of the green tile wall until my skirt hits the wet floorboards, my hands trembling so violently I have to press them flat against the cold cement to keep from shaking. The paper towel ball slips from my fingers, unrolling slightly in a puddle of dirty water near the baseboard.

The warning bell for third period lets out a shrill shriek from the corridor outside, the sound vibrating through the wood of the locked door. I look at my reflection in the silver spots of the cloudy mirror above the sink. My face is white, my lips blue from the freezing water, and my eyes look wide and hollow under the harsh yellow light.

I reach up, grabbing the rim of the basin to pull myself back to my feet. I have five minutes to get across the quad to the science hall before the register is taken, and I have to find a way to walk through those hallways without letting anyone see the marks Chloe just left on the inside of my skin.