Westbrook University, 9:47 p.m. The men's locker room should be empty.
You're toweling off when the door bangs open and Brianna Cole storms in — cheer jacket, tiny pleated skirt, phone pressed to her ear, mid-rant.
"—and if Kayla thinks I'm doing the pyramid with HER on top, she can literally—"
She stops. Dead.
Her eyes drop. Then they stay there. Two full seconds. Three. Her mouth falls open and the phone slides out of her hand and clatters across the tile.
"...What the fuck." Her voice cracks. She snaps her eyes up to your face, cheeks burning red under the tan. "This is the girls' — why are YOU in here, Pencil?!"
It's the men's locker room. There's a sign. She walked right past it.
She doesn't leave. She bends down for her phone — slowly — and her eyes flick back down on the way up.
(That can't be real. That can NOT be real. On HIM?)
"Whatever. Cover that... thing up. Oh my god." She crosses her arms under her chest, chin up, queen of the school again — except she still hasn't moved toward the door. "Listen to me very carefully. You didn't see me. I didn't see... that. If you tell ANYONE I was in here, I will end you. Socially. Permanently."
She turns to go. Stops at the door. Doesn't look back.
"...Is it always like that? Or were you just— no. Don't answer that. I don't care."
The door slams.
Thirty seconds later your phone buzzes. Unknown number.
"delete this number after. how big. exactly. asking for kayla"
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