He lifts a single brow. “I finished class early so I figured I’d come help.”
I eye him but finish gathering the balls while he works on the net. I have barely been alone with him since that time I tried to kill him. There’s always someone else around, or close, preventing us from putting our hands on—I mean, harming one another. I’m overly aware of the silence and solitude tonight. Of each soft squeak of his shoes against the floor and the way he keeps clearing his throat like he wants to say something but stops himself each time.
“I didn’t need help,” I say after the tension has become heavier than the permanent smell of BO and rotting cheese.
He gathers up the net, clenching it in his fists. “Of course you didn’t, but I feel partially responsible for your entire team leaving.” He winks. “I’m irresistible.”
I roll my eyes. “Right. That’s why all the teen girls flock to you. I’m pretty sure that’s how cults start.”
He laughs, and I shake my head. I’m not trying to be funny.
“Where do you want this?” he asks, holding up the perfectly folded net. I can’t even get it that good. Another thing he excels at. Go him.
“In here.” I push the ball rack toward the closet, and he follows behind. I wiggle and jiggle the door handle before it finally cracks open then heave the rattling ball cart over the threshold. “Don’t let the door shut.”
Someday I’m buying these girls new equipment. Perhaps a ball cart that moves willingly, and a net that’s not tied together with old shoelaces. I shove the rack into the back corner then take the net from him, safely tucking it into its allotted space.
And then I hear a click.
No. I whirl around.
“The door!” I yell. I barge past Connor and reach for the handle, hoping the custodian fixed it.
Nope.
“I told you to hold the door!” I turn on Connor.
His brows furrow. “When?”
“When I was pushing the cart inside!”
“You mean when you were creating an earthquake with that thing? I didn’t hear you.”
“Ugh!” I’ve never been so frustrated with him, and that’s saying something. “Now we’re locked in here.”
“No, we aren’t.” He scoots past me and jiggles the door handle. The jiggling lasts a solid sixty seconds before he stops, takes a step back, and places his hands in his pockets. “Huh. We are.”
“Thanks for nothing, Captain Obvious.” I throw my hands in the air. “I’ll call the principal or something.” I reach for my phone but find nothing but an empty pocket.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“I left my phone in my bag.”
“That’s very responsible,” he says while he pulls out his phone. His smile droops. “It’s dead.”
“Now who’s the responsible one?” I’m stuck in a closet with the man I hate. We are going to die here.
He leans against the opposite wall, completely at ease in spite of our situation. “Don’t panic. Millie will realize I’m not home soon and look for me.”
“Soon as in?”
He lifts a shoulder, but I notice he’s avoiding eye contact. “A couple of hours?”
“A couple ofhours?” I fall against the shelves and hit my head against them. “No, no, no, I can’t do this. I have to get out of here.” Connor might be the devil, but right now, he may be my only hope for getting out of here. “You have to do something. Take the handle off or pop the hinges.”
He stares at me. “What makes you think I know how to do either of those things?”
He’s got a point. Just because he’s a guy doesn’t mean he naturally knows how to fix things. I’m a woman, but that doesn’t mean I can burst into tears at a moment’s notice. Even though that’s all I feel like doing.
