“Hmm?”
“If I die first, please don’t eat me.” I tease. “That would just be barbaric.”
“I think even cannibals would find you distasteful.”
A laugh rumbles up from my stomach and explodes. The air must be waning in here because Maddie laughs, too.
“I’m sorry that’s—” she tries but can’t finish. She falls against the wall, clutching her stomach.
She’s gorgeous. I’ve seen Maddie smile; I’ve heard her laugh. But never before has she done both in my presence, for me. Can this night get any better?
Oh yeah, the closet thing.
“Harsh? Yes, I’ll forgive you this once,” I say. “But I’m still putting it on the record that you want my body.”
“What? No!” She tosses a baseball mitt at me, and I catch it. “I hate you, remember?”
My smile falters. “Right.” I almost forgot.
We sit in silence for a long moment. How long has it been? Two hours? Longer? I’m not sure we are going to make it out of here tonight. I clench my fists, aware that I have no power to change our predicament.
“I’m sorry about your parents.”
The air whooshes from my lungs, and I release my fingers one by one. “Thanks.” I want to say more. I want to tell her about them, but if all goes wrong, I’ll be able to introduce them soon.
I’ve heard people who face horrific experiences together naturally create bonds. Not that being trapped in a closet is horrific unless one of us dies or worse, has to relieve themselves in that empty water bottle over there. Is it wishful thinking the same could happen for us?
“My dad used to volunteer here,” I say abruptly. So much for waiting. “He actually started the program and came religiously every Tuesday for nearly two decades. That’s why Millie and I are here.”
Her eyes used to carry so much annoyance and anger, but right now, there’s not a trace of it. “You’re carrying on his tradition. I’m sure he’d be proud.”
“Thanks.” I swallow, the air in here suddenly thicker than normal.I hope so.
“Hey, what happened to your side?”
“Huh?” I glance down, noticing the purple bruise for the first time. What was that from? A water basin and an unfortunate nail technician come to my mind. “I was, uh, playing football.”
“Did you w—”
The door jiggles.
Our eyes connect and we both jump up. It’s a race to see who can get to the door first. It swings open and I jump out to catch it before it can close on us again.
“Ahh!” an older man yells. He staggers back while clutching his chest.
I’m about to apologize when I realize he might actually be having a heart attack. I lunge for him, barely catching him before he hits the ground.
“Call 911!” I tell Maddie.
I gently lower the man to the floor. Is the back the safest place for a heart attack victim?
I look at Maddie, who hasn’t moved.
“Maddie!” I say, loud enough it startles her into action.
She shakes her head. “Right. Oh my gosh. I’m sorry.” She sprints for her phone and is quickly on the line with dispatch and returning to my side as they walk us through what to do.
But thankfully, we don’t have to do anything because the man wakes up, using his first full breath to cuss us out.
