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As we cross through campus, I whip my head left to right, scanning the place for any teachers or custodians or anyone who can call the police.
“Emilyn, what are you doing?” Jase says.
“Making sure no one’s around,” I reply, looking past Jase, my eyes snagging on the bathroom doors along one of the buildings.
He snorts. “It’s Saturday, and summer. No one’s here, trust me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Actually, I do.”
Oh, right. He’s been suspended and has taken summer school. He would know more about sneaking into campus than I do. Still, one can never be too paranoid.
We finally reach the building where the photography classroom is located, the darkroom right beside it. I glance at my phone. We have about twenty minutes left. My stomach tightens, and my hands are so clammy I almost drop my phone. I’m hoping there’s a printer in the main classroom—my photo needs to be ready right away, so I can’t use the darkroom. If I don’t have anything to present at Blossoms, and if I don’t arrive to our exam on time, I’m double-screwed.
I turn the handle, its silver coat dulled, and yank it, only for the door to remain closed. A few more yanks, and all hope is gone. Suddenly, Jase wriggles the window until the lock unlatches. He slides it open and waves for us to go inside. My mouth falls open.
“The windows here are old as hell,” he explains. “It’s easy to open them.”
Jase straddles one leg into the classroom, then the other. I do the same. Never did I think I would break a law, much less at a school I don’t attend. Still, even as I look to see if anyone’s around, I feel strangely ... excited. And I can’t figure out why.
“Weren’t you mad at getting yourself in trouble?” I ask.
“Yeah, but that wasn’t worth it,” he says.
It takes all but a second to realize that this, trespassing into campus to help me find a photography classroom, is worth it to him.
Warmth fills my heart. “Thank you.”
He smiles. “No problem.”
Jase flicks on the switch, the lights highlighting the room in yellow, the desks crooked and haphazard, as if no one bothered to organize them once the bell dismissed the class for summer vacation. I tug the grey curtains framing the window closed.
“Emilyn. No. One. Is. Here."
“You never know.”
“Who’s going to catch us, a ghost janitor?”
“Haven’t you heard, they’re the scariest of them all.”
“Well, if they catch us, they catch us.”
We just look at each other before bubbling into laughter, our ha ha ha’s caroling in the classroom. I like that Jase and I joke around in every conversation. It’s enough to calm down my paranoia, even just a little.
Jase follows me as I head towards the printer standing in the corner of the room. The whiteboard isn’t erased enough. Even in the faded blue marker, I can still see the photography terminology spelled out in sloppy handwriting. I plug in the printer, its white and grey exterior subdued to duller shades, then wait as it beeps itself awake. Suddenly, there’s a string of three beeps that sound alarming. On the stamp-sized screen, the words OUT OF INK flash and flicker.
“Crap,” I mutter.
“What’s wrong?” Jase asks.
I point to the words on the screen.
Another glance at my phone—fifteen minutes left. I feel my stomach twist and scrunch.
We head over to the cabinet on the other side. Considering all the locked things we’ve encountered today, we should figure out another way to open it, but it does just that as Jase pulls the handle.
“Do you have some kind of superpower that lets you open everything?” I say.
