Gathering all of my hair, I pulled it into a low ponytail and picked up my glasses off the bench, slipping them back on. The poster across the locker room came into view more clearly.

Vote for Ari!

Homecoming Queen

Homecoming. I groaned. Pretty sure slamming my nipple in a car door would be less painful.

Or joining a gym.

Or reading The Bell Jar in between bouts of banging my head on a wall.

Elle reached into her locker and took out her deodorant, rolling it on. “You’re coming to Sticks tonight, right?”

Kicking off my sneakers, I pulled my newly pressed pants off the hanger and slipped them on before unzipping my skirt and letting it fall to the floor. “What do you think?”

“Too school for cool?”

I nodded, slipping my pants on and fastening them. The girl knew me.

Leaning over, I jerked my chin at her and opened her locker door, gesturing to the Trojan bumper sticker she had plastered inside. “Some of us don’t have parents with the admissions office at USC on speed dial.”

We buttoned up our navy blue and white coats, but I could feel her eyes on me as she braided her blonde hair and I slipped on my black shoes.

“You’re allowed to relax once in a while.” Her voice was calm but firm. “The rest of us aren’t less because we like to have fun, you know?”

“Depends on your idea of fun, I guess.”

I sat down and started tying my shoes, but then I saw her stop, and I paused, realizing how that came out.

I looked up at her, kind of wincing. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean that.”

Damn, I was rude. Why was I so awful? Elle and I weren’t friends, but we were friendly. She tried, despite how hard I made it.

“And I have fun,” I teased. “Who says I don’t have fun?”

She continued braiding her hair. “Depends on your idea of fun, I guess,” she shot back.

I laughed, thankful she was playing back. I knew how I was. Judgy, rude, and close-minded, but I also knew why.

I was jealous.

Happy people didn’t hurt others, and while I didn’t dwell on my behavior in lit yesterday with Will and his friends, people like Elle didn’t deserve it.

I wanted someone to understand me.

“Have you ever seen a Lamborghini commercial on TV?” I asked, looking over and meeting her eyes.

She shook her head.

“They don’t make them,” I told her. “Because people who can afford Lamborghinis aren’t sitting around watching television.”

“So, you want a Lamborghini someday, and that’s why you work so hard and don’t have any fun?”

“No.” I chuckled, gathering my school uniform scattered on the floor. “My own private jet will get me out of this town a hell of a lot faster than a car. I’ll wave goodbye and let it all disappear in my wake.”

The cheer team ran by our aisle, everyone starting to make their way out to the gym. The football team was on a bye week, but the basketball team had an exhibition game against Falcon’s Well.

“I’ll try not to take that remark personally,” Elle replied.

I shot her a smile, hoping she didn’t take it personally. I wanted as far away from this town as possible for several reasons, and once I left, only one thing would ever bring me back.

“Is there nothing you love in Thunder Bay?” she asked.

I dropped my eyes for a moment and then looked over at her. “Why do you think I’m still here?”

And then I opened my locker and flashed her the inside of my door, but instead of my own Trojan bumper sticker, or any bumper sticker, it was a single, three-by-five snapshot of my grandma and me at my eleventh birthday picnic in the park.

My skin in my blue tank top was darker than my usual olive from all my time in the sun that summer, my cheeks rosy from smiling and not having a care in the world other than what I was going to do for fun the next day, and no matter what size glasses I wore, they always looked too big for my face. I was geeky and happy, and remembering that woman in the picture resembled nothing like the woman who was lying in bed at home right now made my throat prickle with tears.

But I looked at Elle and smiled small, my grandma the one thing I’d come back to town for.

In fact, the idea of leaving for college and leaving her if she was still alive by then was almost unbearable.

I rubbed my eyes under my glasses and then stuffed my school clothes into the locker.

I looked up, noticing something.

What was that? I narrowed my eyes, reaching up and taking the stuffed animal off the top shelf.

I paused in confusion. How did this get in here?

I looked around for anyone watching me and met Elle’s eyes, holding it up.

“Did you put this in here?”

She looked at it and then me, shaking her head. “Nope. I don’t even know what that is. A Komodo dragon?”

I studied the gray plush toy, taking in his claws, teeth, tail, the scales down his spine, the angry snarl on his face…

“It’s Godzilla,” I murmured and then laughed.

Who put this in here?

And then my face fell. I watched Godzilla last night. I thought I was alone in the theater. Did someone see me?

It was coincidental, wasn’t it?

“What’s this?” Elle picked up the paper and granola bar tied to its leg. She read the note, “Sunset is at 6:38 p.m.”

I flashed my gaze to hers.

She shrugged. “It’s from someone who knows it’s Yom Kippur,” she said.

In a town like this, everyone knew who the Jewish kids were.

And the black kids. And the poor kids.

We were in the minority in Thunder Bay, so we stood out.

Anyone could’ve sent this, and I was tempted to keep the snack bar. I hadn’t checked what time sunset was to know when I could eat, and I’d forgotten to bring anything for after the game. I was hungry.

But then, I saw a black strip of cardstock tied to Godzilla’s tail and ripped it off the ribbon.

Admit One

Emory Scott

L-348

My hand shook as I read it over and over again, recognizing the black paper with the ornate silver border and the serial number identifying every ticket sold. It was an annual event.

It was—

“Are you serious?” Elle blurted out, snatching the ticket from my hand and staring at it. “An invitation from a senior?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. The senior lock-in was held every October, and it was tonight. After the basketball game. Non-seniors could attend only if they secured an invitation from the graduating class, and even then, the seniors were only allowed to invite one person each.

One senior used their only pass to invite me?

It had to be a mistake.

“Take it,” I told her.

There was no way I was going. This was a trap waiting to happen.

She held it for a moment and then sighed, handing it back to me. “As tempting as that is, you need this more than me.”

I crumpled it in my fist, about to toss it onto the floor of my locker, but Elle plucked it out of my hand and stuck it inside my jacket, slipping it in between two buttons.

“Line up!” our director called.

But I was swatting Elle’s hand away. “Stop, dammit,” I gritted out. “I’m not going.”