I weave through the tables and up the spiral staircase, praying I don’t trip on the long train of my gown.
Past the balcony, the corridor reaches out into darkness. I look for a bathroom sign, but when I don’t see one, I start peeking behind unmarked doors. Meeting rooms, smaller reception areas, offices. No bathroom. I start to wonder if I misunderstood Farrah’s directions when I turn a corner and there it is. Finally. I sigh with relief and slip inside.
I hardly recognize the girl in the mirror. She’s flushed and beaming and…ludicrously happy, despite how wrong the dance with Ethan was. I press my hands over my sides, where his hands just held me. It’s hard to believe it actually happened.
And it happened in front of all those people. In front of Tucker and Savannah. The smile melts off my face. It was a shitty thing for us to do. I’m going to have to make it up to Tucker, apologize or something. I can’t spend any more time pining after someone who doesn’t belong to me.
With that thought in mind, I slip into a stall and lift my dress to sit on the toilet. It occurs to me then how strange it is that I’m the only one in here. Sure, people are busy dancing and mingling, and it isn’t the main bathroom, but I didn’t pass a single person in the hall, and aren’t restrooms usually crowded at events? Farrah can’t be the only one to know about this one.
Maybe rich people don’t pee in public or something. Just as this thought occurs to me, the door creaks open. A slide, whirr, tink sound from outside the stall.
“Hello?” I call out.
No answer.
My heart beats faster. “Who’s there?”
There’s a quiet hissing noise. An acrid smell reaches my nose, and wisps of smoke rise above the door. I whip my panties up and burst out of the stall. A small silver ball sits on the tile floor, emitting pressurized white smoke from a hole in the top. What the…?
I run to the door and pull on the handle, but it won’t open. Panic slices into me. I violently yank on the door with both hands. But no matter what I do, it won’t budge.
Someone has locked me inside.
“Help!” I bang on the door. “Someone get me out of here!”
The air grows thick with smoke. I cough and reach for my inhaler in my purse, shooting back two quick hits.
The smoke billows out, filling the room. I try the door again. Still locked.
I sink to my knees and search for a pocket of clean air. But the space is full of smoke in seconds, the air so hazy with it I can’t see my own hand in front of my face. My lungs tighten as if a vise is being screwed around my chest. I begin to wheeze, my airway turning into a straw. The pain in my chest sharpens. I can’t draw in enough oxygen, enough air. Stars flash in my vision. I slug on the inhaler over and over, only pulling it away from my lips to weakly call for help.
The door crashes open. I just register that it’s Tucker before he scoops me into his arms. Fresh air assaults me as we burst out of the bathroom. I suck in a big, gulping breath, smoke stinging the back of my throat.
Tucker deposits me on the carpet and grabs my shoulders. “Hope! Are you okay? What happened?”
“Someone locked me in.” I cough and grab my throat. It feels like it’s on fire. “Smoke bomb.”
Tucker clenches his jaw, then blows out a breath. He takes out his phone and types something. A moment later his friends are jogging down the hall toward us. Farrah freezes when she catches sight of me, her face a mask of mute horror. She takes a small step back.
“Oh my God, what happened?” Clayton asks.
Everyone is circled around me now, looking down at me with big, worried eyes. Everyone except Sadie. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she smiles at me smugly, as if I’m nothing more than an upturned beetle.
My eyes narrow on her.
“What?” she asks.
“Someone locked me in that bathroom,” I say. “With a smoke bomb.”
“So what? You think I did it?”
I pin her with a glare that says yes, I do think you did it.
“I was with Mike the whole time,” she says. “Ask anyone.”
I expel another cough, and Tucker helps me to sit up straighter.
“All right,” Tucker says. “We can figure out who did it later. Right now I need to get her out of here. Can someone bring the car around to the service entrance?”
Clayton jogs off down the hall, and relief pours through me. I just want to get out of here. Get away from all this. I want Mom to beat on my back until I can breathe right, and I want to feel the heavy drag of Edna, my physio vest, around my shoulders. I want to be at home in my familiar apartment with my familiar family and my familiar problems. Somewhere my vulnerability isn’t on display like a badge for everyone to see.