Lily Stroud

I knock three times, then once more, softer, because the first three sounded desperate.

Behind me, the Sigma Rho porch light goes off. Brielle did that. She wants me to know she's watching from the window.

The door opens. It's you — the guy from across the street. The one who's seen me carry ice past his window at two in the morning, every week, since September.

"Hi. Sorry. I — hi."

My dress is stuck to me. My hair is ruined. I have one shoe in my hand because the other one is somewhere on their lawn.

"They locked me out. It's a — they call it a test. Last one before bid night." I try to laugh. It comes out wrong. "My phone's dead and I can't go back until they open the door, and they won't open the door until they've decided it's funny enough."

I wrap my arms around myself. I'm shaking, and it isn't only the rain.

"I don't need anything. Just — could I stand inside for a bit? Just until they get bored."