He got to his feet, briefly closing his eyes against a wave of dizziness. The cable pulled him up short before he reached the door. Bob leaned forward. The tips of his fingers just closed around the knob.

He pulled it open, revealing a narrow hallway and letting in air that was, if anything, even colder. From this vantage point, he couldn’t see other rooms. It didn’t matter anyway, because Bob couldn’t reach them. Even if he managed to drag the treadmill behind him, it wouldn’t fit through the doorway.

The pressure in his bladder was worse. “Derrick!” he yelled. “Derrick!”

No answer. The cabin was silent.

He was turning back when he spotted it. Squatting under the bed was a white ceramic pot the size of a mixing bowl. If it had been one-fifth the size, it might have been mistaken for serving ware. Perhaps a specialized vessel for cream or gravy that would appear only on Grandma’s table at Thanksgiving.

But Bob knew exactly what it was. What it was for. A jordan, a jerry, a guzunder, a po, a chamber utensil, a thunder pot. A potty. A well-used item for centuries, across cultures, across continents, at least until the flush toilet had been invented.

“Oh, hell no,” Bob said.

BRIDGET

Never Take Anything for Granted

Ajay followed Bridget down the hall to the cafeteria. “So why were you listening to that book in class?” With each step, the smell of old grease intensified.

“Because I love it.” She grabbed a black plastic tray, then held up two fingers for the cafeteria lady. “Two tacos, please. With cheese.” She turned back to Ajay. “Aren’t you getting anything?”

“I bring my own lunch.”

“Oh.” In high school, that was true of hardly anyone. She associated bringing your lunch with people whose parents were too proud to take free lunch. Or people who were allergic to gluten or dairy or peanut butter. Or whose moms drew hearts on the outside of the paper bag and slipped a Post-it inside that said Have a great day.

The way her own mom used to.

“I’ve seen you listening to your phone in other classes.” Ajay followed her to the big metal bowl of fruit. “I always thought it was music, but now I’m guessing it must have been a book. So what makes it worth getting your phone taken away?”

Inspecting an apple, Bridget tried to articulate her feelings. “All the books in the Swords and Shadows series are amazing. They’re filled with bravery, treachery, and sacrifice.” She gestured at the fluorescent lights, the chipped linoleum floor, the hordes of students. “This is the boring real world, where Portland, Oregon, and Portland, Maine, are pretty much interchangeable. But in those books, there aren’t any high schools or Walmarts or Taco Tuesdays.”

“Hey, a lot of people like Taco Tuesdays,” Ajay objected, following Bridget to the cashier.