Turning, she faced the direction of her dorm and started moving. Her Mary Janes clicked across the pavement with a nervous pitter-patter that mimicked the hummingbird beat of her heart. She didn’t like being out in the open, not if she could avoid it. She didn’t like being indoors all that much either. Emily found just a few places comforting, none of which were anywhere near here. She tamped down the temptation to pull out her cell and call her mother and put the whole thing off.

It was too late for that. Her parents had sacrificed too much to get her into the school, and her future depended on her at the very least trying to pass all her courses.

Emily walked with a hand over her stomach, as if that could hold all the butterflies in place.

A few blocks and a parking lot later, she was at her dorm. The large brass plaque at the base of the building declared it to be the Quantum Mothman House. An auspicious name for a dorm, Emily thought. It was one of the newer buildings, built with money donated from some of the older local Heroes to promote higher education.

It was a bit pricey, but her father had insisted that she have the best they could afford. The fact that she didn’t need to stay with a roommate reassured both her and her dad.

The front door unlocked with a swipe of her phone over a panel jutting out next to it, and she slid into the lobby only to freeze up the moment she was inside.

The lobby was divided into two sections. On the one side were some public restrooms and a small kitchenette that had a little fridge and some microwaves. On the other was a lounge with a big-screen TV, some couches, and a couple of square tables surrounded by benches. She’d seen people playing cards or looking at their phones while the TV blasted the evening news the first time she visited.

It was louder than she liked, but people had been minding their own business then. Now there were banners strung across the square ceiling tiles, and a few balloons added a bit of a festive air to the otherwise plain room.

Emily had the impression that everyone and their friends were there. Thirty people, all packed into a small room, some of them carrying red cups, others glass bottles. There was a sickly sweet scent to the air, a mixture of store-bought pastries, alcohol, and sweat that made her stomach twist.

“Hey!”

She turned to find a tall Black girl walking her way with a gleaming smile. “You’re in five-oh-one, right?”

Emily’s mind blanked. “Five . . . oh, my room number. Um. Yes?”