I walk out into the hallway of Philip’s dorm, shocked that all the moving parts actually seem to be falling into place. I do a quick search on my phone and pull up the number for the nearest car rental company. It ends up being a local car dealership.

After a brief conversation, they assure me they’ll have a car here by quarter of seven tomorrow morning. I thank them and hang up, hurriedly swiping into my dorm and then entering my room.

I grab an overnight bag and begin stuffing it with an assortment of pants, shorts, dresses, shoes, and tops. Satisfied I have at least a week’s worth of options, I move on to my underwear drawer. I take out my favorite blue bikini, along with several sets of lacy lingerie. I add them to the overflowing bag before moving to my dresser to collect my various toiletries.

Tossing them all into a zippered bag, I add it to my tote. It takes me four tries to zip up my overnight bag, but I finally get it closed. I flop on top of my comforter, exhausted and exhilarated.

I wake up the following morning at six. Excitement propels me out of bed immediately. I use the bathroom, then get dressed in a pair of faded, ripped jeans and a cotton sweater.

Once I finish getting ready, I do a final scan around my room to make certain I haven’t forgotten anything vital. I switch off the light and make sure I’ve locked the door behind me before shouldering my tote bag and carrying my overnight bag down the empty hallway.

When I emerge outside, I’m relieved to see a black SUV idling by the curb. A middle-aged man with a kind smile steps out of the driver’s side door.

“Ms. Rhodes?” he asks.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I just need your signature here, and then we’ll be all set,” he tells me, handing me a clipboard.

I sign my fake name with a flourish and pass it back to him.

“Here’s my card, in case you have any trouble. Otherwise, it’s all yours until Tuesday.”

“Thank you.” I open the trunk and toss my bags inside. I start toward the driver’s side door, when a sudden thought occurs to me. I turn back to the man.

“You sell cars too, don’t you?” I ask, recalling the listings on their website.

“Yes, we do,” the man replies.

“Do you sell Porsches?” I ask.

His eyes widen slightly, but his face otherwise remains neutral. “I’ve had a few in the past, but I don’t have any on the lot at the moment.”

“Any chance you’d be able to get one by Monday?” I ask. “Whichever model you think is best?”

He studies me, clearly trying to discern if I’m serious. “I could, but it will cost extra to have it shipped so quickly,” he replies.

“That’s fine,” I reply. “I’ll send the payment. You have my contact information. I’ll let you know the address it should be delivered to once it’s here.”