She swings the door open. “What do you mean?” she asks.

I step closer, so she can hear me better over the roar of the shower without me needing to raise my voice. “Someone who claims to be from Bramppath told him. They didn’t present any evidence, but—”

The bathroom door handle starts to turn, and I freeze. I’m standing with half of my body inside Danni’s shower cubicle, talking to her while she’s soaking wet and wearing only a towel, and while I’m certain—or mostly certain—partially certain—that the anonymous informant is lying, what if they’re not? What if somebody at Bramppath already suspects we’re involved with each other, and that somebody happens to walk in on us like this?

I should spring backward and close the cubicle door. It’s by far the most rational move. There’s nothing all that suspicious about speaking to a classmate through a cubicle door, after all. The issue is, William’s tone has me on edge, and I feel watched by the walls themselves, and adrenaline isn’t a fan of the rational. So, to my dismay, it’s my central nervous system that chooses my next step for me, and it decides to fling me into the cubicle to hide from whoever’s entering.

The thing about these cubicles is they’re awfully small. Danni was barely avoiding getting her towel soaked while talking to me as it was. The space is not designed for the water to be running while students dry off. So, when my panic sends me launching past Danni, the only place to go is directly under the shower head. Still fully clothed in my uniform. I gasp instinctively as a powerful stream of hot water gushes over me, and clap my hand over my mouth before it escalates into a howl.

Danni lunges forward to turn the tap off—something that didn’t occur to me in my shocked state—but it’s too late. I’m soaked through. My clothes aren’t dripping onto the tiled floor so much as they’re waterfalling.

Next to us, another cubicle door closes, and the shower turns on. Danni looks over, and then back to me. Her mouth has twisted into a very interesting shape, as though she’s trying valiantly not to burst out laughing.

“What the hell did you do that for?” she mouths, and I jut out my lower jaw. Why does she think I did it? Because I wasn’t thinking, obviously.

“Help me,” I mouth back, before holding my arms up to survey myself. Excellent. Wonderful. I’m holding my body weight’s worth of water in my school uniform, which is still attached to me. And my room is upstairs. Marvelous.