Soon after class began, my thoughts zeroed in on Jared. I clenched my eyes shut when I thought about the night before. I had probably relieved him of any regret he might have felt after my antics. The professor’s voice blurred into the background, and I took shallow breaths to keep the tears from forming; it was embarrassing enough that everyone peered over their shoulders at me every day as if I’d gone crazy, the last thing I needed was to break down in class.

In the solitude of my room, I let the tears flow. I was glad that Jared couldn’t hear me. I had become a blubbering, pathetic mess. My eyes drifted to the vent to see that the cover was securely fastened to the ceiling. My eyebrows pressed inward. I was too exhausted the night before to replace it.

Scrambling to the floor, I lifted my comforter to peer under the bed where I had hidden the frayed carcass of the wire. I gritted my teeth seeing that the only thing under my bed was a lone sock surrounded by a herd of dust bunnies.

Jared or Claire had come into my room while I was gone and replaced the mic. I looked to the ceiling, balling my hands into fists at my sides. “Stay out of my room!”

The screwdriver was missing from the top drawer of my dresser as well. I had left it there for safe keeping until I could replace the vent cover. I burst into the hallway, letting the door crack against the wall. Anger fueled my march to the RA’s room and I pounded on her door.

She opened it with the same impassive look on her face as before. “Yeah?”

I sighed. “Dara! Oh good, you’re here. Um, I seemed to have lost your screwdriver. Do you think I could borrow another one? And, I need a bigger one this time.”

“You lost one of my screwdrivers and you want to borrow another one?”

“Yes,” I said, more of a question than an answer.

“Hold on,” she sighed, leaving for a moment. She returned with a larger screwdriver in hand.

Running back to my room, I pushed Beth’s chair under the vent. The new screwdriver was a better fit, and I had the screws out in record time. I reached up again and stood on my tip toes, finding the familiar small plastic object without effort. An exact replica of the first mic came down in the first tug.

I climbed down and pulled on the wire until it quivered with tension. With one swift yank, the wire dislodged from the vent and dropped to the floor. A strange sense of accomplishment came over me; I had perfected the art of ripping out surveillance wires.

With a smug smile, I looped the thin, mangled wire into a tight circle. “I’m not a zoo animal,” I whispered.