Rose did watch out. Until two days later, when she found herself alone in the hall. Her grandmother’s driver, Calvin, was planning to pick her up that day to take her to an orthodontist appointment after school. He had told her he would be a few minutes late. It was a minute or two past three, and the halls were empty since school had let out at 2:45. She was just getting the books she needed that night from her locker when she heard footsteps, then giggles, and then felt one hand? Two? Maybe three, shoving hard against her back. Her head banged against the metal; then there was a slam. Complete darkness. She heard a click, a sickening click. Trapped! I’ve been locked in my own locker.

“Have a nice night in school!” a voice sang out. “Maybe you can write about it on Threads!” Another voice she didn’t recognize squeaked. There were giggles from other girls. “You see—that’s how it’s done,” Lisa said to someone. “That’s how you’ll get your passport.”

“Let me out of here. Let me out!” Rose screamed. She beat on the door of the locker. The metallic sound reverberated down the corridor.

Panic surged through her. Now just calm down, she counseled herself. Calm down, Rose. Someone will come—a janitor or someone. Do some deep breathing. Calvin said he’d be late. He’ll wonder why I’m not outside and come into the building. She suddenly realized she could call on her cell phone. Who would she call? Her grandmother? No—the school, of course. She’d google the phone number. She reached into her pocket for her phone.

Nothing! She turned the pocket inside out and heard the clink of a penny and the dry rasp of some Skittles falling onto the metal floor. The phone had been there minutes ago. Joe’s words came back to her: Don’t let them get hold of your cell phone. They had it! Now what? There was an eerie stillness as the school grew silent. Then she could hear the school buses pulling away outside. And there was darkness, total darkness. The panic rose again.

Then, at last, a voice. “Rose. Rose, it’s me. Myles.” She heard something scratching on metal. Suddenly the locker door opened. There was Myles in his wheelchair.

“Nothing like a compass for picking locks.”

“Myles, you’re here?!” she said, stepping out of the locker as Myles backed away in his wheelchair.

“Yeah—why do you look so surprised? Well, maybe you should be. But I’m very good with my one working hand.” He lifted his hand that was holding his compass for geometry. “Lucky we started that geometry chapter this week,” he said, dropping the compass into a bag slung over the handles of his wheelchair.