Héctor had no idea where he was going. It was his third day here, and every hallway was like a new part of a maze. Mike and the Minions cackled behind him, and Héctor made the mistake of turning to see how far away they were.

Oh.

They were gaining on him.

Great! he thought. What a great way to start the school year! He flung himself around a corner to his left and—

“Mr. Muñoz, there is no running in the halls!”

He froze, but only for a moment. There, at the end of the hallway, was Ms. Heath.

Today, she wore all red. Literally, head-to-toe red tracksuit with a red headband and bright-red sneakers. (To himself, Héctor admitted what a look this was.)

She began stomping toward him.

He backed up.

Mike and the Minions were right there, around the corner he had come from, muffling their laughter, slowly creeping toward him.

Héctor panicked. He didn’t want to deal with any of these people!

So he didn’t really think about it. He darted to his right, lunged for the door in the wall, and opened it. He heaved his body into the darkness and slammed the door behind him.

The sound echoed in the small room, right alongside Héctor’s heaving breath.

What are you DOING?! he asked himself. They all saw you go in here. What’s your plan? Hope that they somehow forget you even existed?

Light from the hallway filtered through the frosted glass in the door, and Héctor stayed as quiet as he could. Soon enough, a tall shadow crossed in front of the glass.

“Boys, good morning. Have either of you seen Mr. Muñoz?”

That was Ms. Heath. Another blurred shape appeared, and Héctor knew it was Mike.

“No, Ms. Heath,” he said, laying on an innocent tone real thick. Héctor rolled his eyes. He wasn’t even a good actor!

“Well, get along to class, gentlemen,” she said, and sure enough, Héctor heard their footsteps get farther and farther away.

But Ms. Heath stayed there. He saw her turn around a few times, then face the door. She tried the handle.

It wiggled.

Héctor’s heart leaped into his throat.

But nothing happened. It didn’t open.

Which made no sense. Héctor hadn’t locked the door behind him. What kind of closet locked from the inside?

Yet as Ms. Heath finally stepped away and wandered off into the halls of the school, Héctor began to take stock of where he was.

There were wooden shelves stretching up to the ceiling, and they were stacked with supplies: Tile cleaner. Window spray. Toilet paper. Those bags of sawdust they used when a kid barfed in the lunchroom or the gym.

There was a bucket with a mop to one side.

A broom.

Oh.

Oh.

He was in the janitor’s closet.