We make our way through campus to a big brick building, stopping at a grey metal door. It’s a back entrance. No signs or windows. Ethan pulls keys from his jacket pocket.

“Close your eyes,” he says, grabbing my free hand and squeezing.

And I do it. So stupid, but I do it. I squeeze his hand back.

I hear him unlock the door. He leads me inside. The door closes behind us with a slam that makes my heart jump. He keeps walking. I take baby steps, trying not to stumble over my own feet, not sure what I might bump into. Both my hands are spoken for, guitar in one, Ethan’s cold, dry palm in the other. I open one eye, trying to figure out where we are and what we’re doing. Everything is black. The eggs and buttered toast sit heavy in my stomach. I’m locked in the dark with a man I don’t know.

I open both my eyes. It is darker than the woods behind the motorhome at the new moon. Something’s hanging from the ceiling, brushing my arm as I walk past. Ropes maybe.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I wonder if Ethan can feel my crazy pulse. I will my eyes to adjust faster. They don’t.

Shit. I let my guard down, like an idiot. I know better. I know better. I’ve walked into the exact kind of scene Margo used to warn me about.

Ethan’s grip is tight on my hand. I try to keep my breath calm and plan escape moves in my head. We haven’t turned. The door is straight behind me, a few feet away. My knife is in my bag somewhere, not ready at my hip. If I drop my guitar, I’ll still have to search for the knife. My palm sweats against Ethan’s. Or is his palm sweating too?

He lets go of my hand. “Stay there.”

I inch backward, fumble in my bag with my free hand. I feel my wallet. Flashlight. A tampon. Chapstick. I can’t find my knife.

I hear the patter of Ethan’s feet walking away and tighten my grip on the handle of my guitar case, ready to swing if I need to. It’s probably fine. I try to picture his face. Kind eyes, sweet smile. He’s not going to hang me from the ceiling and hack me to pieces. He’s not. It’s probably fine. But I really don’t know how I’m ever supposed to trust myself.

“Okay,” Ethan says. “Open.”

I hear the click of a switch and I’m surrounded by light so bright that I still can’t see anything.

And then my eyes adjust.