Twelve
Gavin
I ’ m no writer, but an escape room seems like a pretty good metaphor for how I feel after spending the entire game last Saturday
trapped between a brother who wants me to move and a friend pushing me to make a move. The pressure is building, and I’m pretty sure an hour trapped in a confined space is only going to make things worse.
On top of that, every time I’m around Mia lately, my feelings get harder to ignore.
I had trouble sleeping all week, imagining her getting married and starting a life somewhere else. Or settling down with someone
local only to watch our friendship get eroded by the trajectory of family life, growing apart until I only hear about her
through social media or mutual friends. No more late-night doughnut excursions or advice on what to wear to a wedding when
the invitation mentions “cocktail hour trampolining.”
Would it be better to take the proactive step and move back to Wisconsin? Put some distance between us before my heart gets
more tangled up with hers? Normally I would’ve texted Mia for advice the moment Scott left, but my feelings about Dad’s decision
are tied up in my feelings for her, all of it a confusing mess.
Ditching these trope tests would be easier. We could go back to the way things were, and maybe my feelings would fade. But this was my idea, and Mia’s counting on me. I’ll just have to think of a way to figure out what’s real and what’s pretend.
According to the notes in the binder, the forced-proximity trope is when the main characters are stuck together in a situation,
and the enforced time together changes their perspective or pushes their restraint to the breaking point.
It’s the last scenario that worries me. I can’t let my heart get confused, but then again, we’re only testing the trope for
an hour—less, if we solve the clues quickly. Nothing like the weeks or months from the examples Mia outlined. My good intentions
have survived years already. An hour should be a piece of cake.
The mall is pretty much deserted. Our first stop was the food court, where most of the tables were empty. Snacks in hand,
we walk past vacant stores plastered with advertisements for local businesses and an eerily silent carousel. Mia stops to
peer into a closed-up kids’ play area and I drift over next to her and say, “This is depressing.”
“So depressing,” she agrees. “It was bad before the movie theater closed but—” she nods at the deflated bouncy castles in
the dark space behind the metal gate “—this is downright grim.”
I take a sip of my smoothie. “At least the food court is open.” I ordered the largest size, hoping it would settle my nerves,
but my stomach is in knots, and I can barely swallow down the tangy blend of mango and banana.
“For who, though?” Mia takes a bite from the cinnamon-sugar pretzel I bought her. She was going to pass it up because it was
overpriced. Even with the successful turn of her career, she doesn’t like spending money on frivolous things, other than office
supplies. Buying her the pretzel was a small gesture, but I love any chance to treat her.
“Good question.” I glance around the empty concourse. “Any chance you want to switch genres to horror? This would make an epic zombie showdown setting.”
She visibly shudders, turning away from the abandoned store. “There are all sorts of paranormal romances. But you know how
I feel about creepy stuff.”
The same way I feel about small spaces. The idea of being trapped in a confined space makes my skin crawl. Good thing the
escape room is all for show. I double-checked the website, just to be sure. “Fun fact, we won’t actually be locked in the
room today,” I tell Mia, mostly to reassure myself.
“Can you imagine the liability?” She plucks off a piece of sugar-dusted pretzel. “Might make it more exciting, though.”
Not for me. We don’t have many secrets between us, but pride has kept me from revealing how much I used to dread taking the
elevator whenever I visited her high-rise apartment building in the city. But since the last trope test was a bust, I’m willing
to endure an hour of confinement if it means helping Mia get past her creative block.
By my side, she pauses to check the mall directory, munching as she scans the listings. “Here it is.” She points out the spot,
then seems to notice her finger is covered in sugar. Making a face, she asks, “Got a napkin?”
I shake my head, so she slips her finger into her mouth. Helpless to look away, I watch her suck the sugar off. Today her
lips are the deep red of a ripe apple, and her confession replays on a loop. The only surprising thing is you thinking I haven’t already imagined how good you’d taste. Now I’m the one imagining her mouth on mine, sugary sweet, chased with the bite of cinnamon. Backing her against the map,
hands pinned above her head, the teasing scrape of teeth on tender skin...
She slides her finger out of her mouth with an audible pop and I force my gaze away, whole body ablaze. My best friend is more off-limits than ever thanks to the no-touching rule of these trope tests. Why has my brain decided right now is the time to fixate on how sexy she is?
I’ve always been attracted to her. The night we met, I wrestled with the temptation to tell her that if I was lucky enough to go out with someone as gorgeous and smart and clever as her, I’d never waste a second wanting anyone else.
But I’ve never allowed myself to dwell on it. Not until this past week, when she’s all I can seem to think about.
I’ve kept my feelings for her in check all these years, even though she’s as beautiful in sweatpants as she is in the ball
gowns she’s worn to premieres. But all evidence points to her not being attracted to me in the slightest.
There were times, early on, that I thought she might be ready to forget the pact we’d made to stay friends. But then she’d
start dating a guy from class or show me the profile of someone she thought would make a great match for me, and I figured
it was all in my head. Now I’m not so sure—
“Gavin?”
I blink, and she’s looking up at me with concern, like I missed a question. “You’ve been kind of off today. We don’t need
to go through with this if you’re having second thoughts.”
Oh, I’m definitely having thoughts . But not about the escape room. Not anymore. Desire for the woman standing in front of me has pushed all my worries to a
far corner of my mind.
Well, most of them. “Are you?” I don’t want to pressure her into anything she’s not comfortable with, especially given my
more-than-friendly thoughts. “Last week you thought this whole idea was nonsense.”
Her mouth tugs into a straight line. “Last week I thought I had months to finish the book.”
“Don’t you?”
“Turns out working with Hollywood is more complex, as if the last few years haven’t taught me that.
” She explains that the lead actor for the season has a filming conflict, and the big -budget franchise film he was cast in won out over reprising his role in a streaming rom-com series.
“I get it,” she says. “Rob’s just doing what he needs to for his career. ”
Not for the first time, I’m floored that she’s on a nickname basis with movie star Robert Cho. But I don’t love how his priorities
are complicating things for her. “Can’t they just push the season’s release date?”
She makes a face, mouth scrunched, a sugar crystal clinging to the corner of her lips, and I bite my tongue against the urge
to brush it away with my thumb, or better yet—
“A delay might result in the series being canceled.” Her all-business tone should banish thoughts of kissing her, but it’s
the opposite. She’s a powerhouse and hearing her casually talk about “the industry” is super sexy. “Hollywood is fickle like
that. If the show’s final installment is a disaster, I don’t want it to be my fault.”
“Robert Cho’s schedule isn’t your responsibility,” I say, with a sense of surrealism that we’re even having this conversation.
“But it won’t be an issue if I meet the original deadline. Like I have for every other book.” The ferocity in her voice makes
it clear how much she wants to conquer this story.
“Then you’re sure you want to spend the afternoon solving puzzles and not writing?”
“Sitting around rewriting the same scenes isn’t helping,” she says. “At least today I’m following through on my goal of branching
out. Maybe that will translate to a breakthrough.”
“In that case, let’s do this.” I head off in the direction she showed, swallowing down my unease with another gulp of smoothie.
We discover the escape room has taken over the lower level of what used to be a department store. The clerk at the sign-in
desk frowns when I show her the ticket confirmation on my phone.
“Huh, we just got a group set up in the abandoned library room. Our booking system must’ve had an error.”
“Bummer,” Mia says. “Literary clues were my best hope of beating the clock.”
We both check the laminated poster on the counter showing the other options.
“Gallery Ghosting doesn’t sound so bad.” Mia reads the description aloud. “‘Get locked in an art collector’s private vault
and search for the combination to set yourself free using clues in the sculptures and paintings.’”
Locked in a vault? Hell no. That might be my number one fear.
“Sorry, we actually had to shut that one down.” The clerk looks apologetic. “Group of college kids defaced all the paintings.”
She points to the last option. Cavern Cave-In: Search for clues with the help of a headlamp in a rubble-filled cave. Hello, nightmares. “I think you’ll love it,” she assures us. “It’s the one that feels the most real.”
Just what I want to hear when my plan is to remind myself this is all fake and I’m not about to be trapped underground with
no way out.
Mia bites her lip. “We could just come back another day when the library room is available.” But I can tell she’s thinking
of the ticking clock on a deadline that’s coming a lot sooner than she expected.