Chapter 1 #2
I’m halfway down the hall when I notice a young woman in a white housekeeping polo standing outside the women’s restroom, clutching a plunger with both hands.
She’s trying very hard not to cry as a small puddle of water creeps out from beneath the bathroom door.
Students weave around her without slowing down, some wrinkling their noses as they pass.
I shift the box in my arms and keep going for another few steps.
Not your problem, Jack, I tell myself. Just keep moving. Stick to the plan. Blend in. Keep distance. Befriending the school janitor isn’t going to earn you any points.
But her quiet sobbing follows me down the hall, and I can’t shut it out, no matter how much I want to. I sigh and set my box against the wall, then turn around.
“Overflowing toilet?” I ask.
“I… yeah.” She startles, pushing a strand of frizzy dark hair behind her ear and hurriedly wiping at her eyes.
“I’m supposed to know how to fix this, but I kind of lied on my student work application about having janitorial experience.
I just really needed the money.” She gives a miserable laugh.
“Somehow, I’ve already flooded the bathroom on my first day.
I’m going to lose my job and get kicked out of school and—”
“Hey, take a deep breath,” I say, interrupting her meltdown. “This is fixable. We got this.” I hold out my hand. “Give me the plunger.”
She blinks. “You know how?”
“I spent the summer cleaning locker rooms at a gym.” I shrug. “Trust me. I’m sure this isn’t even close to the worst thing I’ve had to unclog.”
A minute later, I’ve already finished with the bathroom and am washing my hands in the sink, listening to the water disappear into the toilet behind me with a satisfying gurgle.
“How’d you do that?” she asks, staring at me like I just performed open-heart surgery.
“Trade secret.”
“No, really.”
I grin. “Most people start plunging too soon. You have to let the bowl refill first so there’s enough water to make a good seal. Then use slow pushes and hard pulls.”
“That’s… actually genius,” she says.
“Yes, I’m quite gifted with toilets.”
She doesn’t seem to get my joke.
“I can’t thank you enough. You’re a lifesaver.” The tension finally leaves her shoulders as she sticks out her hand to shake mine. “I’m Wren.”
“Jack.”
“Cool name.”
“It’s short for Jacqueline, but only my mother calls me that, and only when I’m in trouble.” I let out a quiet laugh. “Which is quite often.”
She gives me a small but genuine smile, and I decide I like her.
“Anyway, thanks,” she says, gathering up the cleaning supplies she’d dropped in her panic. “Most of the students here don’t talk to me, much less stop to help me.”
“I guess I have a character flaw.”
“What?” She tilts her head. “Being nice to strangers?”
“More like an inability to mind my own business.”
Her expression is thoughtful as she looks at me.
“You’re obviously new to Salem’s Fall,” she says.
“People around here learn to keep their heads down. They see something that doesn’t make sense, they keep walking.
They hear a strange noise in the middle of the night, they pretend they didn’t.
You live here long enough, and you get quite good at minding your own business.
” She doesn’t sound bitter, just matter-of-fact, like she’s describing the weather.
“Anyway, can I help you find your room? It’s the least I can do. ”
My immediate instinct is to say no. I hate taking help from anyone. But Wren is looking at me with a hopeful expression, and I hear my brother’s voice in my head again.
You don’t have to do everything yourself, Jackie.
I exhale.
“I’m in 321.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh.”
That little sound makes my spine tighten.
“Is that bad?”
“No.” The answer comes a little too quickly.
“It’s just… one of the older rooms. It hasn’t been remodeled, like, ever.
” She looks toward the far end of the hallway before lowering her voice.
“People tell ghost stories. Weird rumors. Supposed hidden passageways in the walls.” She gives an awkward little laugh.
“You know how old universities like this are.”
I can tell there’s more she wants to tell me, but I decide not to push. If my room is haunted or someone died in it years ago, I don’t want to know. I’ve already got enough to worry about.
Wren escorts me the rest of the way. She doesn’t ask where my family is or why anyone would transfer to Salem’s Fall their senior year.
I’m grateful, even though I’ve spent the last twelve months building answers to those questions that sound normal.
Great opportunities at a top-notch school.
World-class professors. Gorgeous New England campus.
All technically true. None of it the truth.
Wren stops outside Room 321. “Well, this is you.” She hesitates, fingers tightening around the handle of her supply cart. “You seem nice, Jack.”
“I’ve been accused of worse.”
She doesn’t laugh. “Just… be careful around here. Nothing in this place is what it seems.”
An uneasy feeling settles over me.