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By Root 740 0

frustration. I wondered how hard it would be to pick the lock. Growing up, I’d taken hundreds of courses in gymnastics, ice-skating, crafts, and swim lessons, but I’d never learned anything really useful like lock picking. If I ever had kids, they wouldn’t waste their time gluing Popsicle sticks together. I’d make them learn skills that would come in handy later in life. I kicked the cabinet, in case the drawer might fly open like in the movies. Nope. I’d come this far, and I’d been beaten by a two-dollar lock. My brain scrambled to think of a way around the problem; maybe I wouldn’t need my passport. I tried to think if there would be any way to sneak onto the plane without my photo ID, but with my luck I’d be caught and accused of being a terrorist.

I stood there feeling defeated. Unless I was willing to start whacking away at the cabinet with a stapler, I was screwed. I took a couple steps toward the door. I’d have to go back to the dorm and take my shower and try to pretend it was like any other day.

A jolt ran through me. My heart skipped a beat. I had an idea. I stepped back to the secretary’s desk and slid the top drawer out. My fingers ran over a collection of pens and pencils, pads of Post-it notes, and a pack of cigarettes. Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed she was the type. There was a box of paper clips, and I stuck my finger in, saying a quick prayer. Bingo! There it was, a small silver key.

I pulled it out and fought the urge to dance around in circles with the key held above my head. I slid the key in and jiggled the lock a bit, and it popped right open. The file drawer slid out smoothly. My fingers ran over the folders. They had color-coded tabs on the top for each year. I found my folder and yanked it out. There was a slip of paper clipped to the front that held my dad’s contact information and all sorts of “in case of emergency” details. There was a copy of my transcripts with all my grades. Four years at Evesham, and it amounted to little more than five or six sheets of paper. My passport was tucked into a pocket of the folder, and after a small shake it slid out into my hands.

I heard a shuffle outside the door. I froze in place, not even breathing. The steps moved down the hall, and my heart started to beat again. My eyes shot to the clock. It was time to get out of there. I shoved the passport into my bra and shut the cabinet drawer. I took a couple steps before I realized I had forgotten to lock the drawer. My fingers fumbled with the key and I dropped it onto the floor with a curse. Then the lock clicked and I slid the key back into the paper-clip box.

I put my ear to the door to see if I could hear anyone in the hallway. It was quiet. I pulled the door open a few inches and peeked out. No one. I stepped out into the hallway and headed toward the stairs. I’d only made it about three or four steps when I heard Dean Winston. He was talking to someone as he came up the stairs. Why did he have to pick that day of all days to choose to come into work early? My eyes darted around the hallway. There was a long wooden table against one wall, but there would be no way Winston would miss me crouching under there.

I ran past Winston’s door and down the hall. At the very end of the hall there was a door that led to a second-floor balcony. I could hear Dean Winston getting closer. Any second he was going to turn the corner on the landing and see me. I hit the latch on the door, and it flew open, spilling me out onto the deck and into a pile of snow. I stood quickly and shut the door. The balcony had a picnic table and a few chairs sprinkled around. They were covered in snowdrifts. Near the door was a coffee can filled with sand and cigarette butts. This must have been where the administration staff came to take their smoke breaks. I waited to see if Winston had heard the door and would come to investigate, but after a minute it was clear no one was coming. All I had to do was wait a few minutes to be sure Winston was tucked away in his office, and then I could slip back into the hall and get out of the building.