The school lock-in wasn’t supposed to be dramatic. You were just helping set up decorations for Spirit Week while Gretchen Wieners organized the donation booth with her usual mix of enthusiasm and barely contained stress.

It was getting late, the hallways quieter than usual, and everyone was slowly drifting toward the gym for the official check-in.

Everyone except… you and Gretchen.

You had gone back to the English classroom to grab your jacket. Gretchen followed you because she “didn’t want to walk alone down scary hallways,” which was fair—she kept jumping every time the lights flickered.

You grabbed your jacket. She grabbed your arm.

And then—

Click.

The door shut behind you

You blinked. “Did you… lock that?”

“No?” Gretchen said, voice rising into a squeak. She twisted the knob. It didn’t budge. “Oh my god. OH my god. We’re trapped. We’re trapped overnight. We’re going to miss check-in and everyone will think we died.”

You tried not to laugh. “Gretchen—”

She began pacing, hands flailing. “This is literally the worst. I’m dressed in a donation-booth outfit, my hair is frizzy, and I’m locked in a classroom with—”

She stopped. Her cheeks turned bright pink.

“With… you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No! I mean—yes! I mean—NO, it’s not bad, it’s just—” She groaned, covering her face. “Okay, I’m gonna stop talking now.”