Rachel Lawrence
“Pick up, Amanda,” I pleaded as I paced our empty dorm room. The ringing stopped, and I was sent to voicemail. Again. Of course she couldn’t hear her cell. She was probably surrounded by music and loud voices and lots of people. I shivered and looped the hem of my sweatshirt around my hand over and over. Those things were the whole reason I’d stayed behind tonight when pretty much our entire floor left for the biggest party of the semester.
I’d been fine here alone, really. I had my PJ pants and fuzzy socks and puzzle, all the things that made me feel safe and comfortable. Best of all, Amanda didn’t ask too many questions when I told her I wasn’t feeling well. I’d made it almost the entire school year without having to explain my anxiety, and there’d been no major incidents. Until tonight.
I hurried back over to the door and tried it again. Maybe the first seven times had been a fluke. But the knob was every bit as stuck as before, my lips and fingers were tingling, and my breaths were coming much too close together.
Would it be wrong to call 911 for this? Sure, it wasn’t a true emergency, and I wouldn’t even have known I was stuck if I hadn’t decided to take a quick trip to the vending machines for candy. I glanced at the phone that shook in my sweaty palm. Amanda could still be out for hours.
Beating a fist on the door and trying not to cry, I studied the fire escape plan that hung in every room. I traced the red line of the exit path plan. Usually focusing on something concrete and boring helped, but in this case, it only reminded me I was trapped.
At the bottom of the paper, there was a phone number. Campus security. I punched the digits into my phone as quickly as possible.
“Security,” a deep voice answered.
My tears started flowing. “My door is jammed and no one is here and I can’t get out and I’m on the third floor so I can’t use the window and I need help.”
“Are you hurt?” The voice softened with concern.
I shook my head, then realized he couldn’t see me. “No. I’m not hurt. Just . . . scared. Can you help me? Please.”
“What dorm are you in?” he asked.
“Flanders Hall,” I breathed. “Room 317.”
“Okay, hang tight. I’ll be right there.” Where did he think I could go? Pocketing my phone, I sank down and leaned back against the door.
Several minutes later, a knock sounded. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” But I wasn’t, especially when he jiggled the doorknob and was equally as unsuccessful as I was.
“I called the fire department on my way,” he said. “They said it’d be no problem to come get you out so we don’t have to break the door, but it might be a little while.”
It did settle me a little not to be completely alone now. “How long?”
“Not sure. Said it’s been a busy night, and since you aren’t in imminent danger, they have to keep their guys on call there until another unit gets back. I’ll wait with you.” I heard a soft thud as he sat on the other side of the door. “I’m Brooks, by the way.”
“Annie.” I was sure he could hear my labored breathing, but I was too frantic to be embarrassed.
“Annie,” he repeated. “I think you might be having a panic attack. Have you ever had one before?”
I pressed my hands against the cool floor in an attempt to ground myself. “Yeah. They used to be more frequent, but it’s been a little while.”
“That’s rough.” He paused for a moment and then asked, “How can I help?”
His tone was calm and steady. Just his presence was already doing me good. “Maybe we could talk about something? Sometimes distraction helps redirect my thoughts.”
“I can do that.” I heard shuffling and could tell he’d repositioned himself to face me. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Mint green. Yours?”
“Dark green. Favorite book?”
“Just one?” I asked incredulously.
He chuckled. “Fair. I couldn’t pick either. How about movie?”
“The Muppet Christmas Carol.”
This time he belly laughed, and the sound made me exhale with relief.
“Sorry, that’s not what I was expecting.”
“What’s yours?”
“Probably Die Hard.”
“Both Christmas movies,” I said, relaxing.
“Maybe sometime we can have a Christmas movie marathon,” Brooks suggested.
“If I make it out of here alive.” It was a half-hearted joke, but it made me too aware of the situation again, and I felt the room’s walls closing in.
He slid his fingers through the crack under the door. “We’ll get you out of there. I promise. If the fire department doesn’t show up soon, I’ll break the door down myself.”
I shifted positions and touched his hand, the contact instantly infusing me with peace. “What’s your major?” I asked. “You’re a student here, right?”
“I am. Information Technology. I’m a junior.”
“Sophomore,” I told him. “I transferred from Tech last fall.”
As we talked about our future plans, our families, favorites, and friendships, I forgot I was stuck in my dorm room fighting with my own traitorous brain. I was just a girl who’d met a kind, interesting guy and struck up a conversation.
Two firefighters finally arrived, and I was shocked when I checked my phone and saw it had been an hour and a half since Brooks had come to my rescue. It took them less than five minutes to free me.
When the door swung open, I was so excited I ran straight into Brooks’s secure arms.
“Thank you,” I told him, stepping back. He was cute, but I’d fallen for him before I’d ever seen his face.
“I’m glad you called me.” He handed me his phone with a new contact opened. “Maybe sometime I can return the gesture?”
An author of sweet contemporary romance, she especially enjoys writing NA and YA fiction. Her debut novel, Seashells and Other Souvenirs, released in 2025. Connect with Rachel on Facebook, Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter.
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