Eager to Love by Sadie Romero Page B

the cool wall. I could hear my heart
thudding in my ears so loudly that I felt sure whoever was holding
that flashlight could hear it too.
    “Well, someone’s been in here recently,” said
a voice, female and authoritative. “The room to the creepy-ass
court is open.”
    “Fucking kids,” said another voice, male and
further away.
    Cops , Jeffery mouthed.
    “Or kids fucking,” said the female cop.
    Footsteps grew louder, and the light grew in
intensity.
    Every week in the school newspaper, they ran
stories about crimes students had committed that week. So-and-so
tried to steal $700 worth of merchandise from the Union bookstore
or got drunk in public or cow-tipped a whole row of motorcycles or
whatever. The year before, I saw an article about six students
breaking into Tiger Stadium and getting suspended for a
semester.
    It was funny how quickly my concern swapped
from “fearing for my life” to “oh no, my grades,” as soon as it was
established that no machete-wielding cultists were lurking in Huey
P. Long (at that moment, anyway).
    Still, I had loans and a career to think
about, so I was probably almost as desperate not to get caught as I
was to not get murdered.
    “We’ve gotta get out,” I hissed.
    Jeffery glanced at the ledge overhead, the
one we had peered down from when we stood on the second-story
track. He bit his lip.
    I knew he had just as much at stake as me—if
not more, him being a double-major honors student on the dean’s
list. God knew how many clubs he could get kicked out of for going
on academic probation.
    He eyed the ledge carefully, then he put his
back to the wall, squared his feet, and interlaced his fingers. He
was going to boost me up.
    A knot caught in my throat.
    “What about you?” I whispered.
    “I’ll figure something out,” he said. “Just
go. Get all the way out the way we came.”
    I put my foot in his hands and placed my
hands on his shoulders to steady myself. Then he raised me up. I
could just barely touch the ledge.
    “Little bit more,” I whispered.
    “Can’t,” he grunted. Jeffery’s upper body was
strong, but the angle of his arms kept him from pushing me
higher.
    “Think I heard something, Mick,” said the
female cop, her voice stern.
    “Dammit,” said Jeffery. “My head. Use my
head.”
    I hesitated, not wanting to.
    “Go,” he hissed.
    I stepped on Jeffery’s head and straightened.
My hands found the dusty concrete edge, and I pulled myself up.
    I climbed over the short wall and found
myself standing on the track in the moonlight. I looked back into
the pit of the racquetball court, but without turning on my phone
light and giving away his position, I couldn’t see Jeffery. The
doorway cast an ever-broadening wedge of white into the dark as the
officer approached.
    I bit my lip, wanting to do something but not
knowing what to do.
    Then, in a flash, I had an idea.
    I pulled off my tennis shoe and ran to the
opposite side of the track—the one overlooking the pool. With a
desperate heave, I launched the shoe into the abyss.
    It arced through the night, plastic shoelace
aglets flashing once in the moonlight before it dropped, down and
down, and— splash! —right into the disgusting pool water
below.
    “You hear that?” the man shouted.
    Flashlight beams started moving in the pool
area. I ran quietly back to the racquetball court, the concrete
rough against my socked foot. The light had vanished from the room,
but I couldn’t see Jeffery and I didn’t want to use my light and
risk giving him away. I squinted until my eyes adjusted to the
black and hints of the strange graffiti began to distinguish
themselves against the inky dark. The room was empty. Jeffery had
bolted.
    I went back to the pool side edge.
    Two cops with heavy flashlights stood at the
edge of the pool, shining their light down at the rippling surface.
My pink and white shoe, now netted with bright green algae, swirled
half-submerged in their beams.
    “What the hell?” said