Page 10 of Between the Stacks

Fuck.

“The fire marshal knew about the maintenance and had been present during the purge. The fire extinguishers were still where they should be on every floor.” Moira shook her head. “It appears, and we won’t have the full story until the investigation is complete, but for now, it seems the student set the fire as some misguided hero complex.”

I had my doubts.

With the death of the firefighter and the injuries sustained by the other firefighters and students, guess it didn’t matter what the RA’s motives were. He’d be lucky if he ever breathed free air again. “When did you want the students to move in?”

Moira flushed and a smile touched her lips. It was better to change the subject than to continue the line we were on. Nothing good would come from the darkness. “As soon as you find a student who fits your preferences. The applications should come hard and fast the second we tell the students. The others who don’t find housing with you will be moved to local hotels along with dorm rooms which haven’t met capacity.”

The next afternoon,I met the boys for lunch. I hadn’t talked to Lorna yet, but an interesting development appeared in my inbox. The first application to stay with me came from a Lyra Jenkins and I wondered if the curvy white-blonde girl with beautiful blue eyes was their dream girl. Because if she was, we were all in for a long fucking ride.

And I had a crazy fucking idea for our new movie together.

Lyra

Guess it wasa good thing I went to the hospital. Standing there, in the smoke, inhaling the acrid brew of burning sheetrock, plastic façade, and melting wires, I gave myself smoke inhalation and smoke anaphylaxis. Pretty bad, too. After a dose of epi in the ambulance when my stats tanked because of the reaction, the respiratory therapist at the hospital administered breathing treatments every four hours. Seemed I belonged to the ultra-rare club now and had to carry EpiPens for the rest of my life. Not something I ever imagined happening.

The attending doctor also didn’t let me leave until way after dark, and by the time I returned to school and was directed to the main gym on campus, almost all the beds had been filled with unhoused students. Until the college found permanent housing for students, according to Moira, that’s where we’d all stay. I supposed asking for a hotel room and a set of clothes that didn’t smell was too much to ask. The one hundred cots spread around the gym looked more like a checkers board than a basketball court. Across from where I stood, tables covered with plastic tablecloths and bags of snacks along with drinks lined the wall. A box with the words “clothes donations” lay on the floor.

Well, at least there was that.

Should be grateful, right?

Tension filled the area as I took an empty cot along the wall away from the others. As it was, lying flat made my lungs feel like they collapsed and my heart pound. I had a raging headache from the steroids, not to mention I hadn’t had a proper meal since before the fire. Add to it the smell of my clothes. I know I sound like a whiny bitch, but you try sitting in dingy, smoke-filled garments and tell me how you feel afterward.

I just wanted to go home.

My phone vibrated with an incoming text and hope soared within me. Since that paramedic helped me join the housing group, I’d been able to keep up with all the information going around campus about the dorm situation. The group also had the latest gossip about the cause of the fire. FYI it wasn’t a cup of noodles. Yeah, see, the RA who magically “saved” our lives... Nah, he set the fire on purpose to be the hero.

Made tons of sense, honestly.

Like, don’t get me wrong. I, too, have made the same mistake when I’ve been exhausted, but I never left the microwave unattended. I also didn’t set the timer for ten minutes. When he said as much, I had my doubts. I think he counted on everyone being in a frantic state of mind, trying to get out of the burning building to not question anything. Along with the other wild theories, someone posted pictures of the site after the sun came up and then when the fire marshal and arson investigator were out there. All of them turned my stomach. If the rumors became facts, all of this could have ended horribly. As it was, at last count sixteen students had been transported to the hospital along with five firefighters. Their injuries ranged from smoke inhalation to severe burns, critical condition and unfortunately one firefighter died.

What a way to be a hero.

As I scrolled through the group to see if any housing listings had popped up—not that I was holding my breath—I cameupon a notice that’d just been posted to the group. The rooms were located in the professor townhouses. Each professor had opened their homes to a single student for the time being. First come. First serve. Obviously, I scrolled through the list of the participating professors and staff.

The greedy part of my brain demanded I apply for all of them, while the sensible side dictated, I pick one and hope the spot hadn’t been taken. The Director of Librarian Studies had opened his townhouse to one student in the arts and literature program or librarian studies. I was neither. I’d signed up for college undecided, but I also knew beggars couldn’t be choosers. I also liked to read, (dark romance novels) and music (I had several Spotify playlists) was fun. I could totally swing the lingo.

Maybe.

Without overanalyzing the situation, I applied using the link they provided. How hard could it be? Wasn’t like the head librarian for the college would test me on the Dewey Decimal System. Right? We needed a place to lay our heads and finish the semester. Surely, they couldn’t say no to us. None of this was our faults. Just some kid with a superhero complex or whatever the psychology department called it.

After screenshotting the acceptance saying my form had been received, I went back to the group. The comments and posts had tripled. Some included pictures of students moving in with the professors while others reminded me of the emo-skater photos from when we were young and cringy. Some left flowers at the site while another group of students made a petition to have the school pay for the tuition of the students who got burned out of their dorms. Another wanted to start a class action lawsuit, considering there were at least five hundred students in the dorm. All I wanted was a gift card to replace my things and not think about everything I lost in one stupid incident. I alsowanted the RA to face a judge and jury of his peers. More power to those who demanded more. I wasn’t one of them.

I’d read a few more posts when my email chimed, and the notification popped up on my phone. Eager to see if I even had a chance for the offered room, I hurried to check the mail. The preview showed nothing, and I was sure after I read the first couple of lines:This tragic incident has brought changes to the landscape of this college. As such, it is with a heavy heart I must...

Nope.

I couldn’t read that. Perhaps I should just go let the school know I was dipping out. I couldn’t do this to myself anymore. I lost everything. To be rejected by a professor because I didn’t follow their rules or indulge in their studies when they knew we lost everything and had nowhere else to go was sick. Yet, as my finger hovered over the trashcan to delete the email my eye caught a detail. An address and a time.

Now. In an hour and across campus. I had to meet with the head of librarian studies to see if we’d be a good fit. I sat up in bed then immediately regretted it. My chest tightened and the coughing fit I’d hoped to never happen again, racked my body as I wheezed for air and clutched at my chest. Fumbling with the zipper on my bag, I tried to calm myself. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Yeah, that was BS. It was like sucking air through a clogged straw. My head pounded. My vision swam. When my hand wrapped around the cylinder-shaped inhaler, a brief moment of relief consumed me. The Levalbuteral was the best steroid the doctor could prescribe to help with these dang coughing spells. With the first hit, my chest loosened. By the second, the coughing eased.

Once I caught my breath, I gathered my things and went to the tables across from the cots. As much as I didn’t want the paltry items left for us, I grabbed a set of women’s clothes in mysize from the pile and a toiletry bag. I couldn’t go to an interview smelling like soot and trash. I had to be somewhat presentable. I grabbed a second bag of shampoo knowing one wash would never work and made my way to the locker room where the showers were located.

Inside sat large stacks of towels, bath puffs and washcloths. I grabbed one of each, along with three towels—one to cover me while I went to the stall, and the others for after my bath, because I was sure I looked like a drowned raccoon, and I refused to put my temporary clothes anywhere near what I currently wore. Then I stripped off all my dingy items (those clothes could be burned for all I cared) and turned on the water to warm. There was nothing more healing than warm water over grimy skin. Period. The minute the warm water seeped into my skin, I wanted to cry. The water pressure might be shitty, but I could stand there for hours. Regrettably, I didn’t have the time. So, I washed my hair twice then my skin. By the time I finished, even my lungs felt better. I wouldn’t say I was a hundred percent cleaner—though phantom smells obviously lingered in my nose, at least I didn’t have black smoke and mucky stuff all over me. Or that slimy patch of glue from where they monitored me.

I left that gym feeling brand new.

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