the basement of a dormitory.”
“I don’t believe you!” she exclaimed. “Of course it’s a cell. You just said so yourself!”
“We call it that. It’s really just a door that locks. You shouldn’t worry about your friend—she’ll be fine.”
“Doors don’t lock! Not where I grew up!” Lorraine blurted out desperately. She looked between him and the door to the supply closet in mock wonder.
“Really? Where did you grow up?”
Lorraine thought for a moment. “Amish country!” She could hear what sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter coming through the door.
Bobby eyed Lorraine’s pleated navy-blue wool crepe Patou day dress. It barely reached her knees. “Dressed like that?”
Lorraine had really picked the wrong outfit today, hadn’t she? He would never believe her now. Unless … “I’m trying to blend in. I’m on my rumspringa!” Lorraine looked down in concern. “Isn’t this what sinners in New York wear?”
Bobby laughed. “You might’ve gone too far in the sinner direction.”
Lorraine gave him a coy smile and ran her fingertip down his skinny chest. “Well, that does seem to be how, um, non-Amish girls get the attention of handsome boys like yourself. Now show me this ‘locking door’ of which you speak.”
Bobby, still blushing and a little dazed, walked back to Clara’s “cell.” He unlocked the door and opened it. “See?”
“So,” Lorraine said, “if I go in here and you close the door, I’m locked in?” He nodded. She walked through the doorway. Clara rose from her wooden chair with a hiked eyebrow. Lorraine ignored her and looked back at Bobby. “Show me.”
Bobby closed the door on them and Lorraine tried to turn the doorknob a few times. Then she walked over to Clara’s chair with a smug grin. “You can thank me later,” she whispered.
Clara stared at her. “Lorraine, what exactly are you—”
“The mouse is going to be your cue to run,” Lorraine whispered.
“What?” Clara asked.
“Try opening the door again,” Bobby called from outside.
Lorraine jiggled the knob and the door opened. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “How do I know you weren’t just holding the knob, using your muscles so that it won’t turn?”
“Because it’s a lock,” Bobby replied, somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
She crossed her arms. “Back on the farm in Amish country, people used to tell tales about things like locks all the time. Like how buildings here in the city have these floating boxes that people ride in instead of climbing stairs! Can you imagine?”
“I should probably get back to work—”
“See, I knew you were lying! Locking doors, what a silly idea.”
Bobby sighed and walked past her into the supply closet. “Okay, this time I’ll let you close the door on me.” He took his key ring out of his pocket and handed a large silver key to Lorraine. “But then you go home, all right? And maybe, well—my shift ends at nine … if you wanted to—”
Lorraine took the keys from him, then pointed at the corner in mock horror. “A mouse!” she exclaimed. Before Bobby had a chance to look, Lorraine grabbed Clara’s wrist and pulled her through the doorway.
She shut the door, locked it, and pocketed the key.
“Hey, you weren’t supposed to bring your friend out with you!” Bobby called through the door. “And I don’t see any mouse! ”
The girls ran into the hallway. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you did that!” Clara’s voice was high with fear, anger, or admiration. Admiration, Lorraine decided.
“I know! What a rush!”
“What do we do now?” Clara whispered with wide blue eyes.
Ha! Clara Knowles was asking her what to do. Competency proven!
“Raine?”
“Run,” Lorraine said. “There’s a church nearby, Saint John the Divine. The guards would never chase us in there. It would be blasphemy or something.”
Clara looked doubtful but nodded.
“I don’t see any mouse,” Bobby called out. “And anyway, I was right about the lock. See? I can’t get out.”
“Are you sure?” Lorraine asked.
The doorknob jiggled. “Yeah, you’ve got the key, remember?”
“You’re right, I do!” Lorraine called with a laugh. “Bye!”
Lorraine gripped Clara’s wrist and pulled her down the hall, away from Bobby and his poor, dumb Labrador eyes.
They ran past the security guards in the office, up the stairs, and straight out the door. They raced across campus, constantly looking behind them. A group of well-dressed Barnard girls and Columbia boys walked toward them—they were probably actually coming from the opera. The two girls veered out of the way onto the grass.
Finally they made it through Columbia’s black gate and onto Amsterdam Avenue. They both laughed,