His Obsession, Her Perfect Calculated Escape

Alma adjusted the straps of her heavy backpack. She walked down the concrete path toward the bus stop.

The next morning, the air inside the university felt different.

As soon as Alma walked through the front entrance, she felt the stares. A group of sorority girls standing by the trophy case stopped talking and pointed at her.

Alma kept her eyes fixed on the floor tiles. She walked faster, heading toward the lecture hall for her first seminar.

She turned into a quiet, narrow hallway that connected the main building to the gym.

A frat guy named K. Brown was leaning against the wall. As Alma walked past, he suddenly kicked his heavy boot out, aiming right for her ankles.

Alma saw the movement in her peripheral vision. She shifted her weight instantly. She stumbled forward, catching herself before her knees hit the floor.

She didn't fall.

She stopped and turned her head. She looked at K. Brown. Her eyes were flat and dead.

K. Brown smirked. He put two fingers in his mouth and blew a loud, sharp whistle down the hall.

"Target is here!" he yelled.

Footsteps echoed from both ends of the hallway.

Brenda Chandler, a senior and the president of the most exclusive sorority on campus, walked out from the stairwell. She was flanked by Tanya Mercer, Shawna Gable, and Tammy Drudge.

They moved in a line, blocking the entire width of the hall.

Alma took a half-step backward. Her spine hit the cold cinderblock wall. She gripped the straps of her backpack tightly.

Brenda stopped two feet in front of Alma. She looked Alma up and down. Her eyes lingered on Alma's frayed sweater.

"Look at this," Brenda sneered. Her voice echoed in the empty space. "Did you buy that at a garage sale, or pull it out of the trash?"

Tanya stepped forward. She reached out and grabbed a handful of Alma's hair. She yanked it hard.

"What makes you think you can talk to Caden?" Tanya demanded. "You think he actually likes you? You're a charity case."

Alma's scalp burned from the pull. She didn't wince. She didn't speak. She just stared at Brenda's perfectly glossed lips.

Her silence was a direct challenge.

Brenda's face flushed with anger. She hated being ignored.

Brenda pulled her right arm back. She swung her hand with all her strength.

Her palm connected with the left side of Alma's face.

The slap sounded like a gunshot in the narrow hallway.

The force of the blow snapped Alma's head to the right. Her cheek exploded in hot, stinging pain. The skin instantly turned bright red.

Shawna and Tammy stepped up. They grabbed Alma's shoulders, pinning her flat against the wall so she couldn't run.

Alma tasted copper. The inside of her cheek had caught against her teeth. Blood pooled on her tongue.

She slowly turned her head back to look at Brenda. Her eyes remained completely empty. No tears. No fear.

Brenda pointed a manicured finger an inch from Alma's nose.

"Stay away from Caden," Brenda hissed. "If I see you near him again, a slap is going to be the least of your problems."

The loud, shrill sound of the warning bell rang through the speakers.

Shawna and Tammy let go of Alma's shoulders. Brenda gave her one last disgusted look. The four girls turned and walked away, their heels clicking loudly on the linoleum.

Alma stood against the wall. She took a slow, deep breath.

She lifted the back of her hand and wiped the corner of her mouth. A small smear of red blood stained her pale skin.

She didn't walk toward the dean's office. The university administration wouldn't do anything to the sorority president over a scholarship student from the wrong side of the tracks.

Alma turned and pushed open the heavy wooden door of the girls' restroom.

The bathroom was empty. The fluorescent lights buzzed above the sinks.

Alma walked up to the mirror. She gripped the edges of the porcelain sink.

She stared at her reflection. The handprint on her left cheek was raised and angry. It was a perfect, physical manifestation of violence.

She turned on the cold water. She rinsed the blood off her hand.

Her brain worked like a machine. She calculated the variables. Brenda had power. Alma had none. But Caden had more power than Brenda.

She needed a weapon. Caden was going to be that weapon.

Alma reached up and pulled her hair out of its neat ponytail. She messed up the strands, letting them fall wildly around her face. She made sure a few pieces stuck to her sweaty forehead.

She stared at her eyes in the mirror. She forced herself to think about the mud. She thought about her father's face pressed into the dirt.

Her chest tightened. Her eyes began to burn.

She rubbed her knuckles hard into her eyes until the whites turned bloodshot. A few real, physiological tears formed and spilled over her lower lashes.

She looked broken. She looked pathetic. It was perfect.

Alma pushed away from the sink. She walked out of the restroom.

She avoided the main hallways. She took the back stairs down to the athletic wing.

She knew Caden's schedule. Morning crew practice ended ten minutes before his first seminar. He would be in the athletic center's locker room right now.

Alma walked down the quiet corridor leading to the locker room doors. The air here smelled of bleach and sweat.

She stopped a few feet away from the heavy metal door. She could hear the sound of showers running and boys shouting inside.

Alma leaned her back against the wall. She wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach. She began to take short, shaky breaths. She forced her shoulders to tremble.

She waited.

Five minutes later, the metal door swung open.

A cloud of warm, damp steam rolled out into the hallway.

Caden stepped out. He had a gym bag slung over his shoulder. His blonde hair was still damp from the shower.

He turned to walk down the hall.

His eyes landed instantly on the corner.

He saw Alma. He saw her trembling shoulders. He saw the messy hair.

And then, he saw the bright red, swollen handprint covering half of her face.