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mean?
    Lunch can’t come soon enough. As soon as the fourth period bell sounds, I stand up and race past the rest of my U.S. History classmates, bolting for the door. Everyone heads for the
cafeteria and the quad, but I take off in the opposite direction.
    When I arrive at the double doors that lead into the theater, I take a quick look around. Then I slip inside and go straight to the piano, hiding from view like Caroline told me to.
    I keep checking the time on my phone, and I’m starting to wonder if this is all a joke, when I hear voices, quiet but audible, coming toward me. I’m tempted to take a step forward so
I can get a look at their faces, but I press my back flat against the curtain and tell myself not to move.
    The voices fade away and Caroline pokes her head around the curtain, curls her finger toward herself, and whispers, “Follow me.”
    “Where are we going?” I ask, and she brings her finger to her lips, shushing me. We disappear backstage, and about twenty feet away, I see a door closing. We wait for it to shut
completely, and then we creep forward.
    “Open it,” she says, and then adds the word “quietly.” She rests her hands on her hips and I read her T-shirt: EVERYONE HATES ME BECAUSE
I ’ M PARANOID .
    I turn the knob as gently as I can, and soon I’m staring at a steep, narrow staircase. My first instinct is to close the door and turn back the way we came. I shoot Caroline a questioning
look and she gestures toward the stairs. “Go ahead. Go down.”
    “Down?”
    She raises an eyebrow. “Well they don’t go up, now do they?”
    No. They don’t.
    “Here,” she says. “I’ll go first.” And before I can say another word, she pushes past me and starts down the stairs, and because I can’t imagine doing
anything else at this point, I close the door behind us and follow her.
    The narrow hallway is painted dark gray, and I look up at the ceiling lights, wondering why they’re so dim. Caroline and I turn down another hallway just in time to see the door at the far
end swinging shut. I stay on her heels until we’re standing in front of it.
    This is beyond creepy. “What is this place?”
    She ignores my question and points to the doorknob. “Okay, I’m going to be by your side the entire time, but this is all up to you from here. You have to do all the
talking.”
    “Talking? To whom? What do you mean, it’s up to me?”
    “You’ll see.”
    I don’t want to see. I want to leave. Now.
    “This is bizarre, Caroline. There’s no one down here.” I try not to look like I’m rattled, but I am. And I can’t imagine how anything in a freaky basement
underneath the school theater could possibly change my life. My mind’s operating on overload now, my thoughts racing, and I feel a panic attack coming on.
    What was I thinking? I don’t even know her.
    I turn away and start heading back the way I came.
    “Sam,” she says, and I stop, just like that. Caroline grips my forearm and looks right into my eyes. “Please, check it out.”
    There’s something about the look on her face that makes me want to trust her, like I’ve known her all my life. And as nervous as I am, I’m even more curious to see what’s
on the other side of that door.
    “Fine,” I say, clenching my teeth. I reach for the knob and turn.
    The room on the other side is small and painted completely black. Black ceiling. Black floor. Metal shelving units stocked with cleaning supplies line three of the walls, and the other one is
covered with hanging mops and brooms.
    Caroline points to a section of mop heads gently swaying back and forth against the wall, as if they’d recently been touched. I pull them to one side, exposing a seam that runs all the way
up the wall until it meets another one at the top. It’s a door. The hinges are painted black and so is the dead bolt, camouflaging everything perfectly.
    “Knock,” Caroline commands from behind me. I do what I’m told without questioning or