“I’m sorry,” he says.
His gentle touch makes my heart race. I quickly pull my arm from his grip. “You know what you should be sorry for? Putting gum in my hair. That was so gross.”
“But it was your gum.”
“No, it was Max’s.”
Realization dawns on Alex’s face. He cringes. “Oops.”
He touches my elbow again, as if to check on it.
I can’t believe he convinced the school to come to a science museum to get back at me. It’s not like I haven’t already paid the price for that prank.
After the baseball team turned me in for my crime, the principal gave me two days of detention. This mortified my father. People who came to his office for a teeth cleaning would not stop talking about it because in Manchester, baseball is a religion. Me locking the batting cage was an affront to the patriarchy or something.
Worst of all, it embarrassed Grace.
She texted me: Why’d you have to do something so weird? Everyone’s talking about you—not in a good way
Me: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you
Grace: Please start acting mature or high school’s gonna suck for both of us
She started avoiding me at school after that, even though we still had our occasional weekend sleepovers. It killed me when I realized that if Grace and I weren’t cousins, she wouldn’t even talk to me.
“I really am sorry about the batting cage,” I tell Alex. “It was a stupid thing to do. I was just so angry at you.”
“I get that. I would’ve been mad too, if I’d gotten all those signatures for nothing.”
“Okay, so we’re even now,” I say.
“Agreed.”
I need to get out of here. I peer around the escape room. I once wrote a dystopian story about a girl who gets trapped inside a military compound and figures her way out. Unfortunately my characters’ qualities do not translate to me. I am shitty at solving any kind of puzzle.
My phone buzzes with a response from Max.
Max: Where are you?
Me: Stuck in an escape room with Alex!
Max:
Me: Help me already!
My phone doesn’t buzz with his reply until a minute later: Talked to a museum lady. She said nothing bad will happen to you in there. You are supposed to solve the quizzes to escape.
Me: No shit, Sherlock. Tell them to let me out!
Max: They’ll let you out if you want.
Me: Great!
Max: It’s not like you could solve your way out of there anyway.
Me: EXCUSE YOU, OF COURSE I COULD
Max: Prove it then. And while you’re at it, you can spend some QT with that hottie sexpot Alex.
Me: You are the worst best friend ever!
Max: You love me.
“Wells!” I glance up from my phone screen to find Alex glaring at me. “We only have fifty-five minutes left to find the keys so we can unlock the safe with the remote control.”
“C’mon, Alex, that’s not real. A robot isn’t going to destroy hospitals and schools.”
“Look, the sooner we find the keys, the sooner we get out of here. I need to pee.”
“Then you better hold it.” I raise my eyebrows. “I bet I can find more keys than you.”
He stares me down. “You’re on.”
My eyes scan the room. The place is full of lockboxes, beakers, old TV sets and computers, dials and buttons, Bunsen burners, and a framed photo of Albert Einstein. A bright-red clock counts down our remaining time.
I start opening drawers in a desk, looking for keys, while Alex is crawling on the floor, his stupid-perfect butt sticking up in the air.
“I found something,” he calls. “There are words written under this table. It says, ‘This clue is not really a clue and will not help you in your escape.’”
I discover a chalkboard with an equation written on it. Algebra is the worst, but this problem is simple enough that I can solve it. Open lockbox *** 8x–3 = 3x + 17. Code = 7777
Using the chalk, I work through the problem and come up with an answer of 4. The second I’m finished, Alex runs for a little lockbox with the number 4 on it. He punches in 7777, opens the lid, and pulls out a sheet of paper.
“Hey!” I say. “That was my clue.”
“I found it first.”
“I did the work.” I march over, grab the paper from him, and hip check him to the side. He hip checks me back and looks over my shoulder at the paper.
It says 5_8_7_ with blank spaces in between the numbers. I set it aside to look for other clues. I open a tall storage container. Inside I search the shelves. Aha! A black light. I flip it on and shine the purple beam on the floor and walls, not sure if I’m looking for something or if it will be another non-clue like the writing under the table.
Meanwhile, Alex is now wearing protective goggles.
“What are those for?” I ask.
He strikes a pose. “I look hot, right?”
Rolling my eyes, I continue scanning the laboratory with the black light until random letters appear across the ceiling. A-Y-O-E-F. Lockbox 2.
“A code?” I ask.
“Look here,” Alex replies, leading me to a stack of crates in the corner. Each one has a letter on it and a number. I find the crates with A-Y-O-E-F and match up the numbers.
“5-6-4-1-2,” I say, and Alex walks over to a lockbox labeled 2. He punches in the numbers. The lid pops open.
“Eee,” I squeal, shuffling over to look inside. My arm brushes his as we pull out a key together.
Alex gives me a high five. “Good job, Wells.”
Eleven keys to go. We continue working together to find more keys all over the room. Behind loose bricks, panels in the walls, a grate in the floor. We have to solve math problems and riddles. I find a ring of ten keys that don’t work on any locks in the room. Another worthless clue that wastes time.
“It’s funny that the robot’s name is Isaac Newton,” Alex says as he’s searching the shelves again.
“Why is that funny?” I ask. “Didn’t he discover gravity?”
“Yeah, he did. I saw this documentary about him on the History Channel. It said Isaac Newton didn’t think his greatest accomplishment was discovering gravity. He was most proud of being a virgin.”
“What?” I pause to look at Alex. “Maybe that’s why the robot’s so angry and wants to destroy schools,” I joke. “He’s horny.”