The Day Stayed and Mark Twain 246

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12:26 Thu, Jan 29 BG B

My heart started racing.

The handle turned again. Slow. Careful.

Zayn crossed the space between the beds in two silent steps and crouched beside me. He pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sharp,

focused.

Then the handle jerked harder.

A dull thud followed, like someone leaning their weight into the door.

My stomach dropped.

Zayn leaned close. “Bathroom. Window.”

I nodded.

We moved at the same time. Shoes. Jackets. Backpacks. Every sound felt amplified–the zip of fabric, the scrape of a sole against the

floor. My hands shook as I shoved my things inside my bag.

The door rattled again. Harder this time.

We slipped into the bathroom and locked the door just as something hit the other side of it. The thin wall didn’t muffle much. I

could hear breathing. Movement.

Zayn climbed onto the toilet seat and pushed the small window open inch by inch, fighting the squeal of old hinges. Cold air rushed

“You first,” he whispered.

I didn’t argue. I climbed up and slid out, dropping to the ground with a soft thud that felt way too loud. Zayn followed seconds

later, landing beside me.

We ran.

Gravel bit into my shoes as we crossed the lot. The motel lights buzzed overhead, flickering like they might die any second. Zayn

unlocked the car, shoved me inside, and jumped in after me, slamming the door shut.

The engine roared to life.

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