Lovebirds

SECURITY!

"How long do you think they'll be in there?"

Ambrose's shoulders are tense, practically touching his earlobes, while his hands stay clasped before him. Elbows pressing on the table top, shaking it with his bouncing knee beneath. If Spencer hadn't been so distracted by the plan in her head, she might've told him to cut it out.

"Give it another half hour."

Ambrose runs a hand through his hair; down his neck.

"What if my mom calls, wondering where I am?"

"You don't have to be here," she calmly reminds him.

"What if she comes to get me when I don't return her calls?"

"Then return her calls, Ambrose."

"What if she comes into the office to ask where I am and catches us snooping around the security office—"

"Ambrose," and she grabs his forearm. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

He blinks. His foot stops bouncing. Staring into her big, beautiful eyes, her unwavering sense of calm, he finds an anchor. He can do this.

—The Security Guards. They're leaving the room. And shutting the door.

The click of the door catching shut echoes down the empty after-school hall to the cafeteria seats that Spencer and Ambrose occupy.

"What now?" Ambrose putting to words the question on both of their minds.

A figure comes around a corner. Blue jeans and a dark grey hoodie. Hood pulled over their face (strictly against school rules) withdrawing something from their back pocket as they approach the security room doors.

It's a key. Held out before them with a hand covered by a black glove. They unlock the door, reclaim the key, and calmly enter the security office.

Spencer and Ambrose exchange a look of surprise.

Was that them? Was that the hacker? Could they really be giving themself away this easily?

"C'mon," she softly instructs, slinging her backpack over her shoulder without pulling her eyes from the door down the hall. Ambrose scrambles to keep up, maneuvering around the cafeteria table as she marches toward the door, thinking— realizing how familiar that person seemed. Their stance; their style.

Without a second's hesitation, Spencer's hand falls on the handle, pushing the door open and slipping inside—Ambrose slipping in just behind.

"Woah."

The room is dark. No windows, with all lights off but one: not a ceiling light, not a desk lamp. A phone light. 

Shining. 

Right. 

At them. 

***

"What are you guys doing here?"

A deep voice—familiar voice— rings out from behind the blinding light.

"Vincent Arthur?" Ambrose asks, forearm raised to block the light from his eyes.

Spencer says nothing. Can't decide if her warming cheeks are due to embarrassment or delight.

"Yes, I'm Vincent. You must be Ambrose." A beat. " What are you guys doing here," he repeats a little more forcefully."

"We got a note," Spencer says. "It said to come here after school; that the room would be unlocked and we should look back on the security tapes to find out who the hacker is."

"Why are you here?" Ambrose asks, still squinting behind his forearm— "and would you mind moving the light?"

As if suddenly realizing the uncomfortable position of his phone flashlight, Vince sets it on one of the tables around the edges of the small room.

Seeing his face now, only one word can possibly describe her beating heart: 'sorry, sorry, sorry.' But she'll worry about that later.

"I got a note too."

"Same instructions?" Ambrose asks as Spencer surveys the room.

"Almost. Mine came with the key." Her eyes land on a filing cabinet beside the door. "And by way of Hugo of all people." She maneuvers around Ambrose to reach it, opening the topmost drawer first.

"The tapes are in here," she tells them, beginning to flick through the nicely organized manila file folders, looking for the most recent one.

"They still use tapes?" Ambrose mutters. Vincent shoots him a look of annoyance.

Goosebumps crawl up Vince's shoulders, muscles tensing as he forces himself to stay. In this room. With her. And him.

Him.

Vincent turns to find the VCR reader.

"It's a wonder they can still buy these," Ambrose muses.

Spencer finds what she's looking for—a tape from yesterday—and hands it to Vince, around Ambrose. Vincent powers on the VCR reader and inserts the tape.

"And that the machine still works," Ambrose continues. Spencer finally gives him a look to make him shut up. Not the time nor the place.

A screen on the wall before them flickers on as Vincent finds another power button. Monochrome screen, and the hallway outside the office sputters into existence. Spencer finds the rewind button on the VCR player, holding it down as they watch the students reverse. Conversations ending where they really began, feet falling from toe to heel, an alternate reality that stops when Spencer sets eyes on a hooded figure.

And it's not just because they're wearing a dark hoodie like a cliché. It's that they carry their backpack forward, hugging the body of the bag with their arms reaching out, exposing the word that stands out in white against the dark back. Perfectly posed, perfectly legible:

follow