The Gloaming Girls

EPISODE TWO (Part 5/5)

Emory is about to explode, I'm pretty sure.

Three times in as many days, she's subjected me to an in-depth rant about probabilities, and today, when I finally got out of my astronomy class, it was to a series of texts that said:

Emory:

I'm literally going insane but in a really slow and painful way

I'm gonna run track

Can you stop by the gym on the way home?

So I'm not coming home alone in the dark

I haven't set foot in the UCarth gym even once since I enrolled. Supposedly, it's quite nice, but I can't get past the idea of how many sweaty men use the gym, and if there's anything I dislike with everything I've got, it is sweaty men.

I check my watch. Emory is late.

I'm standing outside the gym, leaning against the wall, shivering. I could go inside, I know, but that would mean probably making small talk with the woman at the front desk who is built like a refrigerator and could probably rip my head off with one arm, and I haven't decided whether I find that particular skill set attractive or terrifying. So I'm outside.

But Emory is twenty minutes late.

When twenty minutes ticks into thirty, I give up and shoulder the door open.

The woman behind the counter looks up at me.

I wonder if she's thinking you look like you've never been in here, which would be an accurate assumption, but hey.

I clear my throat, trying not to look at her biceps. "Um... I'm waiting for someone."

"Someone in the gym?"

I debate trying to go about describing Emory, and then decide that that's pointless, since unless this incredibly ripped woman has been living under a rock for the last several years, she probably knows who she is. "Yeah. I'm actually looking for Emory Ghosh."

Her brow furrows. "Why?"

"I'm her roommate," I tell her. "I'm here to walk her home."

The woman squints. "And you're not just saying that so you can bother her?"

I realize that she's wondering if I'm a reporter. I guess that's not an absurd stretch. I've heard that it's happened before. "I swear I'm just her roommate."

The woman jerks her head behind her into the gym. "She's upstairs."

"Can I just...?" I wave my hand aimlessly at the entryway.

The woman stares at me like she thinks I'm stupid, or maybe like I'm proving her initial thoughts correct. "You're a student, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Then it'll work."

I nod, press my hand to the sensor, then walk into the brightly lit gym, trying to look like I know where I'm going.

I do find Emory upstairs, running in a long, smooth circle around the track.

When I call her name, she jolts, but doesn't stumble, and makes a beeline towards me, slowing down to a stop several feet away. "Sorry," she pants. "Lost track of time."

"That's okay," I tell her. "I was just making sure you didn't get abducted or something."

She tugs a water bottle from the belt around her waist, then doubles over, breathing hard, sweat beading on her forehead.