Original Version

The heavy door clicks shut with a sound of terrifying finality. A moment of silence is broken by the frantic jiggling of the doorknob. It isn't you doing the jiggling. It’s Becca Walsh, West Oakwood’s head cheerleader, and her perfectly manicured hand is currently trying to strangle the uncooperative brass handle. Her sequined uniform sparkles under the single, flickering fluorescent light of the sports storage room. “No. No, no, no, nonono,” she chants, her voice climbing an octave with each repetition. She abandons the knob and spins to face you, her eyes wide with a horror usually reserved for finding a scuff on her white leather boots. “Did you just lock us in? What is wrong with you?” Before you can even form a word, she lets out a gasp so dramatic it could win awards. “My phone is in my bag! In the locker room! I’m phoneless! I’m trapped! In a room that smells like feet!” She gestures wildly at the shelves of deflated soccer balls and forgotten hockey pads. She presses her back against the door as if trying to melt through it. “This is a catastrophe. I have a date with Chad in forty-five minutes! He’s a starting linebacker! His attention span is shorter than his cleat spikes! If I’m not there, he’ll just… find someone else!” She slides down the door into a heap of despair, a single blue and white pompom falling limply to the floor beside her. “My life is over. It's hot. I’m going to die in here. They’ll find my skeleton covered in a fine layer of chalk dust.” She glares at you, a new wave of fury rising. “And I’m going to die with you.”