The weeks flew by as the campaign drew closer. Tate, Landon, and Damien had met multiple times, brainstorming and preparing. She felt confident they were going to do well.
To her surprise, she was even a little bit grateful to Landon for dragging her into all of this. Because of him, she was becoming more comfortable around people and even more confident in herself.
Martha had been another big help. They'd been studying together more often, and their bond had grown stronger. Tate could even say they were almost best friends now.
And then there was Damien.
He always managed to show up wherever she was, especially after their meetings. She tried her best to avoid lingering around him, but he had this annoying habit of ending up beside her. Close. Too close. It wasn't helping with... whatever was happening to her whenever she saw him.
She sighed to herself. Who would've thought all this would happen back in September on the first day of 10th grade?
Her birthday was coming up in a few weeks. Her parents had booked a flight to Nigeria for her cousin's wedding, and she wished she could go but school and the campaign made that impossible. Thankfully, her brother was coming home from college for his end-of-year break. At least she wouldn't have to spend her 15th birthday alone.
Her phone rang, cutting into her thoughts.
Landon.
She answered. "Hey."
"Hey, Tate! Thank God you picked up," Landon said, sounding rushed.
"What's the issue?"
"I texted Damien but haven't gotten a reply. The banner—the banner for the campaign—it got delivered to the school but ended up in the wrong room."
Tate glanced around. Neither Landon nor Damien was in class.
"Where was it delivered?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. But can you check the janitor's closet for me?"
Tate blinked. "Why would it be in there?"
"The delivery guy said he left it in the hallway. I checked, and it wasn't there. I looked in all the empty classrooms, too. So it might be in the—"
"Janitor's closet," Tate finished for him.
Everyone at Salvador International knew the janitor had a habit: anything left lying around ended up in his closet, waiting for someone to come frantically looking for it.
"Alright, I'll check," she said.
"Thank you!" Landon sighed in relief.
"Wait, where are you? You're not in class."
"I stepped out of the school to arrange refreshments for the campaign ,something light for the students attending."
Tate raised an eyebrow. "You're really going all out, huh?"
"You know me," Landon replied with a laugh. "Let me know how it goes."
"Will do."
She hung up and slipped her phone into her school bag and then headed out of the classroom toward the janitor's closet.
When Tate got to the janitor's closet, she turned the knob and was surprised when the door opened easily. She'd only tried her luck—she hadn't expected it to actually work. She'd been sure she'd have to go find the janitor for the key.
She stepped inside, leaving the door open behind her. The room was small and cramped, filled with boxes, cleaning supplies, and all sorts of random items. She moved in a little farther, eyes scanning for anything that looked like a campaign banner.
The voice that spoke behind her made her jump.
"Looking for something?"
She spun around and saw Damien standing in the doorway, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Tate narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"I should be asking you that," he said, stepping inside. "Why are you rummaging through the janitor's closet?"
As he walked in, he unintentionally closed the door behind him, the click soft but final.
"If you'd checked your phone and replied to Landon's text, you'd know," she said, still searching through a stack of supplies.
"Landon's text?" he asked, confused—then it seemed to click. "Oh. The banner."
"Yes, the banner," Tate said, not even looking at him.
"Oh, that's with me," Damien said casually.
Tate paused and looked over her shoulder. "With you?"
"Yeah. I saw Landon's message and came to pick it up, but I forgot to text him back. I just talked to him a few minutes ago—didn't he tell you?"
Tate almost groaned. Her phone was still in her backpack. Landon must've tried to call her to let her know.
"I left my phone in my bag," she muttered.
But then it hit her. She was in a tiny closet. With Damien. Alone. The same person she'd been trying so hard to avoid.
"Oh, shit."
Damien opened his mouth, maybe to ask something, but she cut him off.
"I have to go," she said quickly, walking to the door. She twisted the knob, but it wouldn't budge. She tried again. Still nothing.
She glanced back. Damien was watching her.
Why won't this stupid door open?
"Relax," he said. "Don't hurt yourself. Let me try."
He stepped toward her—close. Too close. Their arms nearly brushed, and she instantly took a step back like she'd been shocked.
This cannot be happening.
Damien jiggled the handle. "It's jammed," he said finally. "It won't open."
Tate stared at the door, willing it to move. Of course it was jammed. The universe clearly had jokes.
"I think we should wait," Damien said. "The janitor always has something to do in here. He'll probably come by soon and open it."
"Okay," she said stiffly.
"You're not claustrophobic, are you?"
"No."
"Good," he said lightly. "If you were, I'd have to break the door down."
Tate gave him a tight, forced laugh. If you broke it down right now, that'd be great, she thought.
Without another word, she walked to the far corner of the room and sat down—away from him. Far away.
An hour passed. No one came to the closet.
Tate was starting to lose it a little. Her mind wandered back to the door. What if I just broke it down myself? she thought. If I tried hard enough, maybe it'd work. She looked at her hand. Who was I kidding? This hand could barely open a jar of pickles, let alone break down a door.
It didn't help that every few minutes, she'd catch Damien staring at her. He only ever looked away when their eyes met. The tension in the room was killing her.
Then she heard it—a phone notification.
Her head snapped up. The sound had definitely come from Damien.
"Damien, do you have your phone with you?" she asked.
He looked at her, his face unreadable. "No."
"I heard a phone sound," Tate said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure it came from you. Check your pocket."
Damien hesitated for a second, then reached into his pocket. And there it was—his phone.
He didn't even look surprised. "Huh. Must've forgotten it was there."
Tate gave him a pointed look. "Call someone. Anyone. Tell them we're stuck."
"The service in here sucks," he said, with a shrug. "I don't think I'll—"
Before he could finish, Tate snatched the phone from his hand. A missed call from Landon lit up the screen. Without wasting a second, she called him back.
"Damien! Where have you—"
"It's me, Landon," Tate cut in. "Tate. Damien and I are stuck in the janitor's closet. The door jammed, and we can't get out. Can you find someone to open it?"
"Oh! Yeah, I'll go get the janitor. I'm coming."
Tate ended the call and handed Damien back his phone. "Landon's on his way."
But what Damien said next caught her completely off guard.
"Why are you avoiding me?"
Tate blinked. "What?"
"You're avoiding me," he said, watching her closely. "Don't act like I haven't noticed. You move away whenever I come close. You go in the opposite direction whenever I walk into a room."
As he spoke, he took a slow step toward her. She instinctively stepped back.
"Damien…" she started, but her back hit the wall.
He stopped in front of her, closing the distance, effectively cornering her. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. He was too close—too close. She could smell the familiar wood-fruity scent of his cologne, and it was throwing her off in ways she didn't know how to handle.
"Why?" he asked again, his eyes locked on hers. "Did I do something wrong?"
Tate's mouth opened, then closed. "I think you're mistaken," she said finally. "I'm not avoiding you. We're literally in the same closet right now. Doesn't that prove I'm not?"
Damien gave her a dry, knowing look. "We're in this closet because the door jammed. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure you'd be staying at least fifty centimeters away from me."
She didn't have a reply to that. She tried to step away again, but he moved closer, effectively boxing her in even more.
And then—thankfully—the door creaked open.
Tate shot out of the corner like she'd been set on fire.
The janitor and Landon stood in the doorway. Landon's eyes widened when he saw them. "Are you guys okay? I was so worried—"
"We're fine," Tate said quickly, cutting him off before Damien could speak. "But I need to go."
And without another word, she walked away as fast as she could, rounding the corner until she found the nearest restroom. She pushed the door open and immediately walked to the sink, gripping its edges as she leaned over it.
Splashing cold water on her face, she tried to calm her racing heart.
She needed to breathe. She needed to think.
What was it with her and Damien?
Why did she always get like this around him? Every time he was near, it felt like everything inside her was at war.
And more importantly—how the hell was she supposed to get him out of her system?