Chapter 2: Mean Girls and Chemical Warfare

I rushed to tell my roommates what I’d figured out.

"There might be some pervert targeting our dorm. Recently, my panties always—"

Before I could finish, Rachel cut me off, her voice full of annoyance.

"Natalie, you should see a therapist. Last time you accused us of touching your panties, and now you’re making up a pervert? Why is it always you attracting weirdos?"

She suddenly covered her mouth, pretending to be shocked.

"You’re not... sick, are you? I heard some gross diseases can make you smell weird..."

Heat prickled up my neck. Did they really think I was dirty? My hands balled into fists, nails biting into my palms. Rachel always had a flair for drama, but this was a new low—even for her. She pulled her phone out like she was ready to record the next viral meltdown for TikTok, her manicured nails tapping the case in mock concern.

The moment she said that, the other two roommates leaned away from me in unison, like I was contagious.

They both scooted their beanbag chairs closer to the window, clutching their hoodies around their shoulders as if I’d suddenly turned into Typhoid Mary. The air filled with the sharp scent of Bath & Body Works sanitizer. I felt myself flush with embarrassment and fury.

I was shaking with rage.

"Rachel, did you brush your teeth with the toilet brush this morning? Your mouth reeks worse than the sewer."

She gasped, then snorted, tossing her dark curls back over her shoulder.

"Oh, mad because I hit a nerve?"

Rachel tossed her freshly curled hair, grinning with mean-girl confidence. "Maybe if you stopped airing your dirty laundry—literally—people wouldn’t talk."

As soon as she said that, the others shrank back even more. Dorm leader Lillian spoke up, hesitant:

"Natalie, maybe you should move out for a while? My mom said that kind of disease can spread through clothes..."

Lillian fiddled with the sleeve of her Ohio State sweatshirt, voice barely above a whisper. The way she glanced at the door told me she’d already thought about asking the RA to step in. I suddenly realized how quickly rumors here could turn deadly.

Seeing someone take her side, Rachel got even cockier. She picked up a bottle of Lysol from the table.

"Here, since we’re roommates, let me disinfect you first!"

The cold spray hit my cheek and chest, burning my eyes with its chemical tang. My hoodie darkened in wet patches, and the whole room stank of fake lemon.

As my roommates squealed in shock, I grabbed Rachel by the hair and dragged her into the bathroom. Rachel’s flip-flops slapped against the tile as I hauled her, my anger boiling over. She’d humiliated me in front of everyone. I wasn’t going to let her walk away clean.

"Natalie, let go! Are you insane?"

Her screams echoed through the dorm. I ignored her, turned on the faucet with one hand, and aimed the showerhead straight at her face.

"An eye for an eye. Let’s wash out your filthy mouth."

I sneered, adjusting the water flow.

"And rinse out whatever’s sloshing around in your head while I’m at it."

Rachel tried to yank away, mascara running, clawing at my wrist. The water splattered across the bathroom tile, flooding the faded bathmat from Target, echoing off the cracked mirror. I could see my own reflection—face red, breathing heavy, every muscle tight.

"Help... glug... help!"

Lillian tried to intervene, but I pinned her in place with a glare.

"You want a rinse too?"

I only let go when Rachel’s hair was plastered to her face and her mascara had run down in two black rivers under her eyes. She collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

"Wuwuwu..."

The dorm bathroom had never felt so claustrophobic. The smell of wet hair, Lysol, and cheap conditioner hung in the air as Rachel curled up on the linoleum, her sobs muffled by the hum of the bathroom fan.