Chapter 4: The Prison Called Granton

After binding my chest, I quietly slipped out of the dorm.

The hallway was empty, the usual noise and laughter replaced by the distant sound of a TV left on in the common room. I kept my head down, moving quietly.

I wanted to sneak out of school, but if Granton was good at anything, it was security. I barely got near the gate before a guard yelled at me to go back.

He was the type who took his job seriously—clipboard, reflective vest, and an eagle eye for anyone out of line. I didn’t stand a chance.

Sitting on the library steps, I angrily sent dozens of texts to my Aunt Carol.

The cool marble chilled my legs, but I hardly noticed. I was too busy stabbing at my phone screen.

[Aunt Carol, I regret it! Please transfer me back to Willowfield!]

The little green bubble hung there, unanswered, making my frustration boil.

[This place is terrifying, I can’t stay here another second! Get me out!]

I typed faster and faster, barely pausing to breathe.

[Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!]

No reply.

Each passing second with no response made my chest tighten. I was officially on my own.

I called my aunt, but her phone was out of service.

I dialed again and again, the ring tone taunting me until it finally gave up.

My parents? Same thing.

I tried their numbers, too—straight to voicemail. Technology: great when it works, hell when it doesn’t.

The plot’s malice had trapped me in this Granton Men’s College prison. There was no escape.

I glanced up at the iron-wrought fence, topped with security cameras and barbed wire. It felt more like a minimum-security prison than a college.

Damn it!

I kicked at a loose pebble, watching it skitter down the steps.

With no help from outside, what could I do?

My mind raced—there had to be a loophole somewhere.

Climb the wall?

I eyed the fence, weighing my chances. Even the squirrels looked intimidated.

No way. With my small build, scaling a ten-foot wall with no handholds was a pipe dream.

I’d probably break a leg and end up in the campus health center anyway.

Fake an illness?

It worked in old sitcoms, but somehow, I doubted it would work here.

No good. The school had its own health center, and unless you were dying, they’d treat anything.

I pictured Nurse Rita, who was rumored to have patched up more football players than the local ER.

Tell the school authorities?

I laughed at the thought. As if that would help.

Forget it. The dean and his crew were no better.

He was rumored to turn a blind eye to anything short of arson.

Was I just supposed to wait for death?

It sounded melodramatic, but given the plot I’d landed in, it felt accurate.

You have to understand, Granton was a fully-boarding college. There were only summer and winter breaks. Unless something major happened, no one could leave.

They locked the gates at 10 p.m. sharp. The only way out was with a signed pass from a parent—or a miracle.

And the semester had just started—five months until the next vacation!

Five months!

It felt like a prison sentence. I could practically hear the calendar pages fluttering by in my mind.

If I stayed here the whole time, I’d probably end up pregnant!

The thought made me shudder. I hugged my knees tighter.

No way. Too scary!

There was no way in hell I was letting this place chew me up and spit me out.

I scratched my head in frustration. Just then, a senior passed by.

He looked familiar, maybe from orientation, with a friendly grin and a loose backpack slung over one shoulder.

He asked kindly, “Are you okay?”

His accent was pure Georgia—slow, warm, and friendly. It almost made me drop my guard.

I asked his name, made sure he wasn’t one of the male leads, and said, “Hey, do you know any way to leave campus?”

I squinted, sizing him up. You never know who might be working for the enemy in this place.

He gave me a knowing smile. “What, got a date with your girlfriend?”

He winked, nudging my arm playfully.

“You’re asking the right person!”

He puffed out his chest like he was about to let me in on a state secret.

“Next Saturday, we have a basketball game with Riverbend Men’s College. The school team and cheerleading squad can leave campus for that. You probably can’t make the basketball team, but getting on the cheerleading squad shouldn’t be hard.”

He rattled off the details like he’d memorized the school handbook. For a second, hope flickered.

Just when I thought I was out of options, a light appeared at the end of the tunnel!

I practically jumped to my feet, hands clapping together in excitement.

I jumped up, excited. “How do I join the cheerleading squad? What are the requirements?”

I was so eager I got right in his face.

He blushed a little. “No special requirements. You just have to look good. You’d definitely make the cut.”

His eyes lingered a little too long on my face, but I ignored it—desperate times, desperate measures.

“But…”

His hesitation made me nervous. Nothing’s ever easy, is it?

“But what?”

My patience was wearing thin, but I forced a smile.

“Cheerleaders have to cross-dress and wear skirts. Can you handle that?”

I was stunned.

I felt like the universe had just thrown a pie in my face. Again.

No way. The school leaders must have some weird fetish. There were no girls here, so they made a male cheerleading squad—but why did we have to cross-dress too?

I pictured a line of awkward, skirt-wearing guys, pom-poms in hand. It would’ve been hilarious if I wasn’t part of the punchline.

The senior gave me a look that said, "I knew you’d react like this." “If you don’t like it, forget it. It’s the same every year. If they can’t find enough people by Wednesday, they’ll just draft students from the dance department.”

He shrugged, as if he’d seen it all before. Forced cheerleading—welcome to Granton.

I twitched.

Was there any part of this college that wasn’t a circus?

So forced conscription was this school’s specialty!

I wondered what other surprises were lurking in the student handbook.

I was torn.

Cross-dressing wasn’t a big deal, but I was worried about a chain reaction—like the basketball players suddenly getting all worked up.

You know how it is—get a bunch of jocks hyped up, and suddenly everyone’s trying to one-up each other.

If I got pinned down by a bunch of jocks, that’d be a fate worse than death.

Images of bad ‘80s movies flashed through my mind. Nope, nope, nope.

Just thinking about it made me shudder.

This method was too risky. It’d have to be my last resort.

I made a mental list of backup plans, just in case.

I asked the senior if there were any other ways to get out. He shook his head.

His answer was short, apologetic. No loopholes. No mercy.

I asked a few other people. Same answer.

Everyone I talked to just shrugged. This place was locked down tighter than a small-town jail.

The sky gradually darkened.

The sun set behind the oak trees, painting the sky in streaks of red and gold. The air turned crisp, and I hugged my jacket closer.

I looked at the blood-red sunset and shivered in the cold wind.

Somewhere, a couple of frat boys were playing cornhole, their laughter ringing across the quad. It all felt so normal—except for me.

Damn it, is fate out to get me?

I muttered a curse under my breath, defiant to the last.

I won’t let it win!