Alma walked out of her history seminar. Caden was already leaning against the wall by the door, waiting for her.

He pushed off the wall. He reached out and grabbed the heavy strap of her backpack. He pulled it off her shoulder and slung it over his own.

"Let's go," Caden said. It wasn't a request.

Over the next three weeks, Alma's life at the university was perfectly peaceful. The hallways parted for her. People who used to bump into her now pressed themselves against the lockers to give her space.

But the peace came with a suffocating price.

Caden's protective instinct had mutated into absolute control. He walked her to every class. He sat with her at lunch.

And every day after the final bell, he dragged her to the library.

It was Wednesday afternoon. The library was quiet, filled with the hum of the ventilation system.

Alma sat at a small wooden table in the back corner, hidden behind rows of tall bookshelves. She stared down at a complex macroeconomics equation in her notebook.

Caden sat in the chair right next to her.

He had his elbow on the table, his chin resting in his palm. He wasn't looking at his textbook. His eyes were locked on the side of Alma's face.

He leaned in closer.

Alma felt his warm breath hit the sensitive skin of her neck.

A wave of intense, physical revulsion crawled up her spine. Her stomach churned. She hated his smell. She hated his constant, heavy presence.

She kept her face perfectly blank. She subtly shifted her weight. She slid her wooden chair half an inch to the left.

She reached her arm out, pretending to grab a pink eraser on the far side of her notebook. It put a few inches of physical distance between them.

Caden didn't notice the rejection. He smiled. He reached his hand out, aiming for a loose strand of hair near her ear.

Alma's peripheral vision caught the movement.

Just as his fingertips were about to brush her skin, she dropped her head sharply. She pressed her pencil hard against the paper, pretending to aggressively solve the math problem.

Caden's hand hit empty air. He dropped it back to the table.

Alma gritted her teeth. She couldn't tell him to back off. If she bruised his massive ego, his protection would turn into punishment. He would destroy her faster than Brenda ever could.

She needed an exit strategy.

As she stared at the math problem, a slight movement behind the bookshelves caught her eye.

Alma paused. She slowly lifted her head, pretending to stretch her neck.

Through the narrow gap between two rows of heavy encyclopedias, she saw a pair of eyes.

It was her dorm roommate, Bridgett Willis.

Bridgett was holding a thick novel up to her face, pretending to read. But her eyes were darting nervously over the top of the pages.

She was staring directly at Caden.

Alma watched closely. When Caden shifted in his chair, flexing his broad shoulders, Bridgett's fingers gripped the edges of her book so hard her knuckles turned white. Her face flushed a deep pink.

Alma's heart gave a slow, steady thump.

The pieces of a new puzzle clicked together in her mind. Bridgett was obsessed with him.

A perfect, clean escape route opened up right in front of her.

Alma dropped her pencil. It clattered against the table.

She let out a long, heavy sigh. She reached up and rubbed her temples, squeezing her eyes shut.

"What's wrong?" Caden asked instantly. He leaned in again.

Alma opened her eyes. She gave him a weak, exhausted smile.

"I'm just tired," Alma said softly. "It's Bridgett. My roommate."

Caden frowned. He leaned back. "What about her?"

"She cries every night," Alma lied smoothly. She kept her voice low and full of fake sympathy. "She's failing macroeconomics. She's terrified she's going to lose her spot on the honor roll."

Caden looked bored. He picked up his pen and spun it between his fingers. "Sucks for her."

Alma reached out. She gently placed her fingertips on the back of Caden's hand, stopping the spinning pen.

Caden's eyes snapped to her hand.

"You're so good at math, Caden," Alma said. She looked directly into his eyes, widening her own to look admiring and helpless. "You always understand the formulas before I do."

Caden's chest puffed out slightly. His posture straightened.

"It's not that hard," he bragged.

"It is for her," Alma pressed. "She's too shy to ask the teacher. If you could just look at her homework... just point her in the right direction. It would mean the world to me."

She paused, letting her hand linger on his skin for one more second before pulling it back.

"If she stops crying all night," Alma added in a hushed whisper, "I'd actually have the energy to hang out with you more. Just the two of us."

The bait was set.

Caden's eyes lit up at the promise of more alone time. His ego was stroked by her praise.

"Yeah, alright," Caden said easily. "Tell her to bring her book tomorrow."

Beneath the table, Alma uncurled her fists. Her palms were sweaty. The first seed was planted.

An hour later, they packed up their bags and walked out of the library.

The autumn wind was sharp.

Alma saw Bridgett standing alone by the bus stop. Bridgett was shivering in a thin cardigan, looking miserable.

Alma turned to Caden. She let a bright, sweet smile cross her face.

"We should go to the downtown neon roller rink this weekend," Alma suggested. "You, me, and a few people. It would be fun."

Caden smiled back. "Sounds good."

"Let's invite Bridgett," Alma said casually. "She needs to get out of the dorm. It'll cheer her up."

Caden was already thinking about holding Alma's hand on the skating floor. He waved his hand dismissively.

"Sure. Whatever you want," he said.

Caden turned and walked toward the student parking lot, his keys jingling in his hand.

Alma stood on the concrete steps. She watched his broad back retreat.

The sweet smile vanished from her face. Her eyes turned as cold and sharp as broken glass.

The trap was built. Now, she just needed to push them in.

The heavy bass of the pop music vibrated through the wooden floorboards of the neon roller rink.

Multi-colored strobe lights swept across the dark room, painting the faces of the teenagers in flashes of pink, green, and blue. The air smelled of cheap pizza and floor wax.

Alma sat on a padded bench in the staging area. She pulled the laces of her rented brown leather roller skates tight and tied them in a double knot.

Caden stood up next to her. He rolled smoothly on his skates, looking completely at ease.

Bridgett stood on the other side of the bench. She wore tight denim jeans and a cropped white sweater. She was gripping the metal railing with both hands. Her knees wobbled. She kept stealing nervous glances at Caden's profile.

Caden held his hand out to Alma.

"Ready?" he asked, his eyes focused entirely on her.

Alma smiled. She took his hand and stood up. The wheels of her skates hit the smooth wooden floor.

She took one step forward.

Suddenly, she twisted her right foot sharply inward. She let her knee buckle.

"Ah!" Alma cried out.

She collapsed back onto the padded bench. She grabbed her right ankle with both hands, squeezing her eyes shut in a mask of intense pain.

Caden dropped to one knee instantly. The wheels of his skates spun against the floor.

"Alma! What happened?" he asked, his voice panicked. His hands hovered over her ankle.

"My ankle," Alma gasped, forcing her breathing to turn shallow. "I twisted it on the stairs last month. I think I just aggravated the old injury."

She winced, biting her lower lip hard.

"Take the skates off," Caden ordered. "I'm driving you home right now."

"No!" Alma said quickly. She reached out and grabbed his forearm. "Please, Caden. Don't ruin the night. I just need to sit down for a bit. I'll get a soda and put some ice on it."

She looked up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

"I don't want to ruin Bridgett's night," Alma said. She shifted her gaze to Bridgett, who was still clinging to the railing.

Alma gently pushed Caden's arm.

"Go skate with her," Alma whispered, her voice soft and encouraging. "She's been looking forward to this all week. Please? For me?"

Caden frowned. He looked at Bridgett, then back at Alma. He hated the idea of leaving her side.

But Alma's pleading eyes were impossible for his ego to refuse. He wanted to be the good guy.

"Fine," Caden sighed. "But if it hurts worse, we leave."

Alma nodded gratefully. She unlaced her skates and slipped her sneakers back on. She limped heavily toward the concession stand.

She bought a large cola packed with ice. She walked over to a dark booth at the edge of the rink and slid into the vinyl seat.

She took a sip of the cold soda. The ice chilled her throat.

She stopped limping. She sat perfectly still. Her eyes locked onto the rink like a sniper looking through a scope.

Out on the floor, Bridgett was struggling. She moved stiffly, her arms flailing as she tried to keep her balance.

Caden skated a few feet away from her. He had his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked bored and annoyed. He wasn't helping her at all.

Alma pulled her cell phone from her pocket. The screen illuminated her face in the dark booth.

She opened her messages and typed a text to Caden.

She looks terrified out there. Go hold her hand so she doesn't fall. My knight in shining armor.

She hit send.

Across the rink, Caden felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out.

Alma watched his face under the flashing strobe lights. She saw the corner of his mouth turn up into a smirk when he read the text.

He put the phone away. He skated smoothly over to Bridgett.

He reached out and offered her his hand.

Bridgett froze. Her face turned a bright, violent shade of red. She looked at his hand like it was a winning lottery ticket. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she placed her hand in his.

Caden closed his fingers around hers. He pulled her slightly closer, guiding her movements to match his rhythm.

The physical distance between them vanished.

Bridgett looked up at his face. Her eyes were wide, completely lost in the fantasy of his touch.

Alma took another slow sip of her soda. The condensation from the plastic cup dripped onto her fingers.

Holding hands was a good start. But it wasn't enough to break the loyalty of a roommate. She needed a catalyst. She needed a physical shock.

Alma scanned the crowded rink.

Her eyes locked onto a group of four teenage boys. They were skating backward at high speed, weaving recklessly through the slower skaters. They were laughing loudly, completely ignoring the rules.

Alma tracked their trajectory. She looked at Caden and Bridgett's position near the center of the floor.

She calculated the speed and the angle.

The reckless boys were ten yards away. Five yards.

Alma stood up from the booth. She took a deep breath.

"Caden!" Alma screamed at the top of her lungs.

Her voice pierced through the heavy bass of the music.

Caden's head snapped toward the sound. His body twisted instinctively toward the booths.

He stopped paying attention to the rink.

A split second later, the lead boy skating backward slammed directly into Bridgett's shoulder.

The impact was violent.

Bridgett let out a sharp, terrified shriek. Her skates flew out from under her. She pitched forward, falling face-first toward the hard wooden floor.

Alma stood perfectly still in the shadows. She didn't blink. She waited for gravity to do its job.

Bridgett's scream cut through the loud music.

Caden's athletic reflexes kicked in instantly. He spun back around. He saw Bridgett falling face-first toward the hard wood.

He lunged forward. He threw his right arm out, wrapping it tightly around Bridgett's waist just inches before her face hit the floor.

The massive forward momentum of her fall pulled him off balance.

Their bodies collided violently.

Caden's left hand shot out to brace them. In the chaotic tangle of limbs, his large hand clamped down hard directly on the side of Bridgett's chest.

They skidded backward on their skates for two full feet, locked together in a desperate embrace.

Caden's boots finally caught the floor. They stopped.

Bridgett was pressed flush against him. Her back was arched over his arm. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck.

The group of reckless boys who caused the crash skated past them backward. They pointed and let out loud, obnoxious wolf whistles.

Bridgett's entire body went rigid.

She could feel the hard muscles of Caden's chest against her ribs. She could feel the heavy, rapid thumping of his heart. And she could feel the burning heat of his hand gripping her breast.

Caden realized exactly where his hand was.

He yanked his hand back as if he had touched a hot stove. He quickly pulled Bridgett upright and stepped back, creating a foot of space between them.

He cleared his throat loudly. A dark flush crept up his neck.

"You okay?" Caden asked. His voice was rougher than usual.

Bridgett kept her head down. Her face was burning hot. She couldn't look him in the eye.

"Yeah," she whispered. Her voice was breathy and weak. "Thank you."

From the dark edge of the rink, Alma watched the entire exchange.

She saw the lingering flush on Caden's neck. She saw the way Bridgett's hands trembled as she smoothed down her sweater.

The physical boundary had been shattered. The chemical reaction had started.

Alma picked up her half-empty soda cup. She tossed it into a nearby trash can.

She forced a heavy limp back into her right leg. She walked slowly toward the exit gate, waving her hand to catch their attention. She pointed to her ankle and mouthed, I want to go home.

The ride back to the dorms was suffocating.

Caden drove his truck. Bridgett sat in the passenger seat. Alma sat alone in the back.

No one turned on the radio. The silence in the cab was thick and heavy.

Alma leaned her head against the cold glass of the window. She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.

In the darkness, she listened.

She heard the uneven, shallow rhythm of Bridgett's breathing. She heard the squeak of leather every time Caden shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat.

The tension in the front seat was electric. They were hyper-aware of each other.

Alma smiled in the dark.

Monday morning arrived with a cold drizzle.

Alma walked into her first-period history seminar. She pulled her notebook from her bag and sat at her desk.

Her desk partner, Heather Baxter, practically threw herself into the plastic chair next to Alma.

Heather was the biggest gossip in their junior year cohort. She thrived on drama.

Heather leaned across the small gap between their desks. She poked Alma's arm with a sharp fingernail.

"Did you go to the rink with Caden and Bridgett this weekend?" Heather whispered. Her eyes were wide with frantic energy.

Alma looked up, blinking innocently. "Yeah. Why?"

Heather looked around the classroom to make sure no one was listening. She leaned closer.

"You need to watch your back," Heather hissed. "Bridgett is making a move on your boyfriend."

Alma's eyebrows pulled together in perfect, manufactured confusion.

"What? No, Bridgett is my friend. She wouldn't do that," Alma said softly.

"You are too nice," Heather groaned, rolling her eyes. "Half the sorority house is talking about it. Shawna saw them on the rink. She said Caden practically felt her up, and Bridgett was rubbing all over him."

Alma's breath hitched. She let her mouth fall open slightly.

"That was an accident," Alma defended weakly. "Someone bumped into her."

"Oh, please," Heather scoffed. "If it was an accident, then why did I see Bridgett hand Caden a plastic container of homemade chocolate chip cookies by the gym this morning? She was giggling like an idiot."

Alma stopped talking.

She looked down at her blank notebook page. She bit her lower lip hard enough to make it turn white. She dug her fingernails into her own palms under the desk.

She forced her eyes to water.

She looked back up at Heather. She looked like a puppy that had just been kicked.

"I... I didn't know," Alma whispered, her voice cracking.

Heather's face softened immediately. Her righteous anger flared up on Alma's behalf.

"Don't cry," Heather said, patting Alma's arm. "I've got your back. I'll keep an eye on that snake. If she tries anything else, I'll tell you."

"Thank you, Heather," Alma sniffled. "But please, don't say anything to anyone else. I don't want to start a fight."

The bell rang. The professor walked to the chalkboard.

Heather sat back in her chair, glaring at the back of the room with a renewed sense of purpose.

Alma opened her textbook. She propped the heavy book up on her desk, hiding her face completely from the rest of the room.

Behind the glossy pages, the tears instantly vanished.

Her eyes were dry and calculating.

She didn't have to follow Caden and Bridgett anymore. Heather would do the surveillance for free. The rumors would build the narrative.

She turned the page of her book. The trap was snapping shut.