Agatha Paul stood in front of Belgrade Dormitory at 6:59 p.m. One block down was an ice cream store with outside seating and young women holding paper cups. An Airstream trailer with a colorful pennant banner was selling tacos across the street.
Two students with large backpacks walked past her toward the dormitory entrance. One said, “No, I’ve actually had oatmeal every day this week.” The other opened the door with a key fob and said, “See, I need to start doing that, too.”
A moment later, through a partially frosted glass door, Agatha saw brown Birkenstocks hustling across a tile floor. She didn’t know what Millie looked like, but she immediately assumed that these shoes belonged to her.
“Hi, Agatha?” she said. She opened the door with an out-stretched hand. On her chest was a lanyard weighted with keys, an ID case, and hand sanitizer.
“Yes. Millie? Hi.” Agatha shook her hand. “Thanks for setting this up.”
“No worries. Come on in.”
Agatha stepped into the dorm. The paneled ceiling lights in the lobby were the kind that made her skin look transparent and baby pink.
There was a front desk behind a glass window. An overloaded bulletin board: kickball sign- up, dining hall menus, and flyers for movie nights (Beetlejuice, Pitch Perfect 2). The dorm smelled both dirty and artificially clean. There was a faint Febreze scent and something candied in the air. It smelled like perfume purchased from a clothing store, like Victoria’s Secret or the Gap…
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