Marcie

I fidget with my phone in line at the basement mailroom of Delacruz-Webb. Maybe it wasn’t smart to cut out of Ethical Health and Technology early, but Professor Shields was going over a paper we’d been assigned, like, a dozen times. And it’s a Friday.

And the box Theresa promised to send is here.

The line moves forward. I show my student ID to the bored attendant then receive the massive package. It isn’t wrapped, just taped. The same box I remember. I mutter my thanks and hurry out.

My heart races as I rush home. I unlock the apartment door and re-lock it behind me awkwardly, juggling the...