"You again—did you not get the memo?" Vaughn's voice cut down the stairwell before he reached my landing.
I yanked my sleeve over my hand and scrambled to steady the stack of handouts. Paper slid. My shoe caught on the step. I almost fell.
"Got it," I said, grabbing the banister. "Just new shoes. Traction's a rumor."
His grin was steady when he handed me the key. "Traction shows up on exams, not stairs," he said. "Here. You're late enough to qualify for charm points, but not enough for detention."
"That's generous of you," I said. My fingers brushed the cold metal. The key was smaller than I expected, old school, with a worn tag that read 'Council.'
Someone else in the crowd laughed. The stairwell smelled of damp coats and burnt coffee. Volunteers pressed past us, flyers in hand.
"Leonie, right?" a voice asked from the doorway. I turned. Florence pushed her hair back and rolled her eyes at me. She always had that 'you're hiding something' look.
"Yes," I said. "Hi."
Vaughn took a step back so another student could pass. He watched me like he was cataloging a sentence he wanted to return to. He folded his hands and said, "If you keep slipping around like that, you'll give everyone the wrong idea about the art building's stair safety."
"It is very unsafe," Florence said. "You should write an editorial."
"Only if you promise to cite sources," Vaughn said
