Yes, but..

"You’ve earned your reward, no doubt about it," Clara replied, rising from the bench and brushing herself off with an air of smugness that made me sick.

She adjusted her outerwear with exasperating slowness, savoring her total victory before delivering the final blow:

"But there’s a slight hitch. The sweatshirt is in my car, in the parking lot."

I felt the floor vanish beneath my bare feet. The mere mention of the outside world made the blood drain from my face.

"In the parking lot?" My voice cracked, a mere thread of panic. "I can't go out there like this!"

I glanced around frantically—my vision blurred behind my glasses—searching for an exit that didn't exist.

"Please, go get it yourself," I pleaded, taking a step toward her, heedless of my nakedness. "I’ll hide in the showers at the back, where no one can see me. It’ll take five minutes. Just five minutes, Clara."

Clara walked over to the locker room door and opened it just a crack—enough for the echoes of the morning university bustle (laughter, footsteps, slamming doors) to filter into our cold sanctuary. Then she turned to me, fixing me with a smile that boded ill. She tilted her head, scrutinizing my trembling figure: my still-drenched violet hair and the pink thong that barely covered my private parts.

"And leave you here alone, where anyone could find you before I get back?" she asked with feigned sweetness. "No, Lola. I think if you want that sweatshirt, you’re going to have to come with me to get it."

I instinctively hugged myself, pressing my hands against my bare breasts, which spilled over my arms from the pressure. I stared in sheer terror at the distance separating the safety of the showers from the door leading outside. The panic of being seen by dozens of students—of having my "perfect girl" facade shattered forever—paralyzed my muscles.

"I can't... Clara, please, don't make me go out there like this," I whimpered, feeling fresh tears welling up. "I'll stay right here, I promise. I'll hide so well that no one will even know I exist. Just... bring me some clothes. I'm begging you."

Clara didn't budge. Instead, she opened the door a little wider, letting the cold air from the hallway brush against my bare legs and make me shiver.

"You have ten seconds, Lola," she declared, turning around. "Either you walk behind me to the parking lot right now, or I lock this door from the outside—and I promise you, I’ll tell the first group of guys who walk by that I left a 'gift' waiting for them in the showers. It’s your choice."