Yes but it's close

You quickly realize that you cannot out run that pack of healthy boys, but rounding the corner of a building you see a pair of dumpsters and without hesitation you dive into the closest one and pull a couple bags over your prone body. From outside you first the sound of the boys from Hamilton College tear by and shortly after a second group this one moving more cautiously than the young men.

You recognize Chanel's voice at once, as well as several of the friends that had been so recently frolicking by the lake.

"Someone's out there," she moans fearfully. "Someone terrible. He nearly killed that Hamilton boy and then he started **** me and... Oh God, who was it?" You can hear the sounds of her friends trying to comfort her to no avail. "He said he was with the Sheik, but that wasn't real was it? Oh God I had to use the Call, I had ****."

"You did the right thing, Chanel. We came just like we all swore." You hear the words clearly enough, the girls are only standing twenty feet from the dumpsters and not trying to be quiet, but they don't quite make sense. Was the Call that foreign phrase? What was it, _Sororius Miti? _and what is it about those words that fucked up your plans? From slightly further away now you hear Chanel's friends reassure her. "Everything's gonna be ok. Come on girl, we got you."

"Yeah Chanel, we got your back," A higher pitched voice adds. "Sisters forever, right? No ones gonna attack us with all five together."

"What if...if its about last year?" Chanel whimpers carry clearly through the still night air. "What if it's about ****?" She takes a shuddering breath then suddenly screams into the darkness. "Leave us alone! Leave us alone! It was an accident!"

The other girls surround her, hugging her until she subsides in broken sobs. Finally they walk in a subdued group back up the hill towards the main campus, Chanel's soft whimpering the only sound of their passage.

Only now do you smell the stench of garbage and realize that you are covered in rotten grass clippings and what smells like discarded food waste. As silently as possible you pull your pants the rest of the way up and re-buckle your belt, reassured slightly by the weight of the knife in your pocket. In the distance you hear the soothing voices of Chanel's friends and a few more angry shouts from the men whose party you had interrupted, and as you climb from the stinking trash, you try to figure out what your plan should be.