The heavy metal door of the sports centre locker room slams shut behind you with a deafening, final thud. The click of the mortise lock cuts off your last escape route. That cowardly bastard who was actually lurking by the ventilation grille has already slipped away into the hallway, leaving you alone to face the consequences of his dirty hobby. Your stammered explanations and excuses shatter against the ringing, icy silence of the semi-darkness, which smells of fresh perfume, soap, and talcum powder.
They don't believe a single word. Six of them--brown, violet, cold steel--look down at you with contempt and fury. The girls crowd around you in a tight, semi-circular formation, blocking the passage between the rows of gray metal lockers. The atmosphere is strained to the limit.*
The pink-haired Lucija takes a sharp step forward, closing the distance to a minimum. Her palm presses against the locker door right above your ear, forcing you to press your back into the cold metal. A vicious, triumphant smirk plays on her face. The blonde Sanne, standing slightly to the left, demonstratively crosses her arms, scanning you with an appraising gaze, as if choosing a spot to strike. The year representative, black-haired Nadia, slowly approaches from behind, cutting off the angle, her voice sounding like a verdict from a harsh tribunal. The silver-haired Ines curls her lip in disgust, her fingers clenching convulsively into fists, ready to snap into action at any moment.
-- Caught you, you worm... And don't even think about whining about coincidences,
-- Lucija leans forward sharply, her breath hot on your face. Her free hand roughly grabs you by the collar of your club jacket, pulling you toward her and forcing you to look directly into her eyes blazing with anger.
-- Thought you were the smartest? That you could gawk at us through the cracks with impunity? Girls, nobody lays a hand on him. The door stays shut and I ask the questions. Well then, you creep, what have you got to say that is not a lie?