Chapter 18:

Verse 18: Mind Games and Loopholes

UNNECESSARY CONNOTATIONS

Psychology 101 was held in a quiet lecture hall tucked into the east wing of the Humanities building. I grinned looking at the spiral murals that lined the walls, something about them gave serious Junji Ito vibes. I knew right then, this class was a monster.

The humming projectors, and that faint chemical smell of fresh paint. I didn’t mind it. But some girls I walked in with did—pinching their noses like it was a gas chamber.

No one knew me here.

No Malik. No Elena.

No people from my old school ready to pounce on a misstep or remind me who I used to be.

Just a row of chairs, a calm professor with a British accent, and students scribbling notes like their lives depended on it.

I took a seat near the back. Not too far where it seemed antisocial. Not too close to risk eye contact with the lec.

The lecture was on cognitive dissonance—how people struggle to hold two conflicting beliefs at the same time. It was the first thing all day that actually made sense.

According to Leon Festinger, we experience discomfort when we hold these beliefs and ideas and it is this discomfort that leads to people to want to change their behaviours to restore a state of normalcy. For example, I’m feeling a bit of discomfort about making a decision between going to the loophole club or staying at the hostels and sleeping.

The professor talked about how we lie to ourselves to sleep better at night. How we reframe guilt, rewrite our own memories, smooth out the rough edges just enough to function.

I found myself taking actual notes.

It felt... peaceful.

Maybe this could be one of those classes I actually enjoyed.

And when it ended, I kind of wished it had gone longer.

Weird feeling.

The only thing left on my agenda was…. the loophole club.

I got the message, actually two: one from Malik and the other from Sheila.

Both however, had the same message: “Meet outside the library, 9 P.M sharp.”

Okay, where’s that handy handbook? I got a building to find.

At 8:59 p.m., I stood behind the campus library, doubting every decision that had led me here—including, but not limited to, befriending Malik.

It was dark.

The kind of darkness that made trash bins look like monsters and squirrels sound like serial killers. The only light came from a dying lamp post doing its best impression of a horror movie flicker.

I’m giving this place two minutes tops, then I’m outta here

“Psst.”

I turned. Nothing.

“Psssssssssst.”

The bush next to me rustled. I nearly jumped and did my best impression of Rocky, before he gets his face punched too many times.

Actually, scratch that—Muhammad Ali. I’m trying not to get hit.

Then a voice:
“Bro. Over here.”

I stared in disbelief as Malik’s head emerged from the shrubbery like a bootleg forest spirit.

“…Why are you inside a bush?”

“Secrecy,” he whispered, as if that explained everything. “Hurry up. You’re late.”

“It’s literally 9:01.”

“That’s late in Loophole Club time. We run on paranoid efficiency.”

He parted the branches like Moses at the Red Sea and motioned for me to crawl in.

“You want me to crawl in there?”

“Yes. Obviously. Do I look like someone who’d do this for fun?”

He absolutely did.

Still, against all logic and dignity, I got on my hands and knees and crawled through damp leaves and what I sincerely hope was just a crushed granola bar.

“Where are we going?”

“To the back entrance of Old Maintenance.”

I blinked. “Isn’t that condemned?”

“Only officially. Welcome to the loophole.”

We emerged into a small concrete courtyard behind the library where an old service door sat slightly ajar. Someone had spray-painted “NOT A DOOR” over it in big red letters, which was exactly the kind of thing that screamed door to Malik.

He shoved it open and led me down a narrow stairwell that smelled like old paint, forgotten pizza, and possiby ghost urine.

“Almost there,” he said cheerfully, stepping over a “WET FLOOR” sign that hadn’t seen a mop in years.

At the bottom of the stairs was… a janitor’s closet.

“You’ve brought me to a supply room,” I said. “Is this where you murder the freshmen who ask too many questions?”

“Wow. No trust.” Malik knocked twice, then paused, then knocked three more times in a very dramatic rhythm like he was unlocking the Chamber of Secrets.

The door clicked.

It swung open to reveal—

A full-on secret lounge.

I’m talking beanbags. Lava lamps. A projector looping episodes of The Office of all things.

Someone had set up a bar made entirely of stacked textbooks labeled “INTRO TO ECON 101.” Snacks were laid out on a table: Takis, three types of Oreos, half-stale popcorn, cans of Red Bulls, some questionable brownies and something labeled “lemonade (non-fermented...we think).”

I found myself grinning at the posters of old protest movements and some artwork from comics, there was a huge one of Batman.

I’m not gonna lie, I just might like it here.

There were students lounging around, some scribbling in notebooks, others sipping iced tea or energy drinks from dented cans. Actually, they might be drinking something a bit stronger from the looks of it. A girl just did a backflip, landed on her stomach and got up laughing.

Yeah, that’s definitely not tea.

A tall girl in a white hoodie with “NONSENSE” scrawled across the front waved at us.

“Hey Malik, you bringin' in fresh meat?”

“First timer,” Malik said proudly.

“Cool,” she said to me. “Try not to embarrass yourself like the last guy.”

From the corner, someone muttered, “I said I didn’t know she was the dean’s daughter...”

I was still stunned when Malik clapped me on the shoulder.

“Welcome to the Loophole Club,” he grinned. “We break rules responsibly.”

Another guy, wearing sunglasses indoors and sipping something out of a literal beaker, added, “And we take no responsibility for broken bones, fines, or spontaneous love triangles.”

“What exactly is this place?” I asked, spinning slowly in disbelief.

“It’s the brain of the campus,” Malik said. “The underground brain. We keep the machine running or at least… reroute it for our benefit.”

A girl who looked like she hadn't slept since orientation chimed in, “I just come here for the Wi-Fi. The signal’s demonically strong down here. And don’t let Malik fool you, he’s only been a member for three days.”

Malik plopped into a beanbag, tossed me a can of Red Bull, and smirked.

“So. Ready to learn the sacred art of academic survival?”

I cracked the can open.

“Sure,” I said. “Just promise I don’t have to crawl through any more bushes.”

“No promises,” he said.

Then he pulled out a whiteboard labelled:

TONIGHT’S AGENDA

How to crash a full class without getting on the waitlist.

Secret vending machines that accept expired IDs.

The myth of Professor Langston’s second phone.

Why the third-floor printer hates everyone equally

I sat down.

This was going to be wildly unproductive.

And I loved it.

That’s when I spotted Sheila—still rocking the chaos cap, now with a denim jacket thrown over her hoodie. She was perched on a couch like a queen holding court, surrounded by two guys locked in an argument about who the best guy was.

Unfortunately, for them she wasn’t interested.

She caught my eye and gave a slight nod.

Cool. I didn’t screw up by showing up.

Then I saw Elena.

She was across the room, laughing politely at something someone said, twirling a pen between her fingers. She looked up and saw me.

Our eyes met.

One second. Two.

She blinked, smiled faintly—more polite than warm—and then turned back to her conversation.

Okay.
Cool.
We’re doing the “pretend everything’s normal but it’s actually awkward” thing.
Got it.

Sheila slid up beside me a few minutes later like she’d just teleported there.

“You came,” she said, sounding half-surprised.

“I said I might.”