Last year, Marcia had been close to the old Dean.
She had enjoyed special privileges—freedom the other girls did not have. She had not been bound strictly to the college rules like the rest.
But Dean Travis had changed that.
She did not grant Marcia those special privileges.
Phyllis believed that was the main reason some girls disliked the new Dean.
Many students wanted favors and exceptions—but Dean Travis treated everyone equally.
Phyllis could not help admiring her for it.
If some girls were allowed freedom while others were restricted, there would only be more resentment and unfairness.
Phyllis sighed in relief when she realized Gale and Marcia would not meet that night.
"I know how you feel," Gale murmured. "But you shouldn't worry, Phyl. I would never make a scene in front of everyone."
"Are you a mind reader?" Phyllis asked. "How did you know what I was thinking?"
"You're an open book," Gale laughed.
"Woe is me," Phyllis groaned. "Nothing is a secret anymore."
After dinner, the girls did not stay long with the others.
They returned to their room—Phyllis to read, and Gale to write letters.
She had three to write.
One to her parents.
One to Miss Relso, who still followed her school life with interest.
And one to Brent Stockton.
That last letter was always the longest.
Gale rarely saw Brent, the young aviator she cared deeply for, but their letters were frequent and full of life and affection.
"Send Brent my love," Phyllis said as she struggled into her pajamas.
"Doesn't that make you jealous?" she teased.
"No," Gale said promptly. "I even sent him a picture of you and me."
"Foiled," Phyllis muttered, burying her face in the pillow. "Aren't you ever going to bed?"
"Lights-out hasn't rung yet," Gale reminded her.
"You can go anyway," Phyllis said sleepily. "The Dean won't mind."
"Go to sleep," Gale laughed.
Moonlight filled the room softly.
The girls drifted into peaceful sleep.
Outside, the campus was quiet.
The sorority house stood dark beneath the autumn sky, as if the world had settled into complete stillness.
Then—
A bell rang.
Loud.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Phyllis shot out of bed with a scream.
Gale sat up instantly, covering her ears.
Another bell joined it.
Then another.
And another.
The room erupted into chaos.
Phyllis dashed around wildly.
She found the first alarm clock under the bed and switched it off.
Gale found another hidden in her suitcase.
But before they could breathe—
More bells started ringing.
Everywhere.
Different tones.
Different volumes.
A whole orchestra of noise.
They sat in the middle of the floor, helpless.
"Let them ring," Phyllis shouted.
"That's all we can do!" Gale laughed.
"I wonder whose idea this is?"
But Phyllis couldn't hear her anymore.
The noise was overwhelming.
Gradually, one by one, the bells began to stop.
Silence returned.
The girls slowly climbed back into bed.
But before they could relax—
A final bell exploded.
Louder than all the rest.
"It sounds like a fire alarm!" Phyllis shouted.
She rushed to the closet.
Inside a hatbox, she found a large alarm clock.
"How do we shut it off?" she yelled.
Gale shook her head helplessly, laughing.
They tried everything.
Nothing worked.
Finally, they stuffed it under pillows.
The sound dulled—but still echoed faintly.
"What a night," Phyllis groaned, climbing back into bed. "I'm sleeping through anything—even a roof collapse."
The next morning
"What was going on in your room?" Ricky demanded at breakfast.
"Someone hid a hundred alarm clocks in there," Phyllis said, crawling out from under Gale's bed. "We're still finding them."
"Planning to open a shop?" Gloria asked, laughing at the pile on Phyllis' desk.
Phyllis shook her head.
She placed a chair outside in the hallway and arranged all the clocks on it.
Then she added a sign:
"To be claimed."
And they went to breakfast.
When they returned—
The chair was empty.
All the clocks were gone.