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Finals week turned the Barden laundry room into neutral territory — no cliques, no small talk, just exhausted students and the steady hum of machines doing their best. Beca was already regretting being here. She stood with her arms crossed, hoodie zipped up, watching the dryer spin like it had a personal vendetta against her clothes. Her basket sat at her feet, filled with the usual lineup: black T-shirts, dark jeans, gray hoodies. Practical. Invisible. Reliable.
“Hey.”