Dad chuckles. “I think we can make that happen.”
“Finish your dinner,” my mom tells me. “You probably have a lot of homework piled up.” After a moment, she adds, “I’ve gotRunaway Brideon the DVR.”
Later, in my room, while I’m putting the finishing touches on my trig homework, a chat message from Malik pops up in the bottom corner of my computer screen.
Malik.P99: Have you looked at the psych essay questions yet? That last one feels like a trick question.
aMillienBucks: Not yet! I’m saving that for the weekend. :D :D
Maybe the second smiley face is overkill.Chill, Millie.
Malik.P99: Speaking of this weekend...
Malik.P99: Well, not this weekend. A weekend.
Malik.P99: My birthday is coming up.
aMillienBucks: Oh yeah! That’s right!
Malik.P99: My mom is having this big birthday party and now she’s got a bunch of family coming into town and she wants me to invite friends.
Malik.P99: She knows I don’t really have a lot of friends.
aMillienBucks: I’m your friend! Amanda, too.
Malik.P99: It’s not going to be fun. Not even a little bit.
aMillienBucks: Not to brag or anything, but I’m sort of known for my morale-boosting skills.
Malik.P99: Mils, really. It’s not going to be fun. There will be aunties everywhere all up in my business, so if you’re not up for an in-depth interview and a lie detector test, I get it.
Mils.He only calls me Mils online when we’re chatting like this at night without anyone around. It feels so... familiar.
aMillienBucks: Okay, well if this is you inviting me, then I would love to go to your birthday party and have no fun at all and meet all your aunties. I’ll even bring Amanda if you want.
Malik.P99: Thank you so much. At least we can suffer together.
A burst of fireworks go off in my chest. We chat like this almost every night, leaving our chat windows up from after dinner until one of us falls asleep. It’s almost like being in one of those relationships that’s all lived-in, where silence isn’t uncomfortable.
But then the next day at school, reality always sinks in. I’m constantly left to wonder if the people we are online will ever materialize in real life.
I’m extra rushed in the morning, trying to pull together some semblance of a breakfast while still remembering to turn on the coffeepot for my parents. I overslept and didn’t even have time to work on my personal statement for journalism camp.
After I pull out of the driveway, I have to double back down the street because I forgot to close the garage door. It’s just one of those mornings. My hair is frizzier than normal. I feel ridiculous in my clothes—black leggings with white polka dots and an oversized red sweatshirt, like I’m channeling my homemade Minnie Mouse Halloweencostume from fourth grade. Even though I wore this outfit three weeks ago and loved it! It’s like some days you just wake up and your body doesn’t seem to look right in any of your clothes.
By the time I get to the gym, I’m on autopilot. I unlock the door and race over to the security keypad to shut off the alarm, not noticing the glass crunching beneath my feet or the fact that the alarm was never even beeping. Did I turn it on last night? Suddenly I have no memory of the little buttons lighting up for the last week—maybe even two!
I turn around and look up. Oh my gosh. If I were a cussing person, now would be a good time for a whole slew of dirty words.
The whole front of the gym is normally a tinted glass storefront, but this morning the entire panel of glass is missing.
Well, it’s not missing. It’s all over the floor in pieces. Someone broke in, and as my eyes begin to wander, I see that not only did they break into the gym, they vandalized the equipment, mirrors, and walls. Spray paint, eggs, toilet paper, and shaving cream. Everywhere. And those eggs smell way worse than anything my mom’s ever cooked up.
My heart is pounding. A cold sweat forms on my neck. I’m frozen. It’s one of those moments that begs for action, but I feel like everything is a nightmare and my limbs are suddenly weighed down with lead.
I think so many things at once. What if the intruder is still here? Why would someone do this? How are we going to clean all this up?
The police. I need to call the police. I reach for my phone, and out of pure habit, I dial the numbers for my parents, Amanda, and Malik before forcing myself to concentrate.
