Most days, I arrived home before Phoebe because she had detention or cross-country. Today I ran a little late at work, and then met Arden at the grocery store. I glanced at the oven clock: 5:26. Phoebe was always home by five.
I checked my phone for messages—none. I called her, telling myself everything was normal until her voicemail picked up. Anxiety clutched my throat and I dropped the rest of the groceries on the floor, not bothering to put away perishables, then bolted across the hall, nearly banging down the door.
Noah opened it, brow creased in concern. “What’s up?”
I pushed past him into the apartment. “Is Phoebe here?”
“No.” In the kitchen, Arden turned away from the half-empty bags of groceries littering the countertops and gave me her full attention. “Why? She’s not home?”
I dragged a hand through my hair, letting out a slow breath. “She’s always home by now. I called her, but she didn’t answer.”
“She’s fine,” Noah said. He placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “She’s probably with friends.”
Arden and I exchanged a look. Phoebe hadn’t made friends since the move, and it was something I carried tremendous guilt over.
“Or,” Noah added quickly, “cross-country ran late.”
“Cross-country ended for the year.” I pressed my palms into my eyes. “God. Where is she?”
“Try calling again,” Arden suggested. “I’m gonna go downstairs and see if she stopped by the office to work with Rhonda.”
“Don’t panic until there’s something to panic about,” Noah said. “If she’s not home by six and you still haven’t heard from her, we’ll go from there.”
I swallowed hard, unsure of whether I’d make it to six without losing my mind. But he had a point; half an hour wasn’t the end of the world, or a call to action. Time to settle into a happy medium of realism: In all likelihood, Phoebe was fine and simply late, not stuffed in the trunk of someone’s car.
Alone in the apartment, my throat grew tight again. I checked my phone in case Phoebe had responded while I was distracted. She hadn’t.
Things had been so shitty recently, I forgot they could get worse.
I sat on the couch, fingers clutching my phone so tightly they turned white. 5:35 and still waiting. 5:40 and my dad was dead and my sister still hadn’t called me back. 5:45 and the walls began to close in when a new text from Arden popped up:Not downstairs but don’t worry!!!!! She’ll be home soon.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tossed my phone onto the opposite side of the couch. If I ignored it, Phoebe would call. That’s how the world worked, right?
Anything, I thought.You can do anything you want to me, just let her be okay.
My ringtone blasted and I dove for my phone, heart stuttering at the wordsUnknown Number. There was a nonzero chance the dude fromTakenwould be on the other end, but I didn’t hesitate.
“Hello?”
“Violet St. Clair?” a woman’s voice said, and my hand shot to my chest, lungs collapsing, anticipating the wordshospitalandICUandcritical condition. “This is Mary from Sequest.”
I doubled over, gasping like a drowned man breathed back to life. “Oh my god.”
Recognizing my panic, Mary said, “She’s here. She’s fine. She stopped by after school and has been holed up in Mr. Dexter’s office ever since. He asked me to call you.”
“Thank you.” I shut my eyes. My hands were trembling. “Thank you. I’m on my way.”
I fired off an update to Arden and Noah and got the hell out of Dodge. Pouring rain and rush hour traffic, the scent of gasoline and wet pavement; I was running down the sidewalk before my brain caught up. Soaked to the bone, hair plastered to my face. More than a few passing drivers stared—the panic must’ve haunted my features, lingering despite the knowledge that Phoebe was ten minutes away.
I couldn’t trust it until she was right in front of me.
Though it was nearly a year since my last round of cardio, I managed a fairly impressive time, despite the rain and my lungs an inch from bursting in my chest. I threw myself through the door of Sequest. The same woman sat behind the front desk, eyes popping at the sight of me.
“Where is she?” I gasped, moving a hand to my side to rub away a cramp.
“Right through there,” she said, pointing to the blue door. “Do you want some water? Or a towel? I think we have towels in the back.”
“No. No. I…” I focused on my breathing for a second so I wouldn’t pass out. “I’m sorry about this.”
