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 got Runaway Bride on 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 Halloween costume 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.
“Nine one one,” I say out loud to no one except myself—at least I hope so.
After two rings, the operator answers. “Nine one one. What’s your emergency?”
“My job—it was broken into.”
“Ma’am, are you safe? Is the intruder still on the property?”
“No. I don’t think so,” I sputter. “I mean, I don’t think they’re still here, but yes, I’m safe. I work at a gym. Down for the Count.”
“Stay on the line. I’ll have a squad car there in less than ten minutes.”
While I’m on the line with her, I send out texts to my parents, asking them to call Uncle Vernon and Aunt Inga. This will gut them.
My dad beats the cops there, which means he must have sped, and if there’s anything my dad has respect for it’s Star Trek and speed limits. My dad doesn’t take the time to tiptoe around the glass. He comes straight toward me and squeezes me tight.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod, unable to come up with words.
“Have you checked the office or the lockers?”
But before I can answer, Officer Barnes, my elementary school’s former D.A.R.E. officer, walks through the gaping hole in the storefront. “Millie?”
“Yes, sir. And this is my dad.”
I confirm with the operator that the police have arrived and hang up.
“You two stay here,” Officer Barnes says as he heads into the locker room with his gun in hand.
Soon after he checks the whole building, there are a handful of police officers, including Sheriff Bell, but my family quickly outnumbers them. My mom’s in the janitorial closet, gathering cleanup supplies, while Pop-Pop and Gran follow Officer Barnes, double-checking all of his work. And poor Vernon is on the phone with the insurance company, with baby Nikolai strapped to his chest, while Inga circles around him with baby Luka on her hip as she shouts Russian cuss words directed at the adjuster on the phone.
A younger officer approaches my dad and me while the two of us sit helpless behind the counter. “Uh, ma’am? You’re the one who found the place this morning.”
I nod. “Yes, sir. I am.”
“I see there are cameras set up out here. Those the real deal or just for show?”
A frown settles on my lips. “A little bit of both. They only keep footage for twenty-four hours.”
“Would you mind walking back there with me so we can take a look?”
I nod, and while the officer gets a head start, I turn to my dad. “I feel so bad for Vernon and Inga.”
My dad grips my knee. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I walk back to the office with Dad as he gently guides me with his hand on my back.
“Looks like Pop-Pop is on the case,” I say as he questions Officer Barnes about why they aren’t dusting for fingerprints.
Dad lets out a half grunt, half laugh. “At least he’s got a new distraction. This might be the most excitement the old guy has seen since we let him help us pick out new grass for the yard.”
The office is small and can barely fit two people when it’s cleaned out, which is not its current state. I take a seat at the desk, and Sheriff Bell and Dad hover behind me.
I search through the system and save the footage starting with me locking the door last night up until now. As we fast-forward through the evening, I stop just after midnight as I spot some shapes blocking out light from the parking lot. It’s only a few minutes before the first window cracks. And then the next. And the next. Soon a handful of people spill in over the broken glass. All of their faces are covered with scarves, hunting masks, and a few Halloween masks, too.
Sheriff Bell leans down over my shoulder. “Those . . . those look like a bunch of teenage girls. You don’t recognize any of them, do you?” he asks me.