ZOE

The first day of school was fine. It was as good as any other day. That sounded a lot better than it felt to live it.

Most people were supposed to hate school, but as I stood here, squinting down at my phone under the pressing fluorescent lights of a 7-Eleven, I wished I was still there. At school, I had a reason not to check my texts. I could keep my head down, my smile fixed, and let everything else go ignored. Most people at school either didn't notice me, or they could tolerate me, and the problems there weren't that big. At least incompetent teachers, gossip, and pizza so greasy that if you tilted it diagonally you could create a puddle on your lunch tray, those were normal issues. If someone threatened to kill you at school, the teachers had to do something, or they'd get sued. At home, if someone threatens to kill you, you're still expected to care about them, because you share the same parents.

To be more specific, the someone, in this case, was my brother, Connor. Connor was the one that everyone noticed, or remembered. Outside of jazz band, and the people I knew through jazz band, I was pretty much universally known as 'the freaky kid's sister'. That said, it was still easier to have the reputation of being freak adjacent than to be at my house spending time with him, so, I avoided that any way I could.

Once the school year had really started, I'd have band rehearsals, and movie club, and I could do stage crew with the theater department. But, since today was the first day back, my options had come down to hanging out with Olive Kinsey, the first chair saxophone player in both jazz band and regular band, and her friend Lyle Sherman, who handled our audio equipment. We'd grabbed some Slurpees, gathered around the counter, and shared stories about our summers that we seemed way more invested in telling than hearing.

When Olive started to brag about meeting a violinist from the New York Philharmonic who had come to stay at her grandmother's Bed and Breakfast that summer, I sipped on my blue raspberry Slurpee and checked my phone. As soon as I'd swallowed, I deflated. The trail of messages from my mom was too depressing not to sigh at.

Mom: Honey Bunch, do U kno where your brother is? Your father's already home... and we can't find him anywhere! Did he seem upset at school? Also, can you get milk on the way home?

For some reason, mom had decided that it required multiple of any punctuation marks in text to get the point across faster. I ignored the question of if Connor seemed upset, if only because Connor always seemed upset, and focused on the part that I could handle.

Zoe: No, he didn't tell me. I'm at the store, now. I'll get it.

I pocketed my phone, turned to my friends Lyle and Olive, and raised a hand to signal that I had to talk. "Just a second, guys. I'll be right back." Then, I left behind the sticky countertop beside the Slurpee station, and paced towards the back of the store. My thumb ran along the edge of my phone case, over and over, matching the rhythm of the radio station crackling in the background.

Such a bright, busy place wasn't supposed to be the closest thing a person could get to peace, and yet, here I was. How depressing was it, to know that the only real control that I, or any teenager, had over our lives was to avoid everything wrong, without any good way to fix it? My dad controlled my allowance, and wouldn't sign off for me to get a job even if I'd wanted one. My mom set every appointment, and our menu, and picked out our clothes. My school district, my room, my doctor, my car—none of it was my choice.

I could run, though, if I'd wanted to. Some teenagers did run away. It was possible. I could run a lot farther than the milk aisle of a 7-Eleven. I wondered if my brother would be less likely to drink a whole gallon of milk in one day if I got skim instead of two percent on 'accident'.

My debate with myself was interrupted by the squeak of Lyle's sneakers approaching the milk aisle. I reached inside the case, picked up a gallon of two percent, and tugged on the straps of my backpack to put some distance between us.

The instant before the glass door would have swung shut, Lyle thrust his hand between the case and the door. He reached over his shoulder, drawing a smiley face with his finger on the glass while he spoke. "You know what they should really make, here, though?"

Despite the fog building on the opposite side of the glass, I could still see Olive's forehead crease and nose ring crinkle. "At least fifteen dollars an hour, I think. Right? Minimum wage?"

I took a few more steps back, away from them both, and nodded to Olive. "Yeah. But it's thirteen fifty, this year."

Lyle waved his hand in front of himself, ignoring how little we cared. "Okay. Okay. Yeah, that, too. We all like money. But, I mean, like, drink wise? What should they make?"

Olive pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "You're going to tell us even if we don't ask, aren't you?"

I set the milk back down on the counter, and picked up my Slurpee in both hands. I twirled the straw, mixing the melted bits back in while I answered, too. "He's totally going to tell us."

Lyle raised his voice over mine, almost proclaiming the idea. "Apple cider!" He looked down to us both, expecting some sort of congratulations. When he didn't get one, he just shook his head and went on anyway. "Seriously, though, just, like, picture it. Except not a picture, because apple cider is all tan and it looks gross. But, like, taste it. In your head."

Olive's hand still hadn't moved away from her nose. She just pinched it harder. "I don't think that's how you say that, either, Ly."

"No, dude. Your tongue is part of your head so it totally counts."

Olive took a step closer to Lyle. They were so close that her head was practically touching his when she repeated slower. "Ly, when people say do something in your head, they don't mean, with your mouth. They mean your brain."

"…But you don't give someone head with your brain."

Since this didn't involve me, I picked up the milk and started to head for the counter. I had just put the milk down in front of the cashier when I heard Olive's voice getting closer. "Why do we hang out with you, again?"

I didn't bother peeking, both because I could assume it had nothing to do with me, and because Lyle answered seconds later, anyway. "Free comedy. Also, I raise your self-esteem by proxy because just knowing me is twenty percent more awesome."

The cashier had tried to ask me if I wanted paper or plastic, but before I could answer that, Olive set a hand on my shoulder to pull my attention to her, instead. "Zoe, what's wrong? You're quiet. Even more than usual, even."

From the corner of my eye, I could spot that Lyle was setting down the money for the milk, instead. I tried to tell him "You don't have to," but, before he could hear or I could get the message across, Olive gave another, increasingly insistent tug on my shoulder, and I turned towards her. "It's nothing. Just my mom. Looking for my brother. Like usual."

Olive clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Just turn your phone off. It's like, your life shouldn't revolve around that guy. Or any guy."

"Yeah, not when it can revolve around us! Or, the sun. Unlike your parents' lives, which revolve around the s-o-n kind of son which is, not nearly as awesome as we are." Lyle pushed the milk back towards me, forcing me to take it and a step back instead of answering either of them.

Even now, when supposedly they were talking to me, about me, Olive and Lyle had ended up facing each other, instead. She shook her head at him. "Not helping, Ly."

"No, I'm super helpful. Just give me the phone, I can—" Lyle reached back towards me. I assume he'd meant to grab for one of my pockets, but I didn't stick close enough for him to check. Instead, I shifted the plastic bag up my wrist, took the phone out myself, and checked for new messages. There were two missed calls, and one new text from my mom on my lock screen. Again, the words stared me down, her panic escalating.

Mom: Thank you! Where are U? Still no Connor! Can you call him? PLEASE? We tried but no answer!

I was still processing mom's enthusiasm while Olive and Lyle bickered in the background. I lowered the phone and raised my head, interrupting whatever the original topic had been with the more urgent fact that, as much as I'd rather deal with the sugar rush and too bright of lighting choices, I couldn't leave my mom like this. "It's fine. I just. I've got to go. My mom needs the car to look for him, I guess. It was really nice seeing you, we should-" do it again soon, was what I'd meant to say. Instead, I'd ended up letting out some kind of yelp in surprise when Lyle took the phone straight out of my hands and lifted it out of reach.

"You have his number? Your brother?" Lyle asked, like it was a normal time to ask a question.

I was too distracted jumping up once to try and grab the phone from him to bother answering that. When that failed, I settled for demanding it. "Give that back, Lyle. Now." Lyle just shook his head. "I need my phone, and to leave, now. I wouldn't have said I needed to leave if I didn't need to leave."

Lyle shook his head back, flipping those overgrown rainbow bangs in what had to be an intentionally dramatic sway. He poked across my touch screen and snickered. "Nice poop emoji after Connor. Good touch."

"Seriously, Lyle. I mean it. I need my phone. My mom's really freaking out."

Thankfully, Olive stood beside me, joining in. She kicked at Lyle's leg, forcing his attention so he could see her cross her arms in frustration. "Lyle, cut the crap and just give Zoe her phone."

Lyle tilted the phone away from the fluorescent lights, angling it down just far enough I could see he was looking at a map. He closed one eye and squinted before announcing, just as confidently as he had his supposed Slurpee flavor, "Connor's at the park. By the quarry."

"What does that—" I almost finished asking, but corrected myself to a better question. "How would you know?"

Lyle lowered the phone down, enough so that he could hand it back to me. He pointed along the screen, his index finger poking at a specific point that was glowing a lighter color than the rest of the map. "Ellison State Park. See the blip, there? The blinky spot in all that green stuff right next to the smaller blue stuff? That's his phone. I tracked it because you're on the same network. Your dad or some guy at the cell phone company probably had it installed already. So, abra kadabble. There he is."

"Abra… kadabble?" Olive repeated, not sure if she was confused or disgusted.

Lyle ignored both with a shrug. "Don't question magic, dude." He gave me a pat on the back, one which nearly made me rock forward into a wall. I corrected my posture before checking the phone again. "Anyway, just tell your mom where he is and then you can stay."

It didn't seem like the kind of thing Lyle, or, for that matter, anyone, would make up, but I couldn't picture why my brother would go to the park. He wasn't into wildlife, or anything that didn't involve a dark room, loud music and being angry all the time. Maybe he'd gone there to buy drugs? Either way, it would take longer for mom to get there than me. It wasn't that far. I could get her to calm down more if I went and got Connor myself.

Or I could get murdered in the woods. That would also solve the problem.

I tapped on the home screen button of my phone, opened the maps app, and clicked through for directions to the stone quarry at the park. I checked away from my phone just long enough to say "Thank you," and headed for the exit. "See you tomorrow."

The jingle bell tied to the top of the door chimed over Olive's voice as she shouted after me. "Wait, let us come with you! We're bored."

Lyle waved his arm over the top of Olive's head, twice as fast and even more frantic. "Or pretend to let us both go, and then ditch her!"

Even as I stepped into my car, alone, I could still see them arguing with each other. Olive gave Lyle the lightest possible smack on the arm, then shook him by the shoulders. Behind the smudged glass, I was pretty sure she was telling him she hated him, and that he was grinning proudly back while telling her she was welcome to do that. From here, it looked the way that people thought siblings were supposed to look—mocking, but still caring. Nice for them.

Then, I drove off to find mine.