“Help!” I call out, rushing toward him. He’s wearing earbuds and I don’t catch his attention until I’m standing right in front of him. He pulls out one earbud, irritated, then does a double take, sees something in my face that worries him. I touch my chin and my hand comes away sticky and red. “Help,” I repeat. He nods, pulling out his other earbud, and follows me. Gene doesn’t move fast. When we finally reach the gym, I take a deep breath and step aside to let him enter first, not ready to face whatever horror it might hold. I half expect to find Kurt’s beaten body, bloodied and unmoving, lying on the mats.

“No one’s in there,” Gene reports when he comes back out. “Place is empty.”

“You sure? You check the storage room?”

Gene nods. “See for yourself, son. Now I got to get back. You better clean up. You tell the principal what happened.”

“Uh-huh.”

I step into the gym. Lights are still on but the place is empty. Whole place gives me the creeps and I’m leaving when I see a wink of silver metal on the pommel horse. My phone. Propped up on the chalky brown leather. Set there so I’ll find it easily. I jog over, grab it, then get out of the gym and fly out of the school. I’m jogging home, looking over my shoulder, expecting a car to race up any minute, when my phone beeps. A text from a number I don’t recognize. Doesn’t take more than a second to narrow down the texter, though, or figure out who wants me reunited with my phone so I can receive their uplifting messages.