Phoebe
I pick up the phone on the third ring.
“Hello? Hello?” a panicked voice calls out from the other end.
“Hello?” I say.
“Who’s this?” the voice demands. “Phoebe, is that you?”
“Yeah?” I reply warily.
“I need to speak to your parents! This is Dr. Franklin, at Berkshire Academy. I have to speak to your parents right away!”
In the background, I can hear a siren.
“Dr. Franklin? What happened?”
“Your parents!”
“They’re not here.”
Yes, that’s definitely a siren. And . . . a beeping sound. People talking. What’s going on?
“There’s been an accident—a fire.” Dr. Franklin’s voice is weary.
“A fire?”
“Have your parents call me right away!”
“Is Bo okay?” I ask, my heart catching in my throat. I never wanted this, I never thought the idea that he could be gone would hurt this way, a deep, sharp pain that crackles under my skin, into my bones, burning away the air in my lungs.
The line goes dead.