<Hey Dad.>

<Hey, dad. It’s me again.> The words appeared on the screen as my thumbs moved over the keyboard. I sighed and continued typing. <School’s going great, straight A’s; like always. I have finals coming up though, so I’m going to study at a friend’s house tonight. Was just thinking of you. Miss you.> I sent the message and set my phone down. I grabbed my science book from my desk and stuffed it into my already full backpack. I swung the bag over my shoulder and grunted. 

“This thing weighs a ton,” I told myself. I grabbed my black notebook and study guide and carried them under my arm. School always came easy to me, but this was my last year of highschool and I wouldn’t allow myself to slack off. 

I walked toward my bedroom door. A notification beeped as I grabbed my phone.  I looked at it and saw that my dad had texted me back. I froze. My dad’s been dead for three months. 

My breathing quickened as I opened the message. 

<Hey, you must have the wrong number.>

I blinked at the response and scrolled through the old messages. The blue bubbles from the right side were from me, just updates on my daily life. I kept scrolling up until I reached my dad’s last conversation and re-read it. 

<Coming home soon with pizza for dinner. I hope pepperoni’s okay.>

I sent a thumbs up emoji. I rolled my eyes at the response. I groaned at how I used to text. Dad would always tease me about it. 

<Alright, see you soon. Tell mom so she doesn’t start cooking.>

<K.>

<Love you kiddo.>

<Luv u 2.>

My eyes watered as I kept reading. Only blue bubbles now. 

<Where r u?>

<Did u get lost? haha.>

<Dad?> 

That was when I called him. Twice. With no answer. 

<Dad, mom’s getting worried. We tried calling. When r u coming home?>

<Y rn’t u pickin up?> 

I called him again. 

“It’s Sam, I’m not available to take your call at the moment. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Thanks.” I sighed at the voicemail. Two hours later, there was a knock on the door. 

I swallowed and readjusted my backpack over my right shoulder. I held the phone with two hands and thought about my response. It was best to keep it simple. 

<I’m sorry,> I typed. <This was my dad’s number.>

The reply came too fast. 

<I just got this phone yesterday.>

I felt the need to explain. <He died three months ago. I text him sometimes. I don’t know why. I won’t bother you again.> 

My eyes teared up as I realized I would no longer be able to text my dad. Sometimes, if I needed to hear his voice, I’d call and listen to his voicemail. Mom must have cancelled his phone plan recently. 

<I’m sorry to hear that.> The reply said. I sighed and placed the heavy phone in my back pocket. After studying, I walked home, ate dinner with mom and excused myself to my room. I still had an essay due tomorrow. It was finished, but I wanted to go over it one last time. After reading a few paragraphs, I pulled out my phone to take a break. I had two new messages I didn’t notice. 

<Tell me about your dad.>

<You don’t have to if that’s weird.>

I texted back. <You really want to know?>

I waited for a response, and after a while I sighed and placed my phone down again to get back to my essay. As soon as I released my grip from the phone, it pinged.

I opened the new message. <If it helps. I lost my mom last year.>

I couldn’t help myself. I unloaded on this guy as if he were my therapist. We talked nonstop. All day and every night. I told him my biggest fears and my deepest desires. He knew me better than I knew myself. He told me his name was Justin and that he was a junior at our rival's school. 

<I usually don’t talk to losers, but that was a pretty close game.>

<What game?> Justin responded. 

<Basketball? Cougars just devoured the knights.> I sat on the bleachers of the gymnasium. I watched as my best friend celebrated on the court. When the coast was clear, I made my way down to meet him.

“Good game,” I said. Conner greeted me with a smile and offered a sweaty hug. 

“You need a ride?” he asked. Since the car had been totaled, mom and I had to share the SUV. She was working late and needed it tonight. “I just got to change. Meet you outside?”

I read the message outside. <I don’t really follow basketball.> 

<Do you play any sports? Or are you really a loser?>

He replied as quickly as I did. <I guess I’m a big, fat loser. Sports are expensive.> I felt bad for a moment. I hadn’t thought of all the fees that high school sports demanded. Conner was sponsored and had colleges begging for his talent. He never paid a dime. 

“Hop in,” I heard Conner say. I looked up and saw him with a big smile in his blue pickup. I hopped in the passenger side and buckled up. My phone pinged again. 

<I play piano if that’s worth anything.>

<Piano’s cool, I guess.>

<It’s cooler in person.> I felt my cheeks blush and I let out a tiny giggle. <I’ll have to show you sometime.>

“Who are you talking to?” Conner asked. 

“Just a friend,” I giggled again and sent another message. 

<As long as you don’t bore me to death. Haha.> 

Conner wasn’t amused. “What kind of friend?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“It’s no one, really.” I said.

Conner grumbled and rolled his eyes. Ping. “Doesn’t sound like no one.”

<I’m serious though, we should meet up.>

“Don’t be jealous, Conner,” I said. “Just someone I met.”

Conner looked at me at the red light. His face was expressionless. “How did you meet?” 

It was hard to explain and even though it wasn’t Conner’s business, the crush he had on me wouldn’t let him drop the topic. He pressed me.

“It was a wrong number,” I explained. “I sent a text to my dad’s phone and this guy replied.” 

“Becca,” Conner said. He pulled forward through the green arrow and turned left. “Are you serious? You could be talking to anyone. How do you know he’s really who he says he is?” 

Conner had a point. I had no proof of who I was talking to. 

“Do it now,” Conner said as he glanced over my shoulder. He pointed to the phone. “Ask for a picture.” I began to protest, but Conner wouldn’t hear it. “Ask. It’ll make me feel better.”

I sighed. As awkward as it was, Conner was right. I swung my thumbs over the keys and asked for a photo.

<Like right now?> was the reply. 

<Yes. Please?> I held out the phone and snapped a picture of myself. 

“I said to ask for a picture, not send one,” Conner was annoyed now. 

“So he knows I’m real too,” I said. Conner sighed. 

I sent him the photo and typed underneath it. <Look, here’s me, so you know I’m real. Are you?> I was winking in the photo with my tongue sticking out flashing a peace sign. I wasn’t in love with it enough to post it to my social media page, but it was a good photo. 

<Okay, hold on.> 

“That’s sketchy,” Conner said. A few minutes went by as Conner and I bickered back and forth. 

I held up my phone as it pinged again. “See? Are you happy now?” The picture was of a teenage boy with shaggy blonde hair, braces and bright blue eyes. Freckles dotted his cheeks. He wasn’t my type, but there was something about him that peaked my interest.

“‘Was in the bathroom,’” I read out loud as if I won the fight. 

Conner held up his hands in defense. “Alright. Fine. But that doesn’t prove anything.” 

“What do you mean? Yes it does!” I sighed. 

Conner went off again, stressing the importance of talking to strangers especially since I was a girl. I rolled my eyes and sighed loudly as he pulled up to my house. 

“Thanks, mom,” I said sarcastically.

I went up to my room and unpacked my bookbag. I had a test in my history class first thing in the morning. I felt prepared so I let my attention slip to the messages on my phone. 

<Would you like to meet in person? Like a park or something?> he asked.

I squealed. <Sure. When?>

<Tomorrow.>

<I have school?> I texted back. He should have school too. His answer had me thinking like Conner. 

<After, silly.> I sighed with relief. It seemed harmless enough. We already had so much in common. He could turn out to be a really good friend, or even more than that if it played out that way. I agreed to meet him at the park down the road from the high school. It was a very active park next to a main road. It had a large field with fencing for baseball and the playground was freshly painted. There were three slides, swings and a climbing gym all encased in a lot full of wood chips. 

I held my breath as a man approached me. His Cook County EMS shirt was tucked into a pair of navy cargo pants. His uniform relaxed me slightly, but curiosity had me wondering why he was walking up to me.  

“Hey, Becca,” he said with a genuine smile.

“Justin?” I asked. 

Justin nodded and held out his arms for me to get a good look. He chuckled. “Sorry I’m probably not what you were expecting.” 

“You’re a paramedic,” I said, stating the obvious. 

“Yes. I’m actually twenty six and I work for the county. Come, have a seat.” He gestured toward the bench, but I stayed standing. My thoughts went to Conner and our conversation. 

“I’m fine,” I said. He nodded and remained standing as well. I glanced around the park, thankful we picked somewhere public to meet. A mother and her young son were on the swings; two boys played catch in the grass and a little girl chased another down the slide. Parents were around, chatting with each other. I felt safer knowing that they were there. 

“I’m sorry I lied to you, but I didn’t think you would believe me.” 

“So that boy in the photo…?” I let myself trail off. 

“Was my cousin.” He cleared his throat before he spoke again. “I am a paramedic and I was at your father’s crash.”

I gasped and the air stayed inside my lungs for too long. I coughed and took a step back from him. Even if I could get any words out, I wouldn’t know what to say. I had questions toppling over themselves in my head. Justin waited patiently for me to collect myself.

“I’m sorry, what?” My brain reeled as it pulled in all the new information. 

He repeated himself word for word and waited again. When I didn’t speak, he continued. “I’m really sorry for your loss. We really did everything we could to save him.”

“How?” I stuttered through my words. “How is this possible?” 

“I didn’t think you’d believe me. I’m sorry I lied to you, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You were with my dad when he died?” the words fell out of my mouth. 

“Yes. I was.” 

“Did he say anything?” 

Justin shook his head. “He was unconscious when we arrived.” I siphoned through the questions in my head, but the connection to my mouth was severed. I continued to stare at him as tears slowly fell from the corners of my eyes. 

“Did your mom really die last year?” I asked.

Justin nodded. “In May.” 

“This is insane. Why would you want to meet up with me?” I asked, “Just to tell me that?” 

Justin shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to meet you. Talking to you…has been an experience to say the least.”

His answer didn’t appeal to me. I was quiet for a moment. “Then,” I asked, not sure if I wanted the answer to my next question, “How did you get my dad’s number?” It was too much of a coincidence for me to believe. 

“Oh, that reminds me,” he said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small flip phone. “You may want this.” 

“My dad’s phone!” I exclaimed. They couldn’t find his phone after the crash. I had just assumed it was lost in the damage of the car. “You…you found it?” I asked. It was the only logical idea in my head. 

“Yeah,” he said nervously, “Kind of.”

I looked at Justin suspiciously. “What do you mean kind of?” 

Justin hesitated for a moment. “I had it.” 

“What?” I asked. I waited for him to explain. 

“I just sort of had it.” 

“For how long?” I asked. It felt dirty talking to him. The more he said, the worse I felt. It was a feeling I couldn’t shake. I flipped through the phone, inspecting it for damage. The messages popped up on the screen. He had been typing but never sent it. <I see you.> It said. A chill ran down my back. “How long have you had my dad’s phone?”

He confessed, “Since the accident. I’m sorry.” 

“But why?” I was confused. I stood there frozen in my own uncertainty. 

“I didn’t know it was your dad’s,” he said. The lie made me cross my arms in annoyance. “Okay, okay…” he said, defensively. “I was going to sell it.”

“Sell it?” I repeated. 

Justin looked away and shrugged. “No one wants a flip phone anymore. I couldn’t sell it.”

I was upset. “Is that why you’re giving it back?” I asked, dumbfounded. 

Justin shook his head ‘no.’ “It was your messages. I read them everyday and I just couldn’t go through with it.” He snaked through his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out two twenty dollar bills. “Here,” he said as he handed me the money. “I took forty dollars too.” 

My throat released a sound I’ve never heard before. It was a mix between a laugh and a sneeze. “So you rob the people that you’re supposed to help?” 

Justin’s gaze was still far away but he nodded. “Only if they’re unconscious,” he said lightheartedly. He replayed that day in his head. The car rolled onto the driver’s side. After carefully freeing the man, the paramedics packaged him onto a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance. Justin ran his second set of vitals. He wrote them down on his clipboard and checked his watch. He tried again to wake the man, but failed. It was this moment Justin robbed him. Justin dug into the man’s pockets. He pulled out the flip phone and stuffed that in his own pocket. He was only interested in the cash in the wallet, but stopped for a moment to observe a picture of a young girl, posing for a picture with the man. He was holding her close to his face as she smiled wide with both of her front teeth missing. Justin sighed and returned the wallet to the man’s pants. 

It wasn’t long until the machines beeped in a desperate plea. Justin studied the numbers and sounds and his eyes widened in slight panic. The man’s heart was stopping. They were only five minutes from the hospital. He was a thief, but he was still a human being. He jumped into action; placed his hands on the man’s chest and pumped.

 “I’m not proud of what I did,” Justin said, his voice cracking. “At first, it was to make a little extra cash and I figured they wouldn’t miss it. I guess I just got sucked into it and before I realize what I’m doing, my hands are in their purse or their pockets. Then, I saw your messages. The ones you sent after your dad died.”

“Those were personal,” I interrupted. 

Justin went on without missing a beat, “They got to me. They made me feel things I haven’t felt before and then I just felt this…this overwhelming guilt. Talking to you helped. I wanted to tell you sooner, I really did.” 

“Have you stopped?” I asked.

“Stopped what?” 

“Stealing.” I waited for him to answer. 

“Yes,” he said, but his face told me otherwise. I shook my head and turned away from him. I thought about all his victims. They trusted the uniform and when they weren’t looking, all their prized possessions, stolen right from underneath them. 

“Well, thanks for the phone,” I said and waved the device in the air. “Really thoughtful of you.” I felt the anger heat my face. 

“Becca, wait,” he called after me. 

I stopped and turned around quickly. “There is nothing you can say to make this better!” I yelled. A list of insults spewed from my mouth. “You are slime. Nothing more than a tacky thief. Don’t text me, don’t call me. I’m going to report you!” 

“Please don’t do that,” he begged. “I could get fired.” I laughed at his feeble attempt to calm me and turned back on my heel. I practically sprinted to my car and locked the doors behind me. I watched as he stood where I left him. After a while, he slumped over himself and, defeated, he turned around and left. 

I opened the flip phone. I deleted the text that Justin never sent and started typing a new message to my phone. 

<I’m proud of you kiddo.>