Of Starlight by Dan Rix Page B

room, pausing every few feet to listen. I circled back to my mattress and dug through the bedding, hoping an invisible object would tumble out.
    “It went to voicemail,” she said, lowering the phone and tapping the screen. “I’m going to call you again.”
    While she did, I scrambled through the rest of the house—the hallway, the living room, my mom’s office.
    Nothing buzzed.
    Where could it be? I went back to my backpack—where I knew I’d put it last night—and dumped the contents onto my floor. My AP Calculus book, my graphing calculator, my now overdue copy of The Great Gatsby , which I was determined to finish.
    The pile remained silent.
    No phone.
    “What the hell?” I breathed.
    “Whoa, whoa, whoa—” Megan squeezed the phone against her ear. “It’s not going to voicemail this time, I hear something . . .”
    “Someone picked up? Let me talk to them.” I scooted closer and tried to pry the phone off her face, but she twisted away, swatting my hands.
    “Hold on, hold on, I hear something—” Her eyebrows pinched together. Slowly, she lowered her phone and stared at it.
    I grabbed her arm. “What?”
    “I don’t know, that was . . . that was weird.”
    “ What? ”
    She just shook her head.
    “Megan, what? ”
    “It was really faint, but I think it was us talking. But it wasn’t from today, I think it was from last night. Like a delayed recording.”
    “So it’s in this room?”
    “Yeah, but . . . but phones don’t do that.”
    I felt around the floor near me. “Maybe I brushed it last night and it started recording, and then just now I hit it again and it played it back to you.” I lifted my plate of breakfast and felt underneath—nothing there—and I quickly gave up. “Look, it has to be somewhere.”
    “Leona, something’s weird about this,” she said, still studying her phone.
    “You think someone’s pranking us?”
    “I don’t know. Something’s weird.”
    “But it was invisible,” I said. “It was wrapped in dark matter. I had it last night. No one else could have possibly gotten their hands on it.”
    Megan’s phone buzzed loudly, and we both jumped.
    “It’s a text,” she said.
    I leaned over her shoulder. “From who?”
    Fear flashed in her eyes, and she glanced sideways at me. “From you.”
    Her finger wobbled as she tapped open the message, and we read it in silence.
    HI LEONA
    I HAVE YOUR PHONE LEONA
    As I stared at the text message, an icy tingle drew down my spine. “Who sent that?” I whispered.
    “You did,” said Megan.
    “I mean, who has my phone? Text them back.”
    “What should I say?”
    “Here, I’ll do it.” I took the phone from her and typed in my reply:
    Who I’d thud?
    I sent the text before reading it.
    “You couldn’t spell it right?” she said.
    “Stupid autocorrect,” I muttered, trying again:
    Who is this?
    Satisfied the phone hadn’t butchered the message, I tapped send and waited.
    “What if he doesn’t text back?” said Megan.
    “It could be a girl.”
    “It’s probably Tina Wilkes.”
    “How’s she texting on an invisible phone?”
    “Good point,” she said.
    The phone vibrated violently in my hand, nearly giving me a heart attack. Another text bubble appeared on the screen:
    I AM DARK
    “Okay, that’s just creepy,” said Megan. “What’s with the all caps?”
    “I know, it’s annoying,” I said, typing out another text:
    Can I have my phone back?
    Almost instantly, another bubble flashed on the screen:
    I HAVE YOUR PHONE LEONA
    Growing irritated, I typed back: Obviously, since you’re texting me on it. So can I have it back or are you stealing it from me?
    A long pause, then:
    I DO NOT UNDERSTAND LEONA I HAVE YOUR PHONE LEONA HI LEONA I AM DARK LEONA
    The words hovered on the screen, and slowly goosebumps prickled down my arms. Who was texting on my phone?
    No . . . what was texting?
    “It has my phone,” I whispered, as a spooky thought occurred to me.
    Hands shaking, I tapped