Marina and I walk out of IHOP at 12:47 am. It’s slightly breezy and rather cold, especially since my jersey is still dripping with sweat. I walk to Marina’s car, linked arm and arm with her, staring at the slightly cloudy night sky and the very few stars you could see through them.

I go to bed that night tangled in my own sheets, staring at the ceiling while I try not to worry. God, I wish I could be like Marina. I realize, however, that I’m not Marina. Marina is suave and chill all of the time, and I have the anxiety of a squirrel preparing for winter. I fall asleep trying to think of Marina laughing, and the gentle night sky above the IHOP we’d just left.

I wake up on Wednesday at 6:30 in a cold sweat. I don’t have to be up for a while longer, but I can’t go back to sleep so I just study for my English exam next week. I read through some more of my essays from throughout the year and look at the comments to see if I can find consistent problems. I’m usually out the door by 7:00 but I just can’t do it today so I try to finish my analysis of The Grapes of Wrath before scampering out the door to make it to Casey’s bus on time. “Hey are you okay today? You’re never late.” Casey says as we walk outside. “I’m fine, Case. Just stressed out.”
“Are you sure?” I nod. James isn’t at school. He’s not in class, he’s not there during lunch. I tried calling him on my way home at the end of the day but no one answered. I’m supposed to be focusing on packets and reviews for my AP exams, but I can’t. I’m just so worried, and since seeing him yesterday I have more questions than answers. Is he okay? Is he safe? I’m going insane. I can’t even study once I’m home, I just eat dinner and pass out, weary from the overload I’ve been putting on myself over the past few days. 

At 10:00 am I get a very alarming phone call. Today’s my day to sleep in; it’s the first day of exams and I don’t have one scheduled. I try to ignore my phone and go back to sleep, but my phone goes off two more times. I turn over to see that Marina has been calling me. I pick up and answer with my face laying in the pillow. “Peyton. Peyton. PEYTON! R u up??” She screams.
“Jesus Christ, I am now.” She pauses, that can’t be good. “James hasn’t showed up for our history exam today. It’s in ten minutes!”
“What?”
“James. Isn’t. Here.” I think I’m going to throw up.

I send James a text message immediately, though I figure Marina already has.

• Are you okay? Marina said you’re not at school for your exam yet.

He doesn’t reply. Don’t. Panic. I tell myself, despite the fact that I am totally panicking. I slam my English binder closed and walk back and forth my bedroom. I knew something seemed off last night. I should have said something. Marina’s voice rings through your head. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. But oh, for the love of God I can’t shake the feeling that I did.
I carry out my day holed up in my room worrying and periodically texting James. My dad comes into my room with a plate full of food at 5:00 that evening. “Mijo, mijo. ¿Estás bien?” I look up at him and rub the dark circles under my eyes. “Gracias.” He sets down the plate. “¿Algo pasé? Miras como has visto una fantasma.” Wide-eyed, I respond, “Nada. Estoy estresado. Tengo examenes dificiles la semana siguiente.” Casey pokes her head into the room. “Peyton, you look dead.” I frown at her as she continues, “Dad, Can I have a friend over for dinner this weekend?”
“Ask your mother,” He replies, annoyed that our conversation had been interrupted. “I already did. She said to ask you.” He sighs, and mutters, “Sure,” and then stands up, patting me on the back. “Buena suerte con sus examenes, Peyton.” He leaves the room with Casey. I nod and check my texts again. 

By the time I’m done going through my English notes, it’s 11:00 at night. I’d preoccupied myself with reading the exam guide over and over again to take my mind off of James, which had kind of worked. I work through my schedule in my head. I meant to study for AP US History today too, but I guess I’ll do it tomorrow. I was only going to study psych tomorrow anyways. It’s been like an hour since I’ve checked my phone. All that shows up are the numerous texts I’ve sent him throughout the day. 

• Dude, are you okay?

• James? 

• Jaaaammmessss. 

• Dude. I just want a confirmation you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere. 

• I know where you live, I will come over there. 

• Anyone? Bueller? Anyone?

I finally get back a text at 3:11 pm, and it’s quite simply:

• What

• DUDE! ARE YOU ALIVE?

• Whats a bueller?

• You know. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off? That’s not important. WHERE ARE YOU???

• Oh yeah. I’ve never seen it before.

• And we can totally watch it as soon as you tell us what the fuck is wrong?

He doesn’t respond.

• ... James?

Radio silence.