“Oh Clarissa, I’m sorry.”

“‘I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m sure they will catch whoever did this.”

"Is everything fine?”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“What can I do to help?”

“Do you want my mom to make a lasagna for your family?”

I rush into the living room, looking for my mom. Why was I getting weird texts from people I didn't know had my number?

I look for my mother, finally finding her in her office. She was sitting in her big comfy chair. She was on the phone so I waited, but I could tell it was serious. I could tell something was up just by her voice.

Then, she turned around. She had slightly red blotchy eyes and a small frown like she was trying not to cry. I have never seen her like this, at least not for the few years I have known her.

“Clarissa,” she says, setting her phone on the table flat, “I have some news about Sam.” She swallows, “They haven't found who did this-”

I covered my ears and ran down the hall and out of the house. I didn't want to hear this from her, I wanted to hear it from Sam.

I barged into his house like I always do, just louder. And Sam wasn't yelling for me or waiting at the top of the stairs. I ran up to his room to see that it is empty. I ran down the hall, checking the bathroom and the other rooms, even knocking on the attic door. My heart sank when I couldn't find him.

I went back down the stairs, hoping that he is in the kitchen making some hot chocolate. This is his favorite thing.

I saw a group of people in the living room. Mrs. Everdy, Sam’s mom, calls me in. I walk in and see that she is sitting on the love seat with Emily, Sam’s older sister. Mr. Everdy was sitting in his chair. All of them had been crying.

“Sam?” I ask, my stomach in knots, and queasy as if someone had punched me .“Where is he?”

I just wanted to hear him yell “BOO!” like it was some big joke, one that everyone was included in. But, somewhere in my heart, deep down, I knew that that wasn't going to happen.

“They found him in the middle of the forest with another boy.” Mr. Every says, "they don't know who-” He can't finish the sentence, tears streaming down his face and I could hear his quiet sobs. Or is it me crying? I felt my whole body racking with sobs. I’m not sure. But soon enough he could finish.

“The only thing that they know for sure is that he was killed around noon yesterday. No who, no why.” He rubs his palms over his face, a gesture that was like Sam in every way. The next thing I knew, Mom was in my room, and I'm lying in bed.

All I see is white. I can hear someone in my room and see a figure from the chair next to my bed. I didn't have enough strength to turn my head. I don't want to either.

All I want is Sam.

That's what I thought about when I finally fell asleep, hours later. That's what I dreamed about: Sam being okay.