Simple, → Peter▵MJ

Chapter 11

MJ

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After speaking to Betty, I quietly told her that I had to leave and wished her goodnight before trudging across the large grounds in front of the school. My white sneakers were starting to get dirty from all of the walking I'd done since Christmas, so the aesthetic wasn't as pleasing when my shoes grazed the grass.  Figuring I'd have to clean them eventually, I had made a mental note to throw them in the washer after dinner. 

I had a date.

Obviously not a romantic one, but I was meeting someone I had been writing to my entire high school career. I wasn't nervous in the sense that I was meeting a stranger, but that I had told this person a lot of deep shit. I'm talking about shit that I hadn't even told Peter or Ned; that was terrifying.

Luckily, I wouldn't see them ever again (probably) and it was only one evening. After dinner, I wouldn't ever have to see them again... Or so I thought.

Exiting the subway tunnels, I had quickly moved so that I wouldn't be late. I had decided that I would be there before Simple, my pen-pal, but I wanted to make sure to be on time. There was nothing more annoying than a late date.

I reached the glass door of the restaurant with five minutes to spare and tugged the handle to enter the establishment. It was always quiet in the evening, lunch rush was when it was busy, but that was fine with me. After all, it would be easier to hear Simple speak.

I looked around for a two-person table and found one near the back. I had looked around previously to see if anyone fit the description of Simple, but only a group of men in the far corner sat in the restaurant. The lighting was dimmed, but I was pretty sure that none of the five men were Simple.

My legs were crossed underneath the table when I relayed to the waitress that I wanted water. I looked down at my phone to check the time. One minute to six, and I was suddenly getting a very bad feeling. 

What if Simple wasn't who I thought they were? I always pictured a male a few years older than me, but what if I was wrong? What if I was being an idiot and about to be trafficked?

God, trafficked? Really? That's your first thought?

But in truth, that's the worse fear for girls my age. And if I turned up missing, the probability that the police cared about an African American teenager going missing like countless others was slim. It would be just another case of the brutality towards minorities and then case-closed.

Lost in my thoughts, I hadn't noticed someone standing over me. Flickering my gaze to the person, I realized just how stupid it was to have dinner instead of lunch. I am in such deep shit.

Deep, deep shit.

Peter

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My first case of action after MJ's phone call was to punch another number into my phone immediately.  May was asking me something, but I ignored her as I pressed the phone against my ear once it began to ring. It rang four times before it stopped.

"It's nearing three months since you've called and you call at two o'cl-"

"Happy, I need help. MJ's mom called and then MJ called me like ten times and-"

"Jesus, kid. Slow down. Who's MJ?"

"My friend. Something's wrong with her, she was giving me signals-"