Tears burned my eyes, making my vision blurry, but I refused to let them fall as I scrambled for my phone. Panic made my palms slick, and one of my arms still felt weak and heavy. It refused to listen to my commands, and it took me far too long to grasp my phone, but eventually, I managed to do it.

  My eyes darted towards my mom, checking to make sure she hadn’t noticed my panic, but she was oblivious. She just continued to hum along to the music, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, and I was glad. It was better for her not to notice. I didn’t want to have to explain why I was on the verge of sobbing. There was no way I could do it.

  I lifted my phone and unlocked it, gritting my teeth as agony danced across my chest and down my arms. It seemed to travel all the way down to my fingertips, but I ignored it as I clicked on the messages app and found my texts to Phoebe before hesitating. I wasn’t sure what to do. I wished I could call her, to hear her voice so I knew for certain that she was okay, but I knew I couldn’t do it. Not with my mom in the car, at least.

  That always annoyed her. She hated it when people took calls in public, even though she did that all the time. She said it was rude when others did it, but for some reason, that didn’t apply to her. She was exempt from the rule, above such judgement.

  I wasn’t sure that I cared, though. If I called Phoebe, I’d know immediately whether she was still alive, and that would be worth the irritation and anger it would cause my mom. But then, what would I even say to Phoebe? I needed to ask her if she was okay, if she was dying, but how could I do that without sounding like I’d completely lost my mind?

  It would be too obvious, too suspicious, and Phoebe would be so confused. My mom would overhear as well. There would be no way to avoid that, and she’d want to know why I’d asked Phoebe such a weird question. She’d demand an answer, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would satisfy her, which meant she’d continue to bombard me with questions until I was able to come up with something.

  That still wouldn’t be enough, though. She’d assume I was on drugs or something, despite having spent the past month with her. How was I meant to have found someone who’d sell them to me when I’d not been out of her sight for any significant amount of time? That wouldn’t matter to her, though. She’d accused me of it before, and I knew she would again. For once, her suspicions would be entirely understandable, though. After all, how was I meant to explain to her that I was scared my best friend had died because I’d gone to another world and caused her death there?

  It was my fault. I knew it was. If it wasn’t for me, Phoebe probably wouldn’t have been there. She was scared of the spiders and didn’t want to come with us. She would have turned back and waited at home for us to return if I hadn’t encouraged her to stay. I was the reason she’d done it, and then she’d died. That made it my fault.

  That wasn’t the only reason, though. The people attacking us, the ones dressed all in black, might have specifically targeted her. They probably had, actually. They would have been watching us through the windows before they broke them, and I knew they must have seen her reaction to me getting hurt. The terror would have been enough to inform them that we were best friends, if they hadn’t already figured it out, and if they knew who I truly was in that world, they would have killed Phoebe to punish me.

  I wasn’t sure what it was exactly that they were punishing me for; I just knew that they wanted to do it, and they’d stop at nothing to ensure I was adequately disciplined. They’d kill Phoebe again and again if they thought that would be enough to break me, and it would. I knew it would. If anything happened to Phoebe in my reality, it would break me. She was my best friend, my only friend. Without her, I was alone.

  A lump caught in my throat as I tried to swallow, threatening to choke me, and I tried again, but it refused to move. It was lodged in there too firmly, and my eyes itched with unshed tears. I had to do something.

  I’d text her, I decided. That would be enough, and if she didn’t reply, then I’d call her. I’d find a way to get Mom to stop at the next services or something. Then, I’d hide in the bathroom, away from my mom, and I’d call her. I could just keep phoning her until someone picked up, and then I’d know.

  My thumbs twitched over the phone screen as I hesitated again, trying to work out what to say. How could I ask her if she was okay without it sounding weird? I needed it to sound normal and not like I was terrified, but I couldn’t think of anything.

  But that might not matter, I realised as a thought occurred to me. Even if Phoebe was fine, she might still be asleep. It was early, not even ten yet. She was still in Paris, which was in another time zone. They were an hour ahead, but that wasn’t enough to ensure she would be awake. She could sleep through my texts and calls, and then what?

  Although… maybe it was better that she was asleep, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered. If the injury had somehow passed between the worlds, she might not have felt it at all. She’d just never wake up. Her aunt or uncle or one of her cousins would find her motionless body and blood-soaked bed in a few hours when they realised she’d yet to stir, but at least she might not have felt the pain of death.

  I tapped Phoebe’s name at the top of the screen, and my trembling thumb hovered over the call button before I managed to get ahold of myself again. I was being ridiculous, and I knew it. Phoebe was fine. Nothing had happened to her. It couldn’t have.

  Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I went back to the messages. I’d stick to my original plan, I decided. I would send her a text, and if she didn’t reply to that, I’d find a way to call her. That would work. It would be fine, I tried to convince myself before starting to type.

  I’m on the way home! How are you doing?

  That sounded okay. I was pretty sure it did anyway, but I read it a few times just to make sure. It was the kind of thing I’d text her on a normal day, so that was probably fine. It was okay to ask her how she was doing, I told myself. I did it all the time, and if something had happened to her or she didn’t feel well or something, she’d say. I was pretty sure of that, at least.

  Still, it was surprisingly hard to hit the send button. I texted Phoebe all the time. A day didn’t go by without it happening at least once, even when we were in school. It should have been easy, something I could do without worrying or overthinking, but it wasn’t. I just couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened to her.

  My eyes flicked between the phone screen and my mom as I waited for Phoebe to reply. She was taking too long, though. It had been minutes, three minutes, and I’d still not received anything. If she’d been awake, alive still, she would have already replied. She was normally so quick to do so. She always responded pretty much as soon as she saw the message, but she hadn’t.

  Four minutes.

  Impatience and fear danced within me, making my heart feel like it was vibrating beneath my skin. I needed her to reply faster, but she hadn’t even read the message yet. Could I send her another? What would I even say? There had to be something. I had to be able to think of something to send her. She might have just missed her phone vibrating the first time, but the second one would be harder to miss.

  I’d give her another minute. If she didn’t reply within five minutes, then I’d know something had happened, and I’d send her another message or call her. I could handle waiting another minute. It wouldn’t be that bad.

  That was a lie, though. It was so painful to stare at the screen and wait for the clock to change. I had nothing else to focus on, nothing else I could do whilst waiting. I was trapped in the car with my mom, and there was nothing I could do to get rid of the nervous energy that seemed to be bouncing within me. If I moved, if I did anything, I’d draw attention to myself, and I didn’t want that.

  I couldn’t handle it. If my mom had looked at me or paid attention for just a moment, she might have realised how much of a mess I was. I was barely holding it together, and I knew it. If she said anything, if she asked me a question or something, it would go badly. I wasn’t sure what would happen, but I doubted I’d be able to speak or do anything. My voice had abandoned me.

  My gaze returned to my unchanged phone screen, and I chewed on the inside of my lip. A metallic taste filled my mouth, accompanied by a slight pain, but I hardly noticed it as I continued to bite down. It was dulled, barely even registering in my mind, but I could feel it a bit.

  The pain, distant as it was, did help a little, though. It made it slightly easier for me to suck in a deep breath without feeling like I was about to start sobbing. I still felt like I might, but it was a little easier. It wasn’t enough, though. I needed more.

  Five minutes.

  The time changed suddenly, and my heart began to pound. It had been five minutes, and Phoebe still hadn’t replied to me. She still hadn’t read the message or done anything to make me think she was still alive. She probably wasn’t. She was probably dying, and I was just sitting there, doing nothing about it. I had to do something. I had to try.

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  A road sign appeared in the distance, and I squinted at it, trying to read the words. My vision was still obscured by tears, but I just about managed to make them out. We were approaching a service station. In a couple of miles, we’d be there, and I had to get my mom to stop. I’d tell her it was an emergency or something. She’d be annoyed at me, but I didn’t care. I had to call Phoebe.

  I glanced at my mom out of the corner of my eye as I tried to figure out what to say before swallowing. The lump in my throat was still there, and even after gulping multiple times, I could still feel it. It refused to shift, but that didn’t matter. We were approaching the exit, and I was running out of time. If we missed that station, I wasn’t sure when we’d get to the next. There weren’t many on the road we were on. I knew that from experience.

  But I still couldn’t think of anything to say. My mind raced frantically, but it was somehow also blank. My thoughts seemed to slip through my fingers, as elusive as sand, and I grasped at them but came up empty. I had to try, though. I’d figure it out once I started to speak. Something would come to me. It had to.

  I swallowed one last time before licking my dry lips and opening my mouth. Before any sound could escape, my phone buzzed. My eyes snapped to it immediately, and I almost wept with relief as I read the message from Phoebe. She was still alive. Nothing had happened to her. I was just getting worked up over nothing.

  Yay! The first text read. I’m so happy for you! I wish I was on the way home too.

  I glanced at my mom out of the corner of my eye before slowly reaching up to wipe away one of the tears that managed to escape my eyes. It was just one, thankfully. That was easy enough to hide.

  Oh no, how come? I typed back, chewing on my lip again as I waited for a response.

  It was probably nothing, I told myself as anxiety started to creep back into my heart. She was probably just bored and couldn’t watch the shows and movies that she wanted to or something. I doubted there was anything more than that going on, but doubt still plagued me, whispering that she could still be dying.

  I was woken up at six to go for a run. Why would anyone do that willingly???

  My body sagged back against the chair as the remainder of my fear drained out of me, leaving me weak. More tears threatened to escape my eyes, and I glanced at my mom again before replying.

  Ahahah oh no, how was it?

  Awful, Phoebe replied immediately. I know you go on runs all the time when you’re in Scotland, but I still have no idea how you do it. I feel like I’m dying.

  My chest clenched, sending a fresh wave of pain down my arm as I quickly typed a reply.

  Are you okay?

  No! Phoebe’s text read. Do you know how horrible it is to run on cobblestones? I almost slipped like ten times, and now my calves feel like they’re on fire.

  I couldn’t help the sigh of relief that slipped from my mouth. It was just stiffness from her run. That was why she was in pain. She wasn’t actually injured or dying. She’d probably just pushed herself too hard or something, but that was okay. It wasn’t bad or permanent, and that was all that mattered.

  Did you stretch when you got back? I asked, aware that I was grinning as I typed.

  My eyes flicked towards my mom as I pressed my lips together. I didn’t want her to see my expression. If she noticed that I was smiling, she would demand to know why, and I was pretty sure she wouldn’t believe that I was just texting Phoebe. She didn’t like her, and there was no way she’d think I could be so happy just because I was speaking to her.

  She’d said that before. She’d caught me smiling because Phoebe had made a terrible and unexpected joke, and she demanded to see my phone. Luckily, she didn’t understand what Phoebe had written, and I was glad. It did seem innocent enough… unless you understood the reference, and then it was much less innocent.

  No. I just collapsed into bed, and I’ve not gotten up since. I’ve almost fallen asleep like six times, Phoebe wrote. We’re meant to be going for brunch at some point, so I need to get changed and shower, but I literally cannot stand.

  Ahahaha oh no. That’s probably why you’re so stiff, though. I’m always the same when I forget to stretch after my runs.

  There was a slight pause before Phoebe’s next message came through.

  Wait, you hurt after sometimes???

  Confusion washed over me, and I picked at the still-oozing wound in my mouth, trying to figure out what to say. I didn’t want to write anything that would make Phoebe worry about me too much. I hated it when people worried about me. It always made me so uncomfortable.

  Yeah, sometimes, I typed before adding, it’s not too bad normally, though. Just a little stiff if I’ve not stretched or haven’t run in a while?

  I read the message through again, trying to work out if it sounded okay. I was pretty sure it did, though. It was a reasonable explanation, I thought. It seemed normal enough, at least. I mean, our PE teacher always made us stretch before and after we started doing anything. It was a thing everyone was meant to do, and I was pretty sure most people would struggle a bit if they worked out when they weren’t used to it.

  Still, I was still worried about how Phoebe would react. She already worried about me sometimes; I knew she did, and I hated it. There was nothing I could do about it, though. I didn’t tell her too much, not about my mom or anything. I mean, I told her some things, but I didn’t like to talk about everything. I didn’t want to tell anyone about her punching things or throwing things at me. That felt wrong, and the thought of having to put up with the pity in their eyes was enough to stop me.

  Not that Phoebe would pity me. She didn’t really do that, and I appreciated it. She was used to my mom, and anything I said about her just made Phoebe angry now, which I also felt bad about. I didn’t want to make Phoebe angry, and I was the one who had to deal with her. Phoebe wasn’t related to her. She had no responsibility for my mom.

  Why would anyone put themselves through this out of choice?? Why not just… I don’t know! Go for a walk if you really need to get out of the house??? was Phoebe’s response.

  I don’t know, I typed back. It feels good sometimes?

  How? How can this possibly feel good? I can’t even move my feet without my calves burning. They might have to drag me to brunch. I’m not sure I can manage the walk without weeping.

  I snorted silently and glanced at my mom again. She didn’t seem to have noticed that I was on my phone yet, and I was glad. Even though there was nothing else to do in the car, I was pretty sure she’d still tell me off for going on it too much. She’d done it before. Apparently, it would be better to stare out the window and take in the sights rather than spend the entire journey glued to a screen.

  Whenever she said that, I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from speaking. I knew it would be stupid and foolish, but the urge to point out that if she had the choice, she would have spent the whole time on her phone, always threatened to escape. That’s what she did every time we were in the car with my dad. He always drove when it was the three of us, and she barely looked away from her phone. The only times she did were to insult his driving, and even then, she only glanced up for a moment.

  I don’t know. It just does, I wrote before adding a shrugging emoji. Maybe try stretching now? It might help?

  It’s too late for me, Phoebe replied. I’ve already given up on walking ever again.

  My lips stretched up into a smirk as I typed back.

  That’s completely fair. At least we’ll be able to use the lift next year if you still can’t walk then? Where are you going for brunch?

  No clue. Some place my cousin knows. Apparently, they do good food. No clue what kind of thing they serve, but we’ll see, I guess, Phoebe’s message read. Urgh, my aunt just came in. We’re going out in five.

  A loud sigh made me jump, and my eyes darted towards my mom. Her eyes were on the road, but I knew it had been directed towards me. The irritation on her face was clear, and she tapped the steering wheel, the noise sharp and off-beat. It no longer matched the rhythm of the song that was playing, and that was intentional.

  I hesitated, trying to work out how annoyed she’d get if I ignored her and replied to Phoebe. It would be worth it, I decided. Plus, Phoebe was about to go out. I’d just text her a couple more times at most, and then I’d probably not go on my phone for a little bit. That wouldn’t be too bad.

  Oh no, does that mean you have to get up now? I wrote, watching my mom out of the corner of my eye as I hit send.

  I did it. It was painful, Phoebe replied. Speaking of, how’s your mom being?

  I was careful not to smirk again. If my mom saw that, she’d want to know what Phoebe had said to make me laugh, and there was no way I could say she’d called Mom painful. It was true, but I didn’t want to give Mom more reasons to hate Phoebe.

  As expected, I typed before deleting it and instead writing, not too bad.

  Oh, good! I hope she doesn’t get any worse, Phoebe replied. Alright, I need to go wash the sweat off and get ready. Wish me luck.

  Good luck!

  Thanks, I need it. Text you when I get to the restaurant or cafe or wherever it is we’re going!

  Okay! Hope the walk isn’t too bad! I replied before locking my phone and dropping it into my lap again.

  My mom huffed loudly again, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. She wasn’t happy when I was on my phone, and she clearly wasn’t happy when I wasn’t on my phone. What more did she want from me, I asked myself. There was no answer to that question, though. I knew that.

  She just wanted more. It was that simple. No matter what I did, Mom wanted me to do better and to be better. I wasn’t sure if that was possible. I tried really hard sometimes, but it still wasn’t enough for her. That didn’t really matter to me anymore. I’d mostly gotten used to it, which was good. It used to make me feel bad or guilty. I felt like I was letting her down or disappointing her, but that had lost its sting a little while back.

  I dropped my head back against the headrest and stared out the windscreen. My eyes were unfocused; the world was passing by in a blur, but it was kind of nice. Maybe I was just exhausted or drained from the pain of losing Phoebe and my other friends in that world, but there was something strangely relaxing about letting my brain just switch off.