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“You maybe wanna grab something to eat first?” he asked. I felt my heart calm down a little.
“Sure, I’m starving,” I replied, blushing and making eye contact with the dark mark on his cheek. This meant it was a date. I couldn’t wait to text Ken later. He’d be so proud of me.
He grinned. “Well, then I’m gonna take you to my favorite place, okay? It’s kind of out of the way, but it’s worth it.”
The voice in my head piped up again. I’d lived in Kuna all my life. There weren’t many places I’d never been. Especially when it came to food. “What’s it called?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You’ll see.”
As we drove, he asked me questions. Questions about my family. Whether I’d ever visited El Salvador (once, when I was a baby). What kind of music I liked. What I wanted to study. Whether I was a morning person or a night owl. Question after question. Like I was the most interesting person in the world. All with that smile. Stealing glances at me while he pulled onto the interstate toward Boise.
I told myself to relax. Boise was a thirty-minute drive, but it did have more restaurants.
I focused on what he was saying and tried to enjoy myself. He was telling a story about one of his roommates, who had gotten a growler instead of a pony keg for their last party. I laughed, not really sure what the difference was either but unwilling to reveal that. He seemed kind of old to still be partying, but what did I know?
Five minutes later, he signaled to leave the interstate. I looked up at the sign. Blacks Creek. Kuna-Mora Road. My stomach turned over. He didn’t miss a beat as he continued telling the story. I had been on Blacks Creek Road once, on a hike. As far as I knew, there weren’t any restaurants this way. Just hills and canyons.
My stomach started to hurt. “Is this the right exit?” I asked, as lightly as I could. I was still worried I would blow it. Hurt his feelings. Disappoint him. Reveal that I was a baby who had never even been on a real date or kissed a boy. That Ken—who himself had a boyfriend— was the only boy I ever spent any amount of time with.
“You haven’t been to Moe’s?” he asked, glancing at me with genuine surprise. “And you grew up here?” He shot me a sly smile, and I believed him.
Just in case, I decided to send a text to my mom. “Oh, Moe’s?” I bluffed. “Oh yeah, I’ve always wanted to try it.” I swallowed as I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket. “I’m just going to text my mom, let her know. I told her I’d be home soon.”
As I said it, I looked at the screen and saw zero bars.
My thumbs hovered over the text message box as I read my mom’s last text message again and again. Te quiero, mi’ja.
The sick feeling came back. And when I looked up at him, I saw that he had been watching me. I plastered a fake smile on my face.
He took it in stride. “There’s no service for a couple miles—but just past that hill, you’ll get three bars. No problem. You want me to stop there so you can text her?”
The whiplash from dread to relief made me feel dizzy, and I mustered up a real smile. Maybe Moe’s did exist. Maybe everything was fine. I was getting worked up over nothing. Like I always did. “Sure,” I said, as casually as I could. “She’ll worry if I don’t.”
A few minutes later, we took a bend in the road. There was a “Ranch exit” sign just ahead, and he slowed the car and signaled onto what looked like little more than a dirt trail. I looked down at my phone as the tires crunched and rumbled along the uneven, rocky surface.
Still no service.
He spoke as if he had read my mind, pointing outside the car. “If you still aren’t getting bars, that spot down by the creek should do it.” He smiled. “Found it by accident when my friend Greg had to take a leak on the way out here.”
I laughed a little and got out of the car, my eyes on my phone as I walked toward the creek.
Still no bars.
I held the phone up and took a few steps forward and tried again.
Nothing.
And that’s when he grabbed me from behind. One hand roughly pulled my head back by my hair. The other closed around my throat as he pushed me to the ground. I landed hard on my stomach, but the only sound I could manage was a muffled grunt as his knees pinned me down.
I tried to scream. Tried to twist my body around to get him off me. Tried to fight.
All I could focus on was trying to get his hands off my throat.
When I was in fourth grade, the little boy next door—his name was Dewey—drowned in the hot tub on his back patio. He tried to get in it while his mom was making lunch, and the cover shut on him. After that, I sometimes had a hard time falling asleep at night. I couldn’t stop thinking about what it must have been like for him.
Drowning was the worst way I could imagine dying.
Until now.
