Page 2 of Unplanned Target

I expect to earn a snarky what, but all I get is more silence. At the risk of teenage wrath, I twist the knob and open the door, eyes sweeping the mess my daughter calls her room.

Clothes litter the floor, a pile of empty water bottles line the nightstand, and I think the plate on her desk might be growing penicillin… but there’s no sign of my daughter.

What day is it? Did I fuck up and get her schedule wrong?

Rushing back downstairs, I deposit my dinner on the counter and grab my phone to look through the schedule I live and die by. I rapidly scan the week to figure out where my daughter is and if I’m supposed to be on my way to pick her up. But there’s nothing listed for today, so she should have come home after school.

Unless I screwed something up.

Being the only parent around to handle this kind of shit is no joke. I can’t imagine what it’s like for single parents who have to work a job with set hours. It’s hard enough when I can do pretty much whatever I want, whenever I want.

Closing out the calendar app, I open my favorite contacts and tap where Allie’s name tops the list. I press the cell to my ear as I go to the kitchen to put her food in a storage container for later.

When the call goes straight to voicemail, I cringe. She’s probably trying to call me at the same time, wondering where in the hell I am.

I end the call and quickly scoop the pasta into Tupperware and pop it into the fridge.

Then I call her again.

And again it goes to voicemail.

It’s possible she also waited to call me and we’re tying up each other’s lines again, so I disconnect and immediately call back.

When it goes straight to voicemail a third time, I start to get a little concerned. Did her phone battery run out? Is she stranded somewhere with no way to call me?

Leaning back against the counter, completely abandoning my dinner and drink, I open the location sharing app that will tell me where she is.

Except it doesn’t. The little dot with her face floating next to it is nowhere to be seen.

And I start to freak out.

I try really hard to be the kind of mom I wanted when I was Allie’s age. I give her as much privacy as I can. I let her make choices about her own life. I do what I can to give her autonomy and independence. But thanks to my brother being a cop, I also know how dangerous the world is and I have a few safety measures in place. Because, while my daughter is brilliantly smart and wildly intelligent, she can also be an idiot.

Probably got it from me.

Opening the app Tony helped me install, I tap Allie’s name and scan her text messages for the first time ever. Up until tonight, I’ve never had a reason to make use of the app that receives all the messages sent to and from my daughter’s phone. I know Allie’s probably going to hate me for this, but I don’t care.

She can hate me forever as long as she’s safe.

I don’t have to scroll far to find messages that give me some insight into where my daughter might be.

And it’s not good news.

A number I don’t recognize messaged her around lunchtime, claiming to be her friend Kinsley and asking if they could meet after school. With each message I read, my stomach drops more.

Unknown number

It’s Kinsley. I need help, Allie. Please help me.

Allie

I’ll call my Uncle Tony. He can help you.

Unknown number

You can’t call him! They’ll find out and then they’ll lock me up. Please promise you won’t tell anyone.

Allie