Page 54 of Yolo

“Can you explain what’s going on?” I asked, my belly now filled with butterflies.

“Sure,” the man who was apparently homeless, said. “Dog’s in the back. If you’re quiet, you can hear him whimpering. Feel the car, put your hand right here.”

I did.

“Hot,” I said quietly. “How far away are we from the police station?”

“A good half a mile,” he said. “This is where all the officers park. Overflow.”

“Oh,” I said, patting my pocket for my phone, and realizing…I didn’t have it.

Shit!

“You got a phone?” I asked hopefully.

I’d have to go back to get my phone.

I remembered vaguely putting it on the corner of Mrs. Carter’s desk when she’d asked me if she could input a few numbers in case I ever needed any help.

“Yeah, I can’t even afford a sandwich, let alone a phone,” the closest man said. “And no one’s around.”

“I think he’s gonna die,” the other man said. “He just started to throw up, and it looks like he’s kinda foaming at the mouth.”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You got a rock handy?” I asked.

I mean, what else could I do?

This dog needed some air.

If inside the car was anything like outside the car, it had to be excruciating.

“Here,” the man said as he handed me what felt like a brick.

Close enough.

I reached forward and pressed my hand to the window.

“Is he in the front or the back?” I asked.

“Back,” he said. “You’re standing in front of the front window.”

I nodded. “Any places nearby that you can go to call the police?”

“Yeah,” he said.

I nodded. “Then go.”

That’s when I broke the window.

I hope you fall down with your hands in your pockets.

—Garrett to Atlas

GARRETT

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