Page 2 of Sincerely, Your Enemy

Minutes drag by before I come to the conclusion that I can either sit here all night and drive myself mad with worry, or I can go out and look for her. I’m thinking I’ll start at her friends’ houses.

I open Oliver’s bedroom door a crack, and sure enough, he’s fast asleep. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving him alone before, but he’s twelve now. He should be fine on his own for a few hours.

I change out of my pj’s, throwing on a pair of sweats and an oversized Duke University hoodie I got on orientation day as a freshman.

I redial Sierra’s number, put the call on speakerphone, and grab my car keys off the counter before rushing out the door. I round my landlord’s car—he lives on the top floor of the house we’re renting—and make a beeline for mine.

Dread creeps up my spine.

It’s dark out.

Ihatedriving in the dark.

At least it’s not raining.

I’d rather use hot sauce as lube for the rest of my life than go for a drive in the rain. Not that I’m having lots of sex these days. Things have been extremely slow in that department.

I’ve just backed out of the driveway when Sierra’s outgoing message sounds through the clunker I’ve spent all of my savings on. That one was quicker.

The phone barely rang twice before going to voicemail.

She has to be manually declining my calls now.

I call again.

And again.

And again.

I wait for what feels like my hundredth call to go to voicemail, like the others before it.

Only this one doesn’t go to voicemail.

This time, she picks up.

Shuffling noises and static come through on the other end. I’m seconds away from going off on my sister when a deep, raspy voice steals my breath.

“Dude, I swear to God, you butt-dial me one more time, I’m going up to your room and poking holes in all of your condoms.”

What.

The.

Hell.

I don’t waste a second pulling over to the side of the road.

“I… Where’s Sierra?” is all I can bring myself to say.

A marriage of loud music and chatter can be heard in the background, and I’m quick to understand the mystery man who picked up her phone is at a party.

Of course my sister went to a party.

Be more predictable, Sierra, seriously.

“Who?” the stranger drawls.

“Sierra, the owner of this phone. Where is she? Is she okay?”

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