I call back. After two rings, a woman with a nasal timbre answers. I hang up.

I listen to the voicemail again. And again. And again and again and again, and I don’t know how many times I’ve listened to it before I realize that Kurt is gone.

A locksmith fixes my door. I never leave my phone.

I turn up the ringer as high as it goes before I shower, and then I keep the volume there, even in class. My paranoia grows. I can’t stop checking it – checking for messages, checking to make sure it’s charged, checking to make sure that I haven’t accidentally muted it. I want to speak with him so badly I might combust.

On Saturday before dawn, another 212 startles me awake. “Josh?”

“Ohthankgod,” he whispers, exhausted and relieved. “I’m sorry it’s so early, but I couldn’t sleep. I’m calling you from the kitchen. If my parents catch me, I’m dead. But I had to hear your voice.”

I grasp my phone harder. “I miss you so much.”

“How is it possible that it hasn’t even been a week?”

“It feels like a year.”

“How are you? What happened with the head? Were you suspended?”

“No. She gave me detention, because it’s my first offence. But it’s for the entire month.”

His voice grows heavier. “I’m sorry.”

“The suckiest part? The moment that I have detention, you don’t.”

It gets a single glum laugh. “I’d take detention over this.”

“I know.” I soften. “How is it? How are your parents?”

“Pissed off. Busy. They’re running me around everywhere with them, but they can hardly even look at me.”

“They’ll come around.”

“Maybe.”

One question is weighing on me, heavier than any other. I clutch my necklace for support. “Hey…”

“Yeah?”

“Never mind.”

“Isla. Say it.”

“I was just…did your parents know about me? I know you guys didn’t talk often, but I was wondering if you ever mentioned me. Before all of this.” My voice cracks. “I’d hate it if that was your mom’s first impression of me.”

His long pause gives me the answer before he does. “I was gonna tell them before Thanksgiving,” he finally says. “I didn’t want them asking about you.”

I cry in silence. “Were you worried that they’d think I’m not good enough for you?”

“No. No. I just wanted to keep you for myself. We were in that perfect bubble, you know? Of course they’ll like you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“They will. They know this is my fault. And when the election is over, I’ll tell them all about you. How smart you are, and how kind, and—”

“How ambitious? How I have no plans for my future?”

“Isla.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve told them.” There’s another pause. “Did your parents know about me?”

“Of course.”

Josh exhales.

“They were looking forward to meeting you.”

“And now they aren’t.” He gives a sad little snort. “You worry about my parents, but I’m the one who was expelled.” Suddenly, his voice grows lower. “Someone’s moving around. I gotta go I love you bye.”

I don’t even get to say “I love you” back.

On Monday after detention, I find him in the background of some photographs taken over the weekend at a Brooklyn YMCA, a last-chance campaigning effort. He’s tall and handsome and smiling. He looks almost like my boyfriend. I can tell that his smile – no doubt convincing to others – is forced. There are no dimples.

“I didn’t wake you up this time, did I?” he asks. The call arrives in the dead of night. There’s a racket of people in the background, a general buzz of stress and excitement. Headquarters again. The election is only hours away.

“No.” I hug my pillow, wishing it were him. “Getting sleepy, but I’m still reading.”

“That’s my girl. What’s the subject tonight?”

“Orchid hunting. Did you know it was a surprisingly dangerous occupation?”

“Maybe that’s your future career.” A real smile creeps into his voice. “Orchid hunter. And I’ll join you on the expeditions. We can wear those khaki hats with mosquito nets.”

“How is it over there?” I ask.

“I’d rather be hunting orchids.”

“I hope your dad wins.”

“Me, too. Otherwise he’ll be intolerable for at least six months.” The sort-of joke falls flat, and he sighs. “Speaking of. Guess who’s sending a camera crew to my polling station? Guess who’ll be on the morning news?”

“Guess who’ll be glued to CNN’s live stream, hoping to catch a glimpse?”

“Guess who’ll be in class when it happens?”

“Oh.” My heart sinks. “Right.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be uploaded to my dad’s website. Aaaaaaand my mom’s back.”

“Iloveyou!” I say.

“I love you, too.” Josh laughs in surprise. “Thanks for the enthusiasm.”

“I didn’t get to say it last time.”

“Ah, well. From now on” – and I hear his smile grow into a dimple-bearing grin – “let’s start with it.”

Chapter twenty-one

When school ends, I duck into a bathroom stall. I have ten minutes before I need to be in detention. I yank out my laptop from my bag. The race is still way too early for any of the poll numbers to be in, but I quickly scroll down the senator’s website. There. The video.

Josh enters the polling station with his parents. He’s cleaned up, as in…he looks clean-cut. He’s wearing a suit that fits so well it must have been tailored just for him. He smiles and waves at the cameras. His parents exit their booths. “Who did you vote for?” somebody shouts, and Josh’s dad says, “Was I supposed to vote in there? I thought I was placing a to-go order for breakfast!” Hardy-har.

It cuts back to Josh. He enters a booth while his parents look on proudly. A female reporter with large teeth shoves a microphone at Josh upon his exit. “How does it feel to vote for your father for the first time?”