Cold Calls Read Free

this kind of prank a higher purpose. But it wasn’t them. Tryouts were starting for the school musical, and they’d be wrapped tight in their own little dramas, too busy destroying each other to worry about some soccer player.
    The voice was altered, so it could be anybody, even the cheerleaders. But it wouldn’t be them, since, one, they were part of the athletic department and, two, they were more mature than that. In every way.
    Ten minutes later, he was still thinking about the maturity of the cheerleaders when his phone buzzed, no number showing up in the caller ID.
    There was only one way to play it now. He had to keep his cool, act like he was in on the joke, that he found it sorta funny in an old-school kind of way, like watching
Teletubbies
at a keg party. The prank would fizzle out, and the calls would stop. And then he’d find out who was behind them and get his revenge. He swiped on his phone.
    â€œHey, stranger. I was hoping you’d call back.”
    There was a long, static-filled pause that made Eric smile. “What’s the matter, lose your voice? I’m not surprised—you’ve been sounding a little hoarse. Try some tea with honey.”
    â€œI have something you want.”
    â€œA new car? A million dollars? I’d take either one.”
    A deep breath, then the voice hissed. “It’s something you’ll want returned.”
    Eric was ready with a comeback when it sank in, the smile melting off his face as he remembered the email and the picture of his room. He jumped up and flicked on a second light, his eyes racing over his desk, the shelves, looking for a gap, a space that shouldn’t be there. He pulled out his wallet. Driver’s license, school ID, pictures—nothing missing. He jerked open the top drawer of his desk and saw the cards April had given him, the pictures from the sophomore dance, the Dairy Queen gift card his aunt had sent him, his grandfather’s dog tags, some movie ticket stubs, an old lighter. He squeezed the phone as he gritted his teeth, the whole stay-cool plan burned away.
“What did you take?”
    â€œI didn’t take anything,” the caller said, confidence back in the artificial voice. “
You
took it.”
    â€œ
I
took it? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You’re the one that broke into my—”
    He jumped at three quick knocks on the door. “Eric? Everything okay?”
    Phone against his leg, he took a deep, steadying breath. “Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Just, uh . . . just on the phone is all.”
    â€œOkay, well, hold it down,” his mother said, then, from down the hall, adding, “and make it quick. It’s a school night.”
    â€œAll right, I’m almost done,” Eric shouted back. He put the phone to his ear, expecting the line to be dead, but the wispy static was still there. Enough of this, he thought.
    â€œDon’t call me again,” he said. “If you do, I’m calling the cops. I have proof that you broke into my house—”
    â€œYou’re forgetting something,” the caller said.
    â€œYeah? Like what?”
    The static dropped out, making the whispered words loud and clear. “I know your secret.”
    Eric laughed. “Oh that. Isn’t that a line from
Scary Movie 3?
You could at least try to be original. Bye-bye, asshole,” he said, his thumb swiping over to end the call, but not before hearing one last raspy line.
    â€œCheck your email.”
    Eric stuffed the phone in his pocket and went down to the kitchen, grabbed a stack of Oreos and a glass of milk, then sat in front of the TV in the living room and pretended to care about the
Monday Night Football
pregame show. He held out until the end of the first quarter before heading up to his room, shutting the door, and powering up his iPad.
    There were four new messages. One from a skateboard company, one from the Armed