Story 3 of Falling In: a collection of three short love stories about the kidnapping of a high school student

Matt noticed Ally wasn’t in class yesterday, but now, Mr. Xi’s saying she’s reported missing. Matt swallows, trying to keep his pulse from beating up through his throat. “Reported.” “Missing.” It’s evening-news sickening. Matt is rigid at his desk. He glances left and right at a room of scrunched brows, glossed eyes, lips curved downward and agape. They’re reflecting on shared encounters: a group project; the same volunteer shift; that time Ally lent her pen. Each is grieving, will be citing that his or her “friend” has been “reported missing,” but Matt knows her. He had loved her. So why is he finding out with everyone else?

It’s been almost a year since they broke up. Matt hasn’t thought much about her lately. He’s dating Lessa now, and Ally’s started drinking or adventuring or whatnot with Kara. But the two have stayed friends. Things didn’t end well, but they’ve gotten past that. Mr. Xi’s writing some logic equation—if p, then q—on the overhead, and Matt’s aware he hasn’t talked to Ally, really talked to her, in months, but he can’t help being hit with the urge to vomit at the thought of losing her. He used to call her when he couldn’t sleep, and she’d pick up at 2am, even with an exam the next day. Matt hadn’t realized how much he misses this, will miss this, until now. Lessa’s great, she’s a lot of fun, but Ally was smart. She read Tolstoy and watched Kubrick and helped Matt with algebra, and she attended all of his gigs, even if it was just a kids’ party. Matt could talk to Ally. About his negligent, douchebag dad, about his mom, who’s sleeping with the cable guy—and before that, the mailman, the gardener, his dad’s best friend—and Ally always knew what to say: something about Matt being stronger than his parents, not turning out as fucked-up. Lessa just frowns, enough to make her look sad but not ugly, and feeds him stock quotes, how he “deserves better,” when Matt knows he deserves better; he wants someone who believes he can be better.

“Matt. You okay there?”

Mr. Xi looks at him with concern. Matt’s head moves up and down. It’s obvious he isn’t paying attention, but Mr. Xi will forgive it today.

Matt loved Ally, but it didn’t work out. Ally wasn’t warm enough: she didn’t need his nightly calls, she didn’t cry to him about her parents’ issues, and she didn’t trust Matt when he told her that it was time, that they were both legal now, and that she wouldn’t get pregnant. It didn’t work out then, but maybe Matt had closed the door too hastily. He’s maturing, and maybe he’ll realize that Ally’s the right girl. Maybe he’ll stop wanting giggles and long hair and glossed lips, and maybe she’ll realize that frequent physical intimacy is crucial to a relationship. But maybe it’s too late. Maybe she’s gone, and he’s lost her, he’s lost that part of his life, possibly forever. He didn’t feel it when they split, it was more aggravation than sadness, but now his chest’s closing in, and his heart’s pounding into the pit of his stomach.

The bell rings. They jot their last notes, zip their backpacks, rise from their seats and go out the door, but Matt can’t move. Mr. Xi’s wiping the overhead. He looks at Matt sitting in an empty room. Matt avoids eye contact. He doesn’t want prodding questions or the suggestion to see a peer counselor. His eyes dart to anything else. A dry erase marker, an empty desk, a granola bar wrapper, the door—Matt catches a breath: there’s Lessa, leaning against the wall outside his room. She peers in, smiles and waits to wash him in hugs and soft kisses and stories about her morning: how her sister takes too long in the bathroom, how she didn’t have time to eat because she straightened her hair, how Mr. Anders yelled at her for texting in first hour. Warmth, refuge, and recovery flood over Matt, and he realizes that he loves her. Ally was smart, and understanding, but she went on about movies he hadn’t watched and books he hadn’t read, and Lessa’s legs look so damn nice in that skirt, though it can’t be more than fifty degrees out today. The circulation returns to Matt’s body. He gets up, grabs the backpack he hasn’t opened all hour, and walks toward his girlfriend.