Wrong Number

The locker stuck. Mine always stuck, locker 114, third row from the gym doors, and I kicked the bottom corner the way you had to and it popped open and it was not my locker. My stuff was gone. The history binder, the bad photo of me and Mara taped inside the door, the broken mirror — all of it gone. Instead there was an empty locker with clean shelves, and scratched into the metal at the back, small and deep like someone had spent a long time on it, was a name. Mara Reyes. My sister's name. My sister who had gone to this school four years ago and then had not gone anywhere ever again. I stood there with the bell ringing and the hallway emptying around me and I did not move, because Mara had never had locker 114. Mara had been a freshman when she disappeared. Freshmen got the second floor.