At eleven thirty-two pm, Saturday the eleventh of May, my phone rang. I was confused because my parents were asleep and my friends were not liable to be calling me at such an hour of the night. I looked at my cell phone screen and saw a number I did not recognize. I hesitated for a moment, but then realized that I was being silly and it was probably just a wrong number. I answered.

"Hello?"
No answer.
"Um....hi, do you have the wrong number?"
Silence. But not complete silence. I could hear the caller breathing over the line, his or her breath was heavy and ragged. I felt a flurry of panic rising in my chest.
"Hello?!", I said, raising my voice. Finally, the caller spoke.
"Ria."
It was a man's voice. It was low and gravelly. It was ragged like his breathing. It seemed like it hurt him to push the word out. The word. My name. How did this stranger know my name?
"Who-who are you?", I asked, my voice filling with anxious fear. There was more ragged breathing. And then, the line went dead.

                          * * *
Once a week, every week since Saturday, May the eleventh, I've gotten a call from that number. Yes, I have thought of blocking it or not answering, I'm not an idiot. But every time I go to block it, my finger hovers over the block button and something stops me from blocking it. And I say to myself "I'll do it later" and I never do. And every time the phone rings and the number appears on the screen, I freeze. I know shouldn't, but something inside me compels me to answer it. So I do. And the caller and I always have the same conversation. I say hello, he breathes, I say hello, he breathes, hello again, and he speaks. Always saying the same thing. "Ria". I'll ask who is calling or how he knows my name, but I never get an answer because the call ends. Sketchy.

I put all thoughts of sketchy phone calls out of my mind and attempt to tame my wildly curly hair with flat iron. I am mid-way through straightening a piece when my cell rings. I remove the straightener from my hair and stare at the ringing phone. I cautiously approach it and pick it up. I breathe a sigh of relief as I realize that it is only Rachel. I press the green telephone icon that answers the call.

"Ria?", said Rachel.
"Rachel?", said I.
"Hey! I'm outside your building. You coming?", Rachel said in her thick New-Yorker accent.
"Yeah I'll be out in a bit."
"What about your parents?"
A little smirk crept onto my face. Rachel Beckett, the queen of teenage rebellion, is worried about my parents.
"Fast asleep.", I reply reassuringly.
"Sweet.", Rachel said, "Now move your ass, it's cold out here."
"Alright, alright, I'm coming."

I hang up the phone and finish straightening my hair. I pack my clutch purse with assorted girl things. Make-up, tampons, etcetera. Before I head out, I check my appearance in the full length mirror near the door to my room. Tall and curvy. Light brown skin and green eyes. Dark, usually curly hair. And the spitting image of my mother. Well, one of my mothers anyway. I have two.

My whole life it's been just me and my moms. They got married when I was two, and I was the cutest little flower girl you ever did see. Most kids call their parents mom or dad, and I used to too, but after a while, it just got confusing. So, now I just call them by their given names, Savannah and Serena. 

I do one last once-over of my reflection to make sure I look as close to perfect as humanly possible and grab my coat. As I exit my room I turn off my light and close the door. I walk down the dark hall to the bathroom. I turn away from the door and open the window. This all may seem a little dramatic, but let me explain. For some reason my moms are super paranoid and they bought this high tech security system that starts screeching obnoxiously if the front door or any of the windows in our apartment, except the one in the hall bathroom, are opened. Why they neglected to wire the alarm to this particular window, I don't know, but it sure is useful. 

I step out of the window and onto the fire escape ledge. Luckily, we live only on the third  floor, so it isn't that far of a jump from where the fire escape ladder stops short. Rachel is waiting for me at the bottom.

"Catch!" I exclaim as I throw my clutch down to her. She looks up just in time to dodge the purse, but not in time to catch it. It drops to the ground behind her. 

"What the hell?", she says to me, sounding out of breath.

"That was new, ya know.", I laugh. 

Rachel gives me a look. I smile back, take off my heels, and start to shimmy down the ladder. 

"It's a wonder you do that in a party dress.", Rachel calls from below.

"Call it a super-power.", I reply as I drop from the end of the ladder to the ground. I put back on my heels and look at Rachel.

"Ready?", I say with a smile.

"Always.", she winks.