Ace’s dial tone starts ringing and we wait for Samir to pick up, sitting on the edge of our seats. There’s a rustle on the other end of Ace’s phone and then, “Ace? What’s up, dude? Is my sister okay?”

I grab the phone from Ace. “Baba is FaceTiming me. I need you to pretend you’re with me. I’m going to put you on speaker, okay?”

“Oh shit,” Samir says in surprise. “Yeah, yeah. You got it, bro.”

I call my dad back on FaceTime audio. I’m not even going to attempt video, knowing that’ll end in my untimely death. I have no excuse for being in some random truck at 8:00 p.m.

“Myra?” my dad asks. He’s alone for once, which is a minor relief. “Why didn’t you answer before? And why audio?”

“Baba! Sorry about that. I don’t have a lot of charge right now,” I say, my eyes flicking to Ace. He’s watching me quietly, teeth pressed against his bottom lip. “Video will drain the battery.”

“Why don’t you plug it in?” Baba asks. “Are you outside?”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. “Yes. Samir and I went to Duane Reade because we ran out of...tape.”

“Yeah!” Samir chimes in. “Myra Apu and I checked the entire house, but we couldn’t find any. We asked Dadu, but she doesn’t know. We didn’t want to bother you guys, so we just went to the store instead.”

There’s a moment of heavy silence. “Samir, why do you sound so strange?”

My eyes widen and I look at Ace hopelessly, but Samir immediately starts coughing over the phone. “I think I’m getting a little sick. Don’t worry, I’ll ask Dadu to make me some chai.”

“Oh,” my dad says and his tone relaxes. “I won’t keep you long then. I just wanted to check in to see how things were.”

“Things are fine,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even. “I should go before my phone dies, though.”

Baba hums in agreement. “Good night, Myra. Good night, Samir. I hope you find the tape soon.”

“Good night,” we both say at once, and I hang up.

We all sit there, breathing in tandem. I hold my head in my hands. The world is spinning out of control.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

“Oh my God,” I say aloud. “Oh my God.”

“Myra Apu? Are you okay?” Samir asks, a note of concern in his voice.

My vision blurs until Ace reaches out, his fingers wrapping tightly around my wrist. The motion grounds me enough to exhale harshly. I remind myself to breathe. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

I look up. Ace is staring at me with wide eyes, and I feel the strange urge to cry.

“We’re good. Thank you, Samir,” I say, my voice choked.