“I write letters or call.”

“How do you call someone without a device?”

“There are pay phones.”

“What are those?”

Pressing her lips together, she suppressed a smile. “They’re public telephones. They used to be everywhere before the internet. Some still exist…usually in abandoned strip malls. In big cities, they get augmented to look like green spaces, but in towns that haven’t fully digitized, history is all around. You just have to open your eyes to it.”

“Do you know where I could find one?”

“Sure. There’s one outside the bank in the shopping center across the street. But do you have any change?”

“Like, physical coins?” I raised my eyebrows, recalling an antique piggy bank filled with quarters and dimes Mom used to keep in the back of her closet from when she was a little girl. I hadn’t seen it in years. I remembered her trying to throw it out at some point, saying it was worthless. But I’d rescued it from the trash. It had always been hard for me to let go of items that might someday trigger memories. “No…”

“Who do you need to reach?”

“My boyfriend.” I stumbled over the words, unsure if they were technically true—aside from publicly holding hands, Adam and I hadn’t made anything official—but it was the easiest way to describe how much he meant to me. “My parents made me leave without saying goodbye.”

“This is an emergency, then.” Grinning, she leaped to her feet and, opening a drawer, produced a roll of quarters. “I’ve been saving these for a special occasion. Come on. We should hurry. Wardrobe will be here soon.”

“What about Bernard? He’s set to notify my parents every time I move.”

“This will take care of him.” She held up a black-and-white striped umbrella. “It’s my little indulgence, coded to scramble all GPS signals. I never leave home without it. With this over your head, you’re off the grid.”

Leading me outside, she opened the umbrella. We huddled beneath it, tiptoeing down the trailer steps and inching past Bernard. I held my breath, positive he was going to flash to life any second and alert my parents I was sneaking away, but he didn’t budge. Once we were safely past him, we hurried across the street, the steamy Savannah day threatening to melt our makeup. It didn’t take long to find the forgotten corner where a black phone hung in a silver box.

“It looks like something from a museum,” I said, examining names and number strings etched into the metal. “Do you think it still works?”

“It will. The Disconnects keep them running.” She handed me two coins. “Pick up the receiver and put these in that slot. Once you hear a tone, start dialing.”