What’s the Most Shocking Announcement Your School Ever Made?

On the way back I saw a path leading deeper into the woods, barely visible through the undergrowth. I memorized where it was, counting the trees.

Back inside, I pretended to be on his side. I said I wanted to help him get justice against his dad.

His face lit up like Christmas morning and he hugged me tight. I felt wrong.

This wasn’t the Alvin I knew. Or maybe it was and I just never saw this side of him.

He started telling me more details about the abuse. How his dad would make him stand in the corner for hours until his legs shook.

How he’d take away food as punishment, sometimes for days. How he’d lock him in the basement with no light, just the sound of mice scratching in the walls.

Each story was worse than the last. I believed him.

The bruises were proof enough, but that didn’t make what he was doing to me okay. He was so focused on his own pain that he couldn’t see he was hurting me too.

When he went to the outhouse, I quickly looked through his stuff. I found his journal and flipped through it.

The abuse stories were all there, written in heartbreaking detail, but so was his plan to frame me. He’d been planning it for months, every step calculated.

Which receipts to forge, how to get me here, how to keep me here. I also found something else tucked under a pile of dirty clothes: his phone.

It wasn’t thrown away like he said. It was hidden with the battery removed.

I quickly put the battery back in and turned it on, my hands trembling. There were dozens of messages from his dad.

They were not worried messages like you’d expect from a parent whose kid went missing. These were threats telling Alvin to come home or else.

They said he’d find him no matter where he hid, that he knew all his hiding spots. The last message made my blood run cold.

It said he knew about the missing money and the receipts. He knew about me.

He was coming. I heard Alvin coming back and quickly hid the phone again, my heart racing.

That afternoon Alvin got more paranoid. He kept checking the windows and jumping at every sound, a branch cracking, a bird calling.

He said his dad was smart and might figure out where he was. The cabin belonged to his uncle who lived out of state.

His dad knew about it. They’d come here for a family reunion once.

I suggested we go to the police right away, but he said no. He needed more time to prepare, to make sure his story was perfect, to let the bruises develop more.

I realized he was stalling. Part of him was terrified of confronting his dad, even through the police.

The abuse had messed him up so bad he couldn’t think straight. He was like a rabbit frozen in headlights.

I told him I was hungry and we were running low on food. There were just some stale crackers and a can of beans left.

I suggested I bike to the nearest store to get supplies. He laughed and reminded me about my flat tires.

He said he’d go instead and I should stay here where it was safe. “Lock the door and don’t answer for anyone,” he said.

I knew this was my chance. As soon as he left, I grabbed his phone and called 911, but the battery died before I could say anything.

Just three beeps and a black screen. I searched everywhere for a charger but couldn’t find one.

Then I remembered the path in the woods. Maybe it led to a road or another cabin.

I had to try something. I started down the path, moving as fast as I could without making too much noise.

The woods were thick and branches kept scratching my arms, leaving thin red lines. Spider webs caught in my hair.

After about ten minutes I heard a car engine. I ran toward the sound and came out on a dirt road, but my heart sank when I saw who it was.

It was Alvin’s dad in his big black pickup truck. He was driving slow, looking into the woods like he was searching for something or someone.

His face looked angry even from a distance. I ducked behind a tree and held my breath, pressing myself against the rough bark.

He drove past without seeing me. I waited until I couldn’t hear the engine anymore, then started walking down the road in the opposite direction.

I’d been walking for maybe twenty minutes when I heard another car. This time I hid before looking, crouching in some bushes.

It was Alvin and some beat-up truck I’d never seen before. Rust covered the doors and the muffler was hanging low.

He must have had it stashed somewhere. He was driving fast, looking panicked, gripping the wheel with white knuckles.

I stayed hidden until he passed. Now I was really scared.

Both of them were out here looking for me. I kept walking, staying close to the treeline so I could hide if needed.

My legs were tired and my throat was dry. Finally, I saw a house up ahead.

Smoke was coming from the chimney and there were flowers in the window. Civilization.

I ran to the door and knocked frantically. An old woman answered, wearing a flower-covered apron.

I must have looked crazy because she took a step back, her hand going to her chest. I told her I needed to use her phone.

I said it was an emergency. She looked me up and down, saw the scratches, the leaves in my hair, and the desperation in my eyes, and let me in.

Her kitchen smelled like fresh bread. She pointed to an ancient rotary phone on the wall.

I called my parents first. My mom answered on the first ring, sobbing.

She said they had been looking for me all night. The police were involved.

Everyone thought I’d done something stupid because of Alvin. I told her I was okay and where I was, kind of.

I didn’t actually know the address. The old woman helped me figure it out, pointing to mail on her counter.

My mom said they were coming to get me right away. Then I called the police and told them about Alvin, where the cabin was, and that he was alive but needed help.

The old woman made me chamomile tea while I waited. She said kids came through here sometimes, running from something.

She never asked questions, just helped how she could. She gave me some homemade cookies and a warm washcloth for my scratches.

About thirty minutes later I heard cars pulling up, lots of them. My parents burst through the door and hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe.

My mom was crying. My dad kept saying my name over and over.

There were two police officers with them. They asked me a million questions.

I told them everything about the video, the cabin, the bruises, and the fake receipts. One officer stayed with us while the other went to find the cabin.

We waited for what felt like hours. The old woman made more tea and my mom held my hand the whole time.

Finally, the officer’s radio crackled. They’d found the cabin, but it was empty.

No sign of Alvin, but they found his journal and the receipts—evidence of both the abuse and the fraud. They put out an alert for both Alvin and his dad.

The officer said they’d need me to come to the station to give a full statement. My parents drove me there, holding my hand the whole way.