Even though I could tell he was trying to dial quickly, it took an agonizingly long time. He had a rotary phone, and for every number, he had to spin the dial and wait for it to come all the way back around before spinning it again. I wish I could just yell, “Siri, call 9-1-1!” 

Finally, he finished dialing, then he waited for a few seconds and I heard the other line pick up and a voice say, “I’m on my way!” 

Now that I knew Yogi had help coming, I sprinted out the door to find Bones. When I got to the street, the scene was so bad I wished I could just cover my eyes and it would all go away. 

Bones was hovering over G, softly petting her fur, and G was sprawled in front of a giant, wood-paneled station wagon. A teenage girl, who kinda reminded me of Gina, was sitting in the driver’s seat, sobbing. G was panting and whimpering, and Bones had her head in his lap, trying to comfort her. 

“Lump,” he said, his voice quivering, “the Suits must’ve gotten Stevie’s phone from G. They just drove off in that huge, orange Cadillac.” He looked down at G. “Somebody’s gotta call an ambulance or something. G needs help.” 

I wasn’t going to say it out loud, but I knew that G needed more than an ambulance. She needed a miracle.

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