The last time I talked Jacob was two years ago. He was fourteen. He had called me on the phone to tell me about how he didn’t understand the geometry homework and needed help. He was my best friend so of course I helped him. I then hung up, ate some leftovers from Subway, and went to bed. I remember every detail of that night, but I don’t remember any sign of him being anxious or worried. He went missing the next day. We hung up signs and posters everywhere. There was no sign of him. Two years later, I still prayed he’d turn up every night, but I moved on. I changed. I got a boyfriend. I climbed my way up the social latter. But I should have been more observant. I should have been more careful.

The last time I saw Jacob was last night in a body bag.

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