Finally, finally, my squashed lungs manage to suck in some air. Just in time too. My head’s spinning and starry from lack of oxygen. I lick my lips. Ewwww. Spit. Spit. Spit. My mouth is caked with dirt.

I feel a flutter.

“Sherry, pumpkin, are you okay?”

I wheeze, “Maybe.”

Then I stretch out ultracarefully on the scorching-hot ground. No broken bones. Raising my head on my nearly snapped neck, I watch the train move away. A few feet in front of me, my phone sparkles in the sunlight. I commando-crawl over, grab it and stick it to my ear. No sound. I blink at it. No screen graphics. I push the On button. Nothing. My phone is completely and totally defunct.

“Sherry, pumpkin, talk to me.”

I pull myself up to my feet and brush off. “Go away.” I cross my arms and stick my nose in the air. “I am so not speaking to you.”

“Sherry-”

I slide my finger and thumb across my closed lips like I’m zipping them, then throw away the pretend key.

My mother sighs.