Check the message.

You unlock your phone and navigate to the message icon. The number isn't in your phone. You press the phone to your ear and hear a female voice.

"Hey there. I'm going swimming by your house tonight. It's a great night for it. You should come. I should be at Sausal Lake in, I dunno, 20 minutes or so. If you're coming let me know. No rush. I promise it'll be fun and we won't get caught."

The message ends there.

You listen to the message again, to see if you can recognize the voice. Maybe someone you know got a new phone number? But the voice—casual, flirty, maybe slightly nervous?—isn't one that you can place.

You look at the voicemail player on your phone, with the time slider and triangular play button. You'd like to sent her a text—whoever "she" is—but she might have a wrong number. Probably it's a wrong number. On the other hand, Sara did say to pick up your phone, and Sausal Lake is sort of near your apartment...but flirting with someone who doesn't want it, or who meant to flirt with a different person, is just bad form.

Still, you press and hold the unfamiliar number, until the dialog comes up to text. You compose a message under the phone number, a flirty message back. Then you delete it. You put the phone down, intending to pretend you never got the message at all. But then again, if you don't say anything, "she" might be disappointed by whomever she meant to get out of the house. You just want everyone to be happy, you rationalize.

So you compose a message saying that the voicemail probably went to the wrong person but that you hope the sender can connect with the right person. But the words look all wrong to you. You delete them too.

You put down the phone, but still, again, something about it calls out for...any response? Sara did text you, "Answer the phone next time, doofus," but maybe she was referring to something else. Or maybe she meant this call. You could call the voice back, you realize. Or you could forget it and go to bed. You're a little tipsy anyway.

The text message "compose" screen stares back at you in the dark.