If You'd Like to Make a Call, Please Hang Up and Try Again

"Where is she?" Phoebe wondered. "She's been in the bathroom for almost ten minutes now...is this her punishment for me being late again? Oh god, it is, isn't it."

"Is your friend coming back soon?" the waiter asked, knocking her out of her stupor. "Do you want to order for her too?"

"Oh no, that'll be okay," Phoebe dismissed, a bit harsher than she intended due to her stress. "She'll be back soon."

The waiter nodded and headed off, leaving Phoebe to her own thoughts again.

"Should I go in and check on her?" she thought. "Surely...she wouldn't mind, right?"

Phoebe stared at the hallway that led toward the restrooms, drumming her fingers nervously against the edge of the table.

"She would never take ten minutes. Especially not on a night like this where we're celebrating something."

She checked her phone again out of habit. No texts, no missed calls, nothing. Sara wasn’t glued to her cell the way Phoebe was, but that didn't stop the sinking feeling Phoebe felt in her stomach.

“Okay,” she muttered under her breath, sliding out of the booth. “I’m just going to peek. No big deal.”

She crossed the restaurant, weaving between tables, rehearsing what she’d say. "Hey, you good? Did you fall in?"

“Sara?” Phoebe called softly as she opened the restroom door.

No response.

“…Sara?”

There were no stalls closed, no sounds of running water, no sign that anyone had even been there recently. The room was spotless, quiet, and very, very vacant.

“Okay,” Phoebe said aloud, trying to keep herself calm. “Okay, that’s… weird.”

She stepped back into the hallway, heart beginning to pound a little faster. Maybe Sara had stepped outside to take a call. Maybe she’d run into someone she knew. Maybe she’d gotten sick and gone home without saying anything.

But none of those felt like Sara. Sara didn’t just disappear. She was many things: relaxed, Laissez-Faire, even a bit lazy, but she wouldn't just leave without telling her best friend.

Phoebe hurried back to the table. The waiter glanced up at her expectantly.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Um...have you seen my friend? Black hair, maybe three...four inches taller than me, kind of skinny...” Phoebe gestured vaguely. “She went to the bathroom and never came back.”

The waiter frowned. “I haven’t seen anyone leave the restaurant in the last few minutes.”

Phoebe’s stomach dropped. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” he said with a shrug. “Slow night.”

Phoebe sank into her seat. “Right. Okay. Thanks.”

Her mind started racing. This wasn’t like Sara at all. She wasn’t flaky. She wasn’t dramatic. She wouldn’t just bail without a word, especially not on a night like this. A celebratory night of law school of all things! Phoebe tried to laugh it off, to tell herself she was overreacting. People stepped outside for air all the time. Phones died. Plans changed. But Sara didn’t change plans. Not without a text. Not without at least a goofy apology and a string of emojis.

Phoebe opened their message thread and typed quickly. "Hey, where’d you go? Everything okay?"

She stared at the screen, willing the little typing bubbles to appear.

Nothing.

She sent another. "Seriously, you’re freaking me out a little."

Still nothing.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

By the time the waiter returned to ask if she wanted to order, Phoebe’s appetite had completely vanished.

“I think I’m just going to pay for my drink and head out,” she said, forcing a polite smile despite her rising panic attack.

“Of course,” he replied.

Outside, the evening autumn air was cool and calm, completely at odds with the storm building in Phoebe’s chest. She stood on the sidewalk and looked up and down the street. A few people walked by. Cars rolled lazily through the intersection.

Phoebe dialed Sara's number. Straight to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me,” she said after the beep, trying to sound normal and not like she was two seconds from a full mental breakdown. “Call me back when you get this, okay? I’m outside the restaurant and you kind of vanished into thin air.”

She hung up and immediately called again. Voicemail.

“Okay,” Phoebe muttered. “Okay. Think, Phoebe. You're a girl who just got through a difficult pre-law program, you can figure out a missing persons case.”

Maybe Sara had gotten sick. Maybe she’d fainted. But the waiter said no one had left. And the bathroom had been empty.

Phoebe walked back inside and approached the hostess stand.

“Hi,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “This is going to sound weird, but… do you have any security cameras? My friend went to the restroom and just… disappeared.”

The hostess blinked at her. “Um… I can get the manager?”

“Yes, please,” Phoebe said a little too quickly.

The manager arrived a few minutes later, kind but confused. He humored her enough to check the hallway camera feed. Phoebe watched anxiously over his shoulder. The footage showed Sara walking toward the restroom...then nothing. No exit. No return. No second angle showing her leaving. Not even another person entering or leaving the bathroom until Phoebe herself.

“She never came back out,” Phoebe whispered.

“That can’t be right,” the manager said, rewinding again. “People don’t just...”

“Disappear?” Phoebe finished.

He cleared his throat. “Cameras glitch sometimes. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.”

Phoebe wasn’t sure at all, returning his apologetic expression with an icy glare, even though he wasn't nearly the person at fault.

The manager shifted uncomfortably. “Look, miss, I understand you’re worried about your friend, but people don’t just vanish. There’s always an explanation.”

Phoebe folded her arms, staring at the frozen image of Sara on the monitor. “Then tell me what it is.”

He didn’t have an answer for that.

"I don't...I just don't know, Kayla!" Phoebe was in hysterics on the phone in her car, calling another close friend of theirs. "It's like she fell into another dimension or something! She just was there one minute, and then poof..." her voice broke as she once again realized that Sara may be gone.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

“Phoebe,” Kayla said gently, “People don’t just vanish. She probably stepped outside and you missed each other.”

“I checked outside,” Phoebe shot back. “I checked the bathroom. I checked everywhere. The manager even showed me the security footage. She walks into the bathroom and then… nothing. She never comes out.”

Another pause.

“Okay,” Kayla said slowly. “That’s… really weird. But there has to be some explanation.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” Phoebe muttered. “But nobody can give me one.”

She stared through her windshield at the quiet street in front of the restaurant. A couple laughed as they walked past. Someone hailed a cab. A teenager walked by, eyes glued to his phone. Normal life continued on as if her best friend hadn’t just evaporated out of existence.

“I’m calling the police,” Phoebe finally decided.

“Good,” Kayla replied. “That’s the right move.”

Phoebe swallowed hard. “What if something happened to her?”

“Then you’re doing exactly what you should,” Kayla assured her. “You’re not overreacting. You’re being a good friend.”

Phoebe nodded, even though Kayla couldn’t see her.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

As she pressed the button to end the call, her fingers felt like they were made out of live wires. Everything felt like it was moving slowly, and the world around her spun. Her breath became short and her hand started trembling...

"Sara?" Phoebe said, starting at the girl in front of her, the one who had seemingly disappeared hours ago, and now here she was in a karaoke bar of all places? How had she gotten here? How had Phoebe gotten here? What was Turner doing here? "You're...you're here..."

"Oh my gosh, Phoebe!" Sara ran up to her best friend and held her in a tight hug, all momentary awkwardness with Turner immediately discarded.

"You're...you're okay...?" Phoebe breathlessly said as she returned the hug, hands trembling and eyes beginning to water.

"I'm fine," Sara nodded. "I...I've missed you these last three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Phoebe suddenly stepped back. "It's been like...thirty minutes since you went to the bathroom."

Sara crinkled her nose, before sighing deeply. "Right, Kendra said time works differently..."

"Kendra?" Phoebe asked. "Who's Kendra? Time works differently? Where are we? Why are you here with Turner? What's going on?"

Sara opened her mouth, then closed it again. "How am I gonna explain something like this to a person who had never seen the hotel, never met Kendra, never watched someone change in front of her eyes?"

“Phoebe, it’s…complicated,” Sara finally said, wincing at how flimsy that sounded.

“Complicated?” Phoebe echoed, voice climbing half an octave. “You disappeared out of a bathroom like a magic trick, and now you’re here with my brother in some karaoke bar I don't recall going to, talking about ‘time working differently.’ Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Turner stepped forward carefully. “Phoebe, maybe we should sit down...”

“Don’t ‘sit down’ me, Turner,” she snapped, though there was more panic than anger in it. “I spent the last hour thinking my best friend had been kidnapped or worse, and now she’s just… here. Smiling. Hugging me like nothing happened. And once again, what the hell is she doing here with you?”

Sara glanced apologetically at Turner. "I...think we probably should sit down somewhere. Maybe somewhere quieter?"

Phoebe looked around as if only now realizing they were standing next to a stage where a tipsy couple was butchering an eighties ballad. “Yeah,” she admitted, lowering her voice. “Yeah, that might be good.”

They ended up at a small booth near the back, far enough from the speakers that they could actually hear one another think.

Phoebe sat stiffly across from them, arms folded, eyes darting between Sara and Turner like she was trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Start talking. Slowly. And please don’t say anything that makes me feel crazier than I already do.”

"Gonna be kinda hard to do..." Turner offhandedly remarked, rubbing the back of his neck and earning a glare from his older sister.

Sara took a deep breath. “Three weeks ago,” she began, “I went into the bathroom at the restaurant. I got a headache, and then…I woke up somewhere else. Here...essentially”

“Here,” Phoebe repeated flatly. "What...exactly is 'here'?"

“Another…world, I guess?" Sara said, with trepidation creeping into her voice. "I don’t know the right word for it. It’s called the Harem Hotel.”

Phoebe blinked, deadpan. “The what now?”

“It’s not as weird as it sounds,” Turner offered weakly.

Phoebe shot him a look. “Turner, I promise you, it is already weirder than anything I have ever heard before.”

Sara gave a small, nervous laugh. “There’s a woman named Kendra. She runs it. She brought me there. And Turner. And a bunch of other people.”

Phoebe slowly turned her head toward her brother, sympathy creeping onto her face. “You were kidnapped too?”

“Sort of,” Turner admitted. “More like…forcibly recruited.”

“For what?” Phoebe demanded.

Turner began to spoke, but hesitated. "How am I gonna explain this to my sister?" he asked himself. “It’s…hard to explain,” he settled on.

Sara squeezed his hand under the table before turning back to Phoebe. “The short version is, Kendra brings people together to compete in challenges. Emotional, social, sometimes…er, romantic challenges.”

Phoebe stared at her. “Romantic challenges.”

“Yeah,” Sara said, cheeks coloring.

“With my brother,” Phoebe added.

“…Yeah.”

Phoebe pressed her fingers to her temples. “Okay. Okay. So you’re telling me you vanished into an alternate universe game show run by a woman named Kendra, where you’ve been hanging out with Turner for three weeks.”

“That’s… actually a pretty accurate summary,” Turner said.

"There is...one difference though," Sara interjected. "It's not just...me and Turner. There are a bunch of other people here. Girls he knows from various points in his life."

Phoebe's eyebrow raised as she turned her head towards Turner. No words came out, but the unspoken "Who are they" landed.

"They brought Becca, you know, my girlfriend," Turner began. "Then Paige, my ex. Emma, someone I knew from high school and kinda in college? Abby, Becca's younger sister. Kathryn, one of my closest colleagues. Charlotte, someone else I went to high school with. Lauren, my former babysitter. And then there's Lana and Mandy, remember, my childhood best friend and her mom? And then this week they brought in Anastasia, someone I met like once at a college party a couple years ago. Yeah...that's about the rundown."

Phoebe stared at Turner as he finished listing names, her mouth opening slightly, then closing again. She lifted a hand, palm out, as if physically stopping the information from advancing any further.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “No. Nope. I need to rewind. Because you just casually rattled off a list of women like you were naming Pokémon.”

Sara winced. “Phoebe.”

Phoebe shot Sara a look. “Don’t ‘Phoebe’ me. You’ve been missing for three weeks, and now you’re telling me you’re in some inter-dimensional...place...where my brother is surrounded by every woman he’s ever emotionally interacted with aside from probably our mom, and up until just now, me?”

Sara nodded, small and apologetic. “When you put it like that, it sounds…worse.”

Phoebe laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Sara, it is worse.”

She leaned back in the booth, dragging a hand down her face. For a moment she didn’t speak at all, just breathed, eyes unfocused as if she were mentally reorganizing the entire structure of reality.

“Are you okay?” Phoebe asked, suddenly serious. “I don’t mean physically. I mean—are you being pressured? Manipulated? Is this some kind of messed-up psychological experiment?”

"Well...that's sorta the second part," Sara winced, expecting a deserved flip-out from her best friend once she finished speaking. "Every round, there's these...transformations that the audience votes on for each of us."

Phoebe blinked. “Transformations.”

Sara gave a small, helpless nod. “Yeah.”

“Like… personality tests?” Phoebe asked, grasping for something normal. “Makeovers? Leadership workshops?”

Turner let out a short, dark laugh. “I wish.”

“They’re…a little more intense than that,” Sara admitted. “They change things about us. Little quirks or bigger pieces. Stuff that affects how we think, how we act.”

Phoebe stared at her as if she was speaking Swahili. “You’re telling me some woman in another dimension is magically altering your personalities for entertainment.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds insane,” Sara muttered.

“Because it is insane,” Phoebe shot back.

Turner cleared his throat. “Phoebe, it’s real. I know it sounds impossible, but we’ve seen it happen. We’ve all changed a little since we got here.”

Phoebe looked between them, eyes narrowing. “Changed how?”

Sara hesitated. This was the part she’d been dreading. Explaining the hotel was already hard enough. Explaining what it had done to her felt humiliating.

“Well,” she began slowly, “for me, it started small. Things like getting a little more...emotional about romantic stuff.”

Phoebe relaxed a fraction. “Okay. That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“And then it got a little stronger,” Sara continued, twisting her fingers together. “Like… when I’m in romantic situations, I get really affected by them. Physically. And my voice sometimes...heightens feelings in other people.”

“Heightens feelings,” Phoebe repeated slowly. “You mean like…you give really good pep talks now?”

Sara gave a nervous half-laugh. “Something like that. Except it doesn’t really wait for permission.”

Phoebe turned toward Turner. “How?”

Turner shifted in his seat, suddenly very interested in the wood of the table. “Hard to explain.”

Sara winced. “Turner gets… distracted when I try to reassure him.”

Phoebe blinked. Then blinked again. “Distracted.”

"Yeah..." Turner clicked his tongue without daring to look at his sister, who was no doubt shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

A long silence followed.

Phoebe looked back at Sara, then at Turner, then back at Sara again. “So my best friend has become some kind of accidental emotional…amplifier. And my brother is at the center of some sort of Bachelor-like show.”

“That’s a nicer way of putting it,” Sara murmured.

Phoebe leaned back, exhaling through her nose. “Okay. Alright. Weird magical personality changes. Alternate universe hotel. Reality TV from hell. I can at least pretend to accept that for now.”

She folded her arms, studying Sara more closely.

“But here’s the important question,” Phoebe said sincerely. “Are you safe?”

Sara hesitated, caught off-guard by the tone of her voice. “Yes,” she said softly. “I really am. I know it sounds crazy, but nobody’s being hurt. Not physically, anyway. It’s strange and overwhelming sometimes, but I’m okay.”

Phoebe searched her face for a long moment, like she was trying to read past the words into something deeper. After staring for a second, she sat back with her arms crossed across her chest. “So during those three weeks, you and Turner have been…” She gestured vaguely between them.

Sara felt her cheeks warm. “Getting to know each other.”

Phoebe gave her a knowing look. “Sara.”

“Okay, okay,” Sara sighed. “More than that. We’ve been on dates. We’ve gotten closer. A lot closer.”

Phoebe turned her head toward Turner again, eyes narrowing. “And you’re treating her right?”

“Of course I am,” Turner said immediately, almost offended by the question.

“You better be,” Phoebe warned. “Because magical hotel or not, I will still find a way to kick your ass if you hurt her. Remember that time back when you were four and you tried to slap me?”

“Of course I remember," Turner laughed at the memory. "Mom was so pissed that you hit back at full power. But trust me, I’m not trying to hurt anyone,”

Phoebe studied him for a moment longer, then sighed. “Yeah. I know. You're a good kid.”

The tension in her shoulders finally loosened, just a little.

“Okay,” Phoebe said. “So I guess the next question is… why am I here?”

That question hung in the air between them.

Sara opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“I… don’t actually know,” she admitted.

“Kendra didn’t say anything about bringing someone new,” Turner added. "And I swear to everything that is holy, if she tries to make you compete in this shitshow, I will burn this entire production to the ground."

Phoebe stared at her brother, unsure whether to laugh at his outburst or be even more terrified by it.

“Burn the production to the ground?” she repeated. “You work for the government, right? Aren't you afraid they're gonna kick you out for being such a revolutionary?”

“Hey,” he protested, “What they don't know won't hurt them.”

Sara squeezed his hand under the table again, partly to calm him, partly because she suddenly needed the grounding contact. Everything about this moment felt fragile, like a dream she was about to wake up from.

“I don’t think Kendra brought you here to compete,” Sara said softly to Phoebe. “At least, I really hope she didn’t.”

Phoebe folded her arms, leaning back against the booth cushion. “Good. Because I didn’t sign up for inter-dimensional dating games. Especially with my brother, no thank you. I can barely handle regular dating.”

A pause settled over the booth, broken only by the low hum of the karaoke machines and the muffled notes from a badly sung love ballad on stage.

Sara glanced toward Turner, who shifted in his seat, fingers tapping lightly on the tabletop. “Phoebe…” he began carefully, “I know this is a lot. And I swear, nothing happened that would hurt you, or Sara, or anyone else. I...”

“Turner,” Phoebe interrupted again, sharper this time, though her tone held a subtle note of affection, “just… don’t lecture me right now. I need facts, not speeches. And I need to know...why am I here?”

Sara shook her head, voice low. “I don’t know. I think she just…wanted you here. Maybe to see Turner in this environment? Or to…test something? I really don’t know.”

Phoebe’s brow furrowed. “Test something? What, how I react when my brother gets magically turned into some…romantic focal point for a bunch of women?”

Turner raised a hand defensively. “I didn’t have a say in it, either!”

Sara squeezed Turner’s hand once again, grateful for the contact. “We’re figuring it out,” she said softly. “I mean, it's overwhelming sometimes, but we’ve been careful. We really have.”

Phoebe studied her friend closely. “You’ve been careful?” she repeated, almost teasing. “You’ve been careful in an alternate dimension where you can’t control time, reality, or apparently your own sense of self?”

Sara bit her lip, nodding. “We try. Some things…they just happen. But we’ve got each other.”

Phoebe exhaled through her nose, leaning back against the booth. “Alright. Fine. I can accept that… for now. But one thing. You need to promise me something.”

Sara tilted her head. “Anything.”

Phoebe’s gaze flicked to Turner. “You two don’t do anything stupid. Not here, not there, not in front of me. I don’t care if the entire audience is watching. No…reckless decisions that could get either of you hurt.”

Turner smirked despite himself. “No promises,” he said lightly, earning a glare from Phoebe.

Sara laughed softly, a blush spreading across her cheeks as she considered the implications. “We’ll behave,” she said.

Phoebe exhaled again, the tension finally loosening a bit. “Good. Because if anyone gets hurt, I will personally find whoever this Kendra person is and make her explain why she thinks this is a good idea.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the dim glow of the karaoke lounge providing a strangely intimate backdrop.

Sara glanced at Turner, then back at Phoebe. “I… I’m really glad you’re here,” she said softly.

Phoebe’s lips twitched into the hint of a smile. “Yeah…me too.”

Turner, sensing a temporary calm, added, “Well, since we’re all on the same page for now…maybe we should get back to the karaoke? It’s kind of what Sara brought us here for in the first place.”

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously suggesting we sing, after all that?”

"Where else is there to go?" Turner shrugged. "Sara and I were here on our mandatory date night for the week. I...actually that brings up a good point, where are you gonna sleep at?"

"I...hadn't considered that," Sara tapped her chin. "Isn't there another bed up in the penthouse suite? The one that Becca normally sleeps on?"

"Where is Becca gonna sleep then?" Turner asked.

"In the same one as me and you!" Sara cheerfully offered.

That lead Phoebe to spit out the glass of water she had been drinking, blinking at Sara like she had two heads. “Wait. Wait, what did you just say?”

Sara, cheeks warming, held her hands up defensively. “I...uh...I mean, well, yeah. Becca is up there permanently now, and there’s enough room in the penthouse for...”

Phoebe’s jaw practically hit the tabletop. “You’re telling me that me, my best friend, my brother, and his girlfriend… are all sharing a bed?” Her eyes darted between Sara and Turner, as if she could somehow measure their intentions with a glance.

Turner leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to salvage the nuke Sara had just introduced. “Uh… technically, Sara’s talking about you taking the other bed in the suite. Not the same one as us, if that makes it less weird?”

"Great, so I just have to sleep in the same room as my brother while his girlfriend and once again, my best friend sleep in the same bed as him," Phoebe sarcastically rolled her eyes.

Turner held up his hands defensively. “Hey, it’s not that bad of a solution, given that the only other option is sleeping outside. And it’s a temporary solution until we figure something our or run into Kendra and figure out what exactly she wants with you here.”

Phoebe shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “You promise you won't get up to...whatever?”

Turner held up both hands. “Cross my heart. No funny business. I mean it.”

Sara bit her lip, glancing down at the table. Her pulse was still racing, not just from the excitement of Phoebe being here now, but the proximity to Turner. And now she's being told that she has to keep her arousal in check because Turner's sister crash-landed in their date?