When his phone rang for the seventeenth time that Friday afternoon, Eric Tate released an exasperated sigh and spoke quickly before the caller had chance to utter a single word.

"For the last time, this is not an escort service – I am not an escort. Or a hooker. Whatever you're looking for, you won't get it from me, okay? You have the wrong number."

Eric flicked his iPhone onto silent and dropped it into the pocket of his school trousers, then proceeded to glare at his two companions who were biting back fits of laughter.

"I'm going to murder both of you," he muttered, slicking a hand through a mess of auburn curls, "couldn't have gotten me an Xbox game for my birthday, could you?"

"Sorry, but you gotta admit that this is pretty funny," grinned a baby-faced teen, blue eyes flickering over a professional-looking escort page loaded on Eric's laptop screen – created a few days earlier as an 18th birthday prank. "I'm an adult now," the teen read out loud, muffling a fit of childish giggles with his sleeve, "let me show you what a real man can do."

"Stop, jeez," Eric mumbled, shoving his friend lightly, "just delete it, Jay, alright? There are enough freaks with my number already."

"Hey, hey, some of those freaks could be hot," the third male chimed in, wiggling his dyed-blond eyebrows suggestively, "and freaky. You get me?"

"Yes, Henry, we get you," said Jay, tapping away at the keyboard, "you don't exactly think with your brain. Alright – deleted. No more 'Cute virgin boy willing to provide services for a reasonable fee'."

Henry snickered whilst Eric buried his face in his hands, cringing internally.

"100% totally gone from existence," Jay said with a toothy grin.

"Nothing is ever completely gone from the internet, though," remarked Henry, which Eric rewarded with a dark glare.

"Except for your porn history."

"Except for my porn history, but that's best for everybody."

Jay bit his lip. "You reckon Eric will be showing up in your future porn history?"

Henry shrugged. "I did read that he wants someone to tell him he's 'been a bad, bad boy'."

Eric jumped to his feet and lunged at the two teens, who scattered, laughing. "I will kill you assholes –"

A loud drilling noise cut through Eric's threat and the three boys groaned in unison.

"You know, I think triple maths might beat you to it," said Henry.

----

The afternoon dragged – a whole two hours of quadratic equations was about as fun as a trip to the dentist. No – the dentist was more fun. At least Mr. Chander gave Eric a sticker and a lollipop after an appointment. Mrs. Liddle didn't give out stickers for solving x. And she didn't compliment Eric on his excellent oral hygiene, either.

It also dragged because Liddle was old-fashioned and had implemented an alphabetical seating plan on the first day of term. Jay and Henry lucked out and were sat next to each other, but Eric's desk buddy was a short, Welsh kid called Devon, who smelled strongly of pickled onion and stale body odour. Eric wondered if he should bring that up with the school council, after all, their double Mathematics period on Wednesdays was preceded by triple P.E., and Devon had obviously never heard of deodorant. Sitting next to him was basically child cruelty, right?

Not that Eric was a child anymore – no, Jay and Henry made sure he remembered that with the stupid escort ad they'd created. Even though he was sat at the front of the room under the watchful eye of Liddle, he could still hear their manic laughter whenever the phone in his pocket started vibrating.

"You're popular today," noted Devon, making no effort to cover his breath.

"For all the wrong reasons," muttered Eric, blocking every number that appeared in his call history.

With thirty minutes of class to go, the only number that continued to ring was a withheld one, and after several sharp looks from Liddle, he turned it off altogether, despite the fear that he'd miss a call from his mum and get into trouble for no good reason. How was he supposed to explain to her that people were bothering him for...favours?

"Mate," said Henry after the last bell of the day rang out and they stepped into the freedom of the weekend, "someone really wants your junk."

"Jealous?" asked Eric, raising his eyebrows and smiling for the first time that afternoon.

"Totaaaally. Love me some horny old men."

Henry's declaration was met with the sound of someone clearing their throat, and the three of them turned to see their aging maths teacher tilting her head with a questioning glance.

"Joking, Miss," Henry said quickly, Jay in fits beside him.

"None of my business." Liddle raised her hands defensively before staggering towards the staff car park.

"Smooth."

"Shut up."

As they pushed and shoved and made the short walk from the school to their village, Eric's thoughts turned to the incessant phone calls. How the hell was he going to come up with a plan that either A) got him a new phone, or B) didn't make his parents think badly of the only two friends he had. A new phone would mean at least eight shifts at work, and he was desperately saving up for a car.

"Wanna hang tonight?" asked Jay, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and slipping off a maroon and yellow school tie, "my house is free."

"Can't," said Henry, "I gotta work tonight."

"You work every night," whined Jay, whipping the taller boy with his tie.

"That's the thing about family businesses...hey, I'll get you a fortune cookie to make up for it."

Eric smirked, whilst the dark-haired teen scoffed and whipped Henry again.

"Since the last cookie you gave me told me I'm gonna die a virgin, I'm gonna have to decline."

Henry grinned, "Special batch, that one. Made especially for you."

"And ain't it true so far?" said Eric.

"Shut up, call-boy," said Jay, "are you free?"

"Nah, I have to work in the morning."

"You guys are so boring," Jay pouted as they reach the corner where they usually parted ways, "this is why I gotta get myself a boyfriend."

"Yeah, gotta prove that fortune wrong!" grinned Henry, running off towards the Chinese restaurant owned by his parents. "Adios!"

Jay cast the remaining boy a sideways glance, "I'm going to kill him."

"You're one to talk," Eric shot back, holding up the dreaded iPhone.

"Right..." the dark-haired boy feigned an innocent smile before wiggling his fingers, "Yup...I'll see you later!"

With that, Jay turned and legged it, with Eric screaming profanities until he was out of sight.

----

When Eric reached the small, red-bricked cottage he shared with his mother and sister, he kicked off his boots, hung up his blazer and slumped into one of the living room's tattered, beige sofas with a heavy sigh. Nobody was home. Normally, he'd relish the fact that he didn't have to watch Dance Moms or Neighbours or whatever crap TLC was showing that evening, but tonight was different. Everything felt off. The phone calls had seriously creeped him out.

He wondered if he should've taken up Jay's offer of hanging out.

He also wondered if he should've kicked the crap out of Jay instead.

Eric slipped the iPhone out of his pocket and fingered it idly, deliberating whether to switch it on or not. Eventually, he threw it onto the other living room sofa and turned his attention to the TV, happy to gorm out to The Big Bang Theory for an hour or so.

And then the home phone rang.

He jolted upright. The digital screen of the phone read WITHHELD. Surely they couldn't know his home phone number, could they? Jay and Henry were stupid but they weren't that stupid, wouldn't put him in danger like that. They didn't even put Eric's real name on the ad, just his picture. If he remembered correctly, the name they'd used had been Spanky McCass, or something equally as unfunny. Something Henry thought was hilarious.

Inhaling sharply, Eric picked up the phone and held it to his ear and mumbled, "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Sir," came a deep, overly-perky voice, "our records indicate that you've been involved in a road traffic accident and may be entitled to compensation – "

"Christ," said Eric, disconnecting the call, before laughing, "I'm really losing it."

But, within ten minutes, the phone rang again.

And again.

...And again.

God damn. He was beginning to wish that Alexander Graham Bell had chosen a different career path.

Annoyed, he grabbed the home phone again and shouted into the mic, "Look, nobody had an accident here, and we don't need PPI or whatever bullshit you're trying to push, so kindly take our number of your call list and leave us alone, thank you."

"Eric?"

The voice on the other end was different this time. Soft and feminine. And it knew his name. He didn't recognize it – going to an all boy's school meant that consequently, the only females Eric knew were either his family or his teachers.

"Eric," the voice spoke again, "I know you're there. I can hear you breathing."

"Oh, uh – yeah," he said, dumbly, "wait, who's this?"

"Did your mobile die? Or did you turn it off?"

"I turned it off..." a sickly feeling began to rise in his stomach, "who is this?"

"You would know if you bothered to answer my phone calls." The caller sounded impatient.

"Do I know you?" he asked, then added, "is this about the advert? 'Cause it ain't real. It was a prank by my idiot friends."

"I saw the advert-"

"You're wasting your time."

"That's not what this is about-"

"Stop calling me okay? I'll call the police."

"Eric, listen for a second – "

"No, you listen! I'm sure you're a lovely girl or woman or whatever, but I'm not going to sleep with you, so quit calling me, and go seek out your twisted fantasies somewhere else!"

There was silence for a brief moment, followed by an outburst of girlish giggles.

"Oh," laughed the caller, "Eric, you've got it all wrong."

"What?" he asked, flatly.

"I suppose it would make more sense if we spoke in person. Okay, that settles it. I'll stop calling you, but I'll see you tomorrow, Eric. We'll talk then."

"Wait – "

The caller disconnected, leaving Eric with the familiar buzz of the dial tone instead.

"See you tomorrow?" What the hell? He wanted to desperately believe that this was part of Jay and Henry's stupid prank, but, like him, those two assholes didn't know any girls. The accent didn't sound local either, all RP or Queen's English or whatever it was called. Nobody in the village spoke like that.

"Fuck," he mumbled, before burying himself in some A-Level coursework, "fuck, fuck, fuck."

----

At 9pm, he switched the iPhone back on to set an alarm for his shift the next day.

It didn't ring once that night.

---

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