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Prologue

January 1, 2002

My fingers tremble as I dial a phone number I could have—and had—dialed with my eyes closed Each button I press feels like a step closer to the edge of a precipice I’m scared I hadn’t talked to Dean in a oodbye, but I hadn’t been given a choice We weren’t supposed to have contact with anyone from Houston, or our old lives But Dean was my best friend, my first love, and he needed me I had to call

The phone starts to ring, and I think I ht be sick as the anticipation oing to the answering , he picks up

“Dean, it’s me Are you okay?” I rush out before he can speak

“Millicent Hassan? Is that you?” Instead of Dean’s deep, honeyed voice, I’ood This is Dean’s private line in his bedroom She has never answered it before I don’t even reuess a lot has changed since I’ve been gone

“Yes, it’s me, Mrs Orleans” My voice comes out in a croak

“How dare you?” she screaer husky, but shrill “You have a lot of gall calling this house after what you’ve done What your entire family has done What do you want? To ruin Dean’s life even more?”

I’ the phone inher continue

“Where are you? Where did you all run off to? Did you go and join that cri fro up rather than losing steam

“What could you possibly think Dean would want to say to you? His father is dead DEAD” Her voice breaks and she starts to cry, but she continues to speak through her crying

“Don’t call here again Do you hear me? Dean hates you We all hate you All of you It should be you who is dead, not , not us I hope you never, ever have a irl!”

And then the line goes dead The phone’s receiver slips from my hand and clatters onto the floor Numbly, I bend over to pick it up and put it back in its cradle Then I lie down on htstand for the last few months