Chapters (95)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- Video #1
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Video #2
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Video #3
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- The Final Video
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Cover
Dad would be happy. I drive so slowly it feels like the car is standing still. Old ladies in giant cars pass us—that’s how slow we go. I barely notice my headache.
The accident on homecoming night is still under investigation. They tested my blood, and they know I wasn’t drunk or high. The police say it’s possible another car might have been involved—either accidentally or on purpose—because otherwise how did we just randomly plow into a tree?
They checked both our phones, so they know we weren’t texting. They took paint scrapings off her dad’s nearly new Charger to see if someone else rammed into us. Why they think someone would do that, I have no clue.
Even though it was her dad’s car—which is nicer than the gray 2010 Corolla I drive—it appears I was driving, and Chloe was in the passenger seat. Her shoes, phone, and purse were found on that side. My blood was on the steering wheel. A trace of Chloe’s blood was on the inside of the passenger door. They have a whole team of cops trying to figure it all out.
Since I can’t remember a single thing about the accident, I’m not any help. But the police turned my life inside out. They took hair and saliva samples. They went all through my room—my closet, my desk, my computer. They took the clothes I wore that night and went through my locker at school. If I had any secrets, the cops know every one of them now.
The lawyer Dad called—a middle-aged woman who looks more like a librarian—allowed the police to do those things, and then privately told me I’d be fine as long as I told the truth.
But it all raises the question—why would someone want to run us off the road?
And if it was just an accident, why did they leave the scene? And take Chloe?
And why did I wander around until someone found me? Why didn’t I stay?
Why didn’t I try to help Chloe?
Maybe my head was too messed up. Or maybe…that’s where I start to look suspicious.
It turns out the hospital has security cameras outside the emergency room doors. No car dropped me off that night. I just came wandering up. The cops showed me the grainy video that looked like something from a found footage horror film, and I saw myself stumbling to the door, my hand held to my bloody forehead. I look like the guy in the movie who brings the virus into the hospital. Either someone dumped me in the lot and stayed out of sight. Or they didn’t want their car to be seen for some reason.