Prologue:
November 12
I step off of the bus onto the hard pavement. That pavement that holds so many memories, so many stories. I can even see the little spot of blood from that time I fell of my bike with Sarah and her too hot to even handle cousin.... A gust of wind blows, and I can feel my Goosebumps starting, I zip up my black North Face and pull my bag up a little higher on my shoulder so it sits more comfortably. I walk down my street, looking from house to house. I think about my neighbors and think about how their day went. Probably not hell like mine. Mrs. Hudson probably left from he home this morning. Normal travel mug with coffee, kiss good bye from her kids and husband. Going to a normal day at work. What is she again. A teacher? Maybe a accountant. She has a briefcase. I usually see her after I get home from school, but she won't get home for another 3 hours. I Move down the street, and wonder how Mr. Jones is doing. He got shipped to Afghanistan two months ago. My mom talks to Mrs. Jones sometimes just to check up.
Our families aren't really that close, but we like to be friendly with our neighbors. I cross to the right side to let a silver car go by. I hop on the side walk and shove my hands in my jacket pocket. I look to my left, and I see Sarah's house. No ones home. I wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Barton are in the hospital still. Or maybe they decided to stay at a hotel for the night. I look at the side of the beige house and see Sarah's bike. A white cruiser, with a beat up whicker basket from that time we were riding our bikes in the dark and she ran into a pole. Sarah was fine, but that basket barley made it. She still kept it for a memory. I feel A hot tear drip down my face. After today I didn't even know if I had anymore. I feel another. It feels as though I've been frozen for a day and I'm finally taking a hot shower. I can't hold it in any longer. I'm sobbing, I can barley catch my own breath, my knees give out and I drop to the ground. I put my hands to my face, and having the only moment all day to my self, tears stream down my face. I finally settle back down, and just look at the house. That beige beautiful house, I remember that night we snuck up to roof and had our first drink, the countless sleep overs talking about the hottest guys we met that week. I take a moment to get up, I look at my knees, all bloody and scraped, but I can't even feel the pain.
I walk another house down to mine and get my blue plaid key out of my bag. I fumble through my binders and crumpled up papers I never had the time to clean out. I pull out the key and try to put in the keyhole, but I can't. My hand is shaking too much. It jerks from one side to the other, and I can't control it. I slam the key to ground sit on the bench on my front porch, and decide to wait until my mom get home. When she comes home I'll have to explain everything. Everything from that amazing, wonderful, scary summer that made me who I am today. Or at least was yesterday. Today I'm not the same. Last night they found Sarah clenching to life in a Parking lot in her red Mercedes. This morning at 11:13 they pronounced Sarah dead.