It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy (unless it was on a free promo). Many thanks for supporting the hard work of this author. I awake to the cold. No surprise there. I’ve been cold all night. There’s a crack between the pane and the sill of the window across from my bed where the chilly fall air is allowed to seep in. I’m huddled here beneath the covers like a freaking Eskimo, fully dressed in my warmest hoodie, two pairs of socks, and my comfiest jeggings. The quilt on the bed smells musty. Everything in the room smells musty. I miss my old home, my old familiar room with its effective windows and warm carpeting and the stupid murals my friends and I hand-painted on the walls the summer we were twelve—ridiculous portraits of boys we liked, and smiley faces and cute little animals. I liked the lopsided yellow duck the best. But now he’s gone, left behind. And I’m here in this horrible farmhouse smack in the middle of nowhere.
