Twenty-Four Seconds from Now: Chapter 4

Before I gave up and started combing through the senior videos, I’d been reading the first line of the prologue over and over again.

A bow tie for the abode.

Which was all I could think of saying because that picture, which was going to eventually be a glossy hunk of metal, was a symbol of an inevitable—and hopefully temporary—separation between Aria and me.

Which was all I could think of saying because that picture, which was going to eventually be a glossy hunk of metal, was a symbol of an inevitable—and hopefully temporary—separation between Aria and me.

I’ll learn the business, stack my bread for tuition, and maybe even buy a camera before studying how to make a movie.

This old Black suburb with no sign or gate, just a name that was nowhere to be seen but everyone knew was Paradise Hill.

The asphalt burns that still scar my elbows and knees and tell the stories of my fuckups, get-ups, and stand-ups.

Looked at me, which became me looking at me through the reflection in his shades.

“And I got alopecia, which is why I don’t have no hair. So...yeah.”

And she said, “Boy, I don’t invest in small businesses.”

And so did I since his dumb ass was mid-thrust, and he mashed the gas and brake at the same time, sending the car into convulsions, jerking into the middle of the intersection, bucking with stop-and-go.

And as far as I’m concerned, the title for Most Beautiful Girl in the School and It’s Not Close should go to the one who always sidles up to me after navigating these turbulent adolescent waters every morning to steal a hug and sneak a kiss before the day gets going.

And as far as I’m concerned, the title for Most Beautiful Girl in the School and It’s Not Close should go to the one who always sidles up to me after navigating these turbulent adolescent waters every morning to steal a hug and sneak a kiss before the day gets going.

That aunt was a jazz singer, and because she had no one to look after Little Connie, she started taking her to gigs with her.

And by high school, she’d already become an alternate in a professional orchestra.

It was pathetic, but Nat, who caught me because of all the sniffling, thought it was cute.

Pretty much does what she wants (hence the rat tail).

It was like a rite of passage at Northlake High.

And years later, just the memory of it sent a collective shiver down our spines.

Mr. Truss is the guidance counselor.

“Yeah, but my mother probably still wouldn’t be impressed,” Aria said.

Tuna looked around the table at the rest of us, waiting on a co-signer, but me, Savion, and Fred were clueless too.

I didn’t budge until she snatched the book from my head.

The clasp seemed like such a contraption, complicated even through the back of her shirt.

“No problem,” she said all cavalier.