Page 1 of Between Hello and Goodbye

Prologue

North Bend, Pennsylvania, fourteen years ago…

“Asher?”

A little hand jostled my arm.

“Asher, wake up.”

I blinked my eyes open, and they immediately began to sting. “Morgan? What is it?”

“I woke up to pee and smelled it.” My eleven-year-old brother was a dim outline in the predawn light.

I rubbed my eyes. “You smelled pee?”

“Smoke.”

I shot to sitting, fully awake and adrenaline racing through my veins. Our bedroom in the double-wide trailer was hazy with smoke, and flames licked from under the door.

Oh shit…

“Get your clothes,” I barked, bolting out of bed. “Your jacket and shoes—No! Forget it. Here.”

I shoved open the window and yanked Morgan toward it.

“Asher…”

“Go!”

He climbed out and jumped down to the scrubby grass that was going to go up like straw any second now.

“The Hill, Morgan,” I said, tossing his shoes out the window, followed by his jacket. “Get up The Hill.”

The Hill was our name for an embankment of dirt and rocks piled high from where they were digging foundations for new houses in the development. After school, Morgan and I would climb The Hill and look down on the construction zone that was going to kick the Pine Hills Trailer Park off the land and make us homeless.

We’re homeless now.

“What about Mama and Dean?”

“Fuck them.”

“Asher…”

“Go!”

My clothes and Morgan’s were in a heap on the floor in our messy room. I shoved them all out the window. I slept in jeans and an undershirt, mostly because I was already on internal high alert since our mother started using. I found my boots and tossed them out too. You aren’t supposed to take anything when your house is on fire. Getting out is supposed to be your main priority. But now my little brother was my main priority. Not my mom and her latest loser boyfriend and their spoons and lighters and little baggies and the needles sticking out of their arms…

“No more,” I muttered, grabbing my school backpack. I dumped the books out. A lunch-size bag of Fritos fell out with my schoolwork: a math test with an A+ in red and an essay I wrote on the French Revolution, A-. My future, and it was all going up in flames.

I stowed the Fritos and a tin box of money I’d been saving from odd jobs into the backpack. About four hundred bucks. I’d wrapped the box in a pair of boxers and hidden it in my underwear drawer so my mother or Dean wouldn’t steal it and shoot it up their veins.

“Asher…” Morgan was at the window, fear making his voice waver. He was still in his jammies, making him look younger than he was.

“I told you to get up The Hill,” I said, then coughed. Smoke was pouring in from around the door, and the ceiling was beginning to blacken. The air felt like the inside of an oven.

Frantically, I tried to think what else we would need, but we didn’t have much and there was no time anyway. I chucked my bag out the window, then dropped down beside it. Morgan had put his shoes on but refused to budge. I grabbed an armful of clothes, shouldered my pack, and took his little hand. We tore out of the Pine Hills Trailer Park, through the construction zone, and scrambled up The Hill. Our feet slid and sank into the piles of shoal and dirt; nothing that would burn.

At the top, I tossed my bag over, then helped Morgan up. We hunkered down on our stomachs on the other side as dawn broke over North Bend.