Day One: 10:42 AM

Troy's House, Suburbs of Ridgepine, California

Troy shoved the letter back into its envelope and grabbed his backpack, cramming it deep inside. His heart was still pounding. His hands were still shaking.

Three days...

There was no time to argue with logic or think about whether this was a prank from beyond the grave. If his grandparents were right—and something in his gut screamed they were—then every second counted.

He darted down the attic steps, barely acknowledging his mom's voice calling from the kitchen. "Troy, did you finish—"

"Yeah! All good!" he lied, bolting out the front door.

Outside, the driveway shimmered under the early spring sun. He headed straight for the tarp-covered shape near the side of the garage. With a quick glance around, he yanked the cover off, revealing his jet-black Yamaha motorcycle. Sleek. Fast. Off-limits.

He'd been grounded from it for two months after punching Brandon Mayer in the cafeteria for slapping Andi's butt. His parents said he wasn't allowed to ride it until the "violence streak cooled off."

Well, the end of the world sort of changed the rules.

He slid on his helmet, turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life like a waking beast.

"Sorry, Dad."

Tires screeched as he peeled out of the driveway, wind blasting his face, fear crawling up his spine.

---

Andi's Street, 10 Minutes Later

He pulled into the quiet cul-de-sac where Andi lived, the neighborhood unusually still for a Saturday. He parked at the curb, flipped up his visor, and jogged toward her porch. Just as he reached the steps—

"PUT YOUR HANDS UP!"

Troy spun around, eyes wide, heart nearly leaping out of his chest. A gun was pointed at him.

Then came the laugh.

"AHAHAHAHA, I GOT YOU! OH, YOU BIG LOSER!"

Officer Caleb Ross doubled over, howling, his police badge swinging from a chain around his neck. He was in uniform, but his posture was casual, leaning on the hood of his cruiser like he hadn't just aged Troy ten years.

"Jesus Christ, Caleb!" Troy gasped, ripping off his helmet. "Are you trying to kill me?!"

"Just keeping you sharp, kid!" Caleb grinned, walking over and clapping him on the shoulder. "Also... you're grounded. Why are you riding that thing?"

Troy hesitated, eyes darting toward the house. "I—I need to talk to Andi. It's important."

Caleb's smile faded slightly. "Serious important or 'I broke a window and need an alibi' important?"

Troy met his eyes. "End of the world important."

---

Day One: 10:54 AM

Andi's House – Upstairs Bedroom

Trisha lay upside down on the bed, her legs resting against the wall, flipping lazily through a pink faux-leather notebook she'd totally not found snooping in Andi's nightstand. Her eyes scanned the pages, then widened slightly.

"Oh. Ohhh."

Andi, sitting cross-legged on the floor painting her nails, looked up. "What?"

Trisha smirked. "You wrote something very interesting in here."

Andi's face flushed. "Give that back, Trisha!"

"Nope." Trisha held it high above her head, giggling as Andi lunged for it. "You seriously wrote down—and I quote—'He has no idea how cute he looks when he's confused.'"

Andi's face turned a deeper red. "I was tired and emotional! It doesn't mean anything!"

Trisha raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Sooo who's 'he,' hmm? Troy?"

Andi huffed and crossed her arms. "No. Of course not."

"Really?" Trisha grinned, sitting up and tossing the diary onto the bed. "Because our only other male friend is a thirty-two-year-old police officer, Andina."

Andi groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Ugh, don't call me that."

Trisha chuckled and tossed her a pillow. "Just admit it. You've got a thing for the motorcycle-riding, permanently-grounded disaster boy."

"I do not!"

"Uh-huh. And I don't eat an entire pizza when I'm stressed."

Before Andi could respond, the doorbell rang.

They both froze.

"Expecting someone?" Trisha asked.

Andi shook her head. "Nope. And my parents are out of town..."

They stood slowly, exchanging a glance, cautious.

"Maybe it's the pizza you ordered in your sleep," Trisha whispered.

But when they peeked out the upstairs window, they saw a motorcycle parked at the curb. And beside it—Officer Caleb Ross, laughing about something with Troy.

Andi's eyes narrowed. "Oh no."

Trisha crossed her arms. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the look of a girl in denial."

---

Trisha stepped away from the window, still smirking. "You really need to stop pretending you don't like him. Especially after the incident."

Andi rolled her eyes. "Not this again..."

But her stomach twisted. Because she remembered it perfectly.

---

[Flashback – Two Weeks Ago | Ridgepine High School Courtyard]

The school courtyard buzzed with lunch-hour noise—cliques clustered on benches, vending machines clicking, the low hum of gossip and laughter.

Andi had just walked past the picnic tables in her bright red and white sundress, tray in hand, when it happened.

SMACK.

A hand struck her backside, sharp and deliberate.

She froze. A few feet behind her, Brandon Mayer was already laughing, high-fiving his friends like he'd just won a game.

"Nice dress, Monroe," he called.

Time stuttered.

Then, from the far edge of the courtyard, a blur moved.

Troy.

He stormed over without a word, eyes blazing. The crowd turned. Brandon stood up just in time to see Troy's fist flying.

CRACK.

Blood sprayed. Brandon hit the ground, screaming, clutching his nose.

Chaos erupted. Teachers rushed in. Students screamed. Andi stood there, shocked, her tray still in her hands.

Troy didn't even try to run. He just stood there, breathing hard, fists clenched, glaring down at Brandon like he wanted to hit him again.

Principal McNally had dragged him away, shouting about suspension and consequences. Troy never once looked away from Brandon.

---

[Present]

Andi blinked, the memory still sharp.

"He got suspended for that," she said softly.

Trisha raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. And grounded for two months. But sure—you don't like him."