Your Lonely Nights Are Over by Adam Sass EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Adam Sass
- Language: English
- Genre: Suspense
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
DEARIE
I’M PROBABLY THE ONLY person in school not obsessed with that
Sandman show. I can’t escape it. Popular kids, nerds, teachers, janitors—
since the show dropped, everyone’s become an amateur detective.
Yesterday, AP Bio didn’t start for fifteen minutes because Mr. Kirby was
theorizing about the killer’s incomplete shoe print. He and my best friend,
Cole Cardoso, went on and on about how modern technology could recreate
the print better than seventies computers (if only the evidence still existed).
“It’s a shame San Diego PD didn’t keep better records before the FBI
got involved.” Mr. Kirby sighed.
Cole was trying to convince Kirby that Mr. Sandman knew someone in
the force—a father or friend—who messed with the evidence. But Mr.
Kirby just shook his head. “Never ascribe to malice what can be explained
by incompetence.”
Cole rolled his eyes. “Corrupt and incompetent, then.”
Mr. Kirby clumsily tied his obsession back into the bio lesson for the
day, but nobody was mad at the distraction. For the first time in his teaching
career, he had his students riveted.
Anyway, because Mr. Sandman was never found, this show has my
classmates thinking he’s behind every corner. But the slayings happened in
San Diego, California, and this is Stone Grove, Arizona: a rusty, dusty
canyon town of twenty thousand. A lonely place to live, sure, but unlikely
to see the return of a famous boomer slasher. I don’t blame people for
gossiping. They like thinking something exciting could happen here.
But Stone Grove isn’t that special.
Which is why I’m not bothered about these death threats that have been
popping up. They’re a prank, as simple as that. Today, Queer Club is
meeting about the texting drama during free period, and I’m here to make
sure they stop believing the whispers that Cole and I are behind these
anonymous texts. This happens a lot—people blaming us. Looking cute and
inspiring jealousy are kind of our thing. But death threats? That warrants a
public denial.
Maybe we should get publicists! High school reputation publicists
should be a thing, but until that day comes, I have to make my own
statements. So here I am in room 208, the Queer Club’s regularly reserved
space—where the band and choir rehearsed before they built the new
auditorium. It’s a theater-in-the-round classroom with desks scattered across
three levels of crescent-shaped stadium platforms. Since the auditorium
opened, it’s become a flex space, either for clubs or a quiet study area—
which is why I’m a stranger here. I study in my own time.
Just kidding, I have extremely bad senioritis.
Actually, that’s also a lie. I got early acceptance to my top-choice
theater school in LA, so I don’t have senioritis; it’s more like I’m ready to
leave this town so I can start living my life–itis.
“I didn’t see you at the meeting last week,” says a pretty, upbeat white
girl with long, silvery hair. Her name is Em. She’s a trans sophomore whose
cheerleading social circle has never quite bumped into mine—which is a
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