Rocks Fall Everyone Dies

by Lindsay Ribar

  It was going to mean starting over.

  Fortunately, I knew someone who could help me with that.

  When we hit the city, Aunt Holly dropped me off at Penn Station, just like we’d planned.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked, as she pulled over. A cab honked at us. She ignored it. “Reaching is a huge part of your life. All our lives. And quitting cold turkey … it’s not easy. Trust me.”

  “I still have to try,” I said. “Can you pop the trunk?”

  She did, and I dragged my suitcase onto the curb. She rolled down the passenger window and leaned over. “Aspen. Before you go, I just wanted to say … I think you did a good thing. Okay?”

  I clutched at my neck. Not because it hurt. Just out of habit.

  “What Willow did was her choice.” Aunt Holly’s voice was firm, even though her eyes were starting to look watery. “She could have lived. She chose not to. You understand?”

  I nodded. I understood that better than Aunt Holly, even. I was the one who’d seen Willow’s face in the moment she’d decided to jump. I could still see it.

  I could still see her falling, too.

  “I have to go,” I said. “My train’s really soon.”

  Aunt Holly forced a smile. “Take care of yourself, okay? And text me when you get there, just so we know you’re safe.”

  We. My aunt and my dad. I wondered how long she’d stay with him. Or, hey, maybe she’d just move in. We had an extra room, and I couldn’t see her wanting to go back to Three Peaks any time soon.

  Or she could have my room, maybe.

  It wasn’t rush hour, so there were no lines for the ticket machines. My suitcase and I headed down the escalator and onto the LIRR train waiting on the tracks.

  I didn’t call ahead.

  The walk from the train station to the house was a short one, and soon enough I found myself lugging my suitcase up the three steps to the porch. I rang the doorbell. I couldn’t tell if anyone was home, since the garage was closed and the curtains were drawn and—

  The door opened. In the pale hallway light was a face I hadn’t seen in nearly six months. I tried for a smile. It didn’t quite work.

  “Aspen,” she whispered.

  “Hi, Mom.” I hesitated for only a moment, then asked, “Can I come in?”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to all those who helped me write this book. You know who you are, but in case you don’t …

  To my family: You guys rock. Thanks for rocking.

  To Jess Verdi and Corey Haydu: Thanks for your early reads, back when this thing was still an amoeba instead of a book.

  To Nikki Vassallo: Thanks for those evil drinks of yours. Apparently they, uh, made an impression.

  To Amie Kaufman: Thanks for filling me with Australian wine, dunking me in the hot springs, and then solving the entire middle of my book without even trying.

  To Alison Cherry, Michelle Schusterman, Nina Lourie, and Jeri Smith-Ready: Thank you for reading this thing five billion times, for all your notes and suggestions, for all the months of brainstorming and replotting, and for being generally amazing at life.

  To everyone at Penguin (especially Claire Evans) and Greenburger (especially Wendi Gu): Thanks for everything you’ve all done in support of my work.

  To Brenda Bowen: Thanks for basically being my publishing therapist. And for the tattoo! That’s how author/agent relationships are supposed to work, right? Totally.

  To Kathy Dawson: Thanks for always getting what I’m going for, even when I don’t. You are terrifyingly awesome.

  To everyone reading this book: Thank you for reading this book!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lindsay Ribar is the author of The Art of Wishing, The Fourth Wish, and Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies. By the time you read this, she has hopefully still not been killed by zombies. You can learn more (about Lindsay, not the zombies) at www.lindsayribar.com, or follow Lindsay on Twitter at @LindsayRibar and on Tumblr at lindsayribar.tumblr.com.

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