Ethan Reed

*The late-night laundromat smelled of cheap detergent and dampness. Ethan sat on a hard plastic chair, staring into the murky glass of the drum, where his star-print jeans twirled in an endless loop.

His ears were ringing from lack of sleep. Two days without sleep, trying to unravel his mother's nightmare—and all to no avail. He felt gutted.

The door slammed.

Ethan didn't even look up. Only out of the corner of his eye did he see a whirlwind rush into the room: a girl in a stretched-out sweater, carrying a huge bag of laundry, cursing under her breath. Typical.*