(BIANCA'S POV)
I remember everything about that night like it happened just yesterday.
Every sound. Every smell. Every stupid little detail that didn't matter until it did.
January eighteenth, twenty twelve.
I was twelve years old, hunched over the dining table with my math homework spread out in front of me, pencil tapping against the paper while I tried to focus on fractions that refuse to make sense. My feet didn't reach the floor. They swung back and forth under the chair, slow and absentminded.
The TV was blaring from the living room.
"No, Vanessa, it's my turn!" Dylan screamed, his voice cracking the way it always does when he's angry. I didn't even have to look to know he was wrestling her for the remote again.
"Oh please," Vanessa snapped back. "You've been watching zombie porn for the past hour."
"It's called The Walking Dead!" Dylan yelled. "And it's the best TV show ever. It's way better than that stupid reality crap you're obsessed with."
