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      Andrew Gross

      Fifteen Seconds

      Epigraph

      Everyone is guilty of something, or has some

       thing to conceal. All one has to do is look hard

       enough to find what it is.

      —Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

      Contents

      Title Page

      Epigraph

      Prologue

      Part One

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Part Two

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter Twenty-Six

      Chapter Twenty-Seven

      Part Three

      Chapter Twenty-Eight

      Chapter Twenty-Nine

      Chapter Thirty

      Chapter Thirty-One

      Chapter Thirty-Two

      Chapter Thirty-Three

      Chapter Thirty-Four

      Part Four

      Chapter Thirty-Five

      Chapter Thirty-Six

      Chapter Thirty-Seven

      Chapter Thirty-Eight

      Chapter Thirty-Nine

      Chapter Forty

      Chapter Forty-One

      Chapter Forty-Two

      Chapter Forty-Three

      Chapter Forty-Four

      Chapter Forty-Five

      Chapter Forty-Six

      Chapter Forty-Seven

      Chapter Forty-Eight

      Chapter Forty-Nine

      Chapter Fifty

      Chapter Fifty-One

      Chapter Fifty-Two

      Chapter Fifty-Three

      Chapter Fifty-Four

      Chapter Fifty-Five

      Chapter Fifty-Six

      Chapter Fifty-Seven

      Chapter Fifty-Eight

      Chapter Fifty-Nine

      Chapter Sixty

      Chapter Sixty-One

      Chapter Sixty-Two

      Chapter Sixty-Three

      Chapter Sixty-Four

      Chapter Sixty-Five

      Chapter Sixty-Six

      Chapter Sixty-Seven

      Chapter Sixty-Eight

      Chapter Sixty-Nine

      Chapter Seventy

      Chapter Seventy-One

      Chapter Seventy-Two

      Chapter Seventy-Three

      Chapter Seventy-Four

      Chapter Seventy-Five

      Epilogue

      Acknowledgments

      About the Author

      Other Books by Andrew Gross

      Copyright

      About the Publisher

      Prologue

      It had all gotten a little blurry for Amanda, behind the wheel of her beat-up, eight-year-old Mazda:

      Her recollection of what she’d been doing only twenty minutes before. Katy Perry’s voice on the car radio: “I just kissed a girl …”

      The road.

      She zipped in front of a yellow school bus crawling along ahead of her, the realization beginning to settle in that this wasn’t the right way.

      Truth was, things had been going downhill quickly from the time she’d woken up this morning. First was her pathetic, out-of-work dad, waking her out of a deep sleep—“Why’re you always yelling at me, Daddy?”—threatening to throw her ass out of the house for good if she didn’t change her ways.

      Then her boss, who always seemed to be on her case. Sure, she’d missed some time. I mean, washing hair at that stupid salon, like it was some fancy-ass boutique in Milan or France or somewhere. And her tight-ass instructor at the local cosmetology school, Miss Bad Hair Tease of 2001. At least know how to do it if you’re gonna teach the shit, right? I mean, there had to be some reason the bitch was stuck in a shit bucket like Acropolis, Georgia, right …?

      Not to mention ol’ Wayne, her so-called boyfriend. They’d had another one of their famous blowups last night. Amanda was sure he was nailing the checkout girl at Ruby’s Market, Brandee or something, with her big rack and all, and that cheesy, fake-gold necklace with her name in large script.

      And here she was—one more missed class away from an F, and late again. That class was the only thing keeping a roof over her head these days. Amanda switched lanes, barely squeezing ahead of a slow-moving SUV with a mom and kid in it. “C’mon, c’mon,” she yelled. “I see you— okay?” She turned up the music. She just couldn’t handle this kind of shit today.

      The only way she could even think straight anymore these days was popping a couple of thirty-milligram Oxys like she’d done when she brushed her teeth. Always did the trick.

      Especially with a Xanax chaser.

      Katy Perry sang, “It felt so wrong, it felt so right …” and Amanda sang with her, dancing with her hands off the wheel.

      She heard a loud honk. Like a foghorn in her head. She realized she’d been weaving just a bit. “All right, all right … Jesus, keep your ass on, bitch.” Last thing she needed was for the police to be on her butt today. Nineteen years old. With no money. Flunk out and get your ass tossed in jail.

      Just like me, right …?

      Blinking, Amanda scanned for the turnoff to the school. She knew it was around here somewhere. It was just that everything seemed a little fuzzy about now.

      Next to that Burger King, right …?

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