Reapers -- Thirteen Brothers

More than a hundred and fifty thousand people die every day. More than six thousand die every hour and more than a hundred every minute as we speak.

The thing about loving people is, you would think they will always be there. But this is the harsh reality—people die. And I learned that the hard way.

It was the twelfth time we’d moved since Mom died. This time, it was Ashland, Pennsylvania. Dad said he needed inspiration, which was his excuse for dragging us to a place a few miles away from Centralia, the ghost town burning from underground. Our new house felt creepy, with creaking floors and a cupboard door that opened by itself.

Now, it was my first day at North Schuylkill Senior High. I just wanted to get through the day unnoticed, but that plan went south in Spanish class, thanks to a teacher who seemed scared of me and a girl who frantically warned me about my seat. And then there was Vincent Sinclair, the boy who slept through class but seemed to know more than he let on.