Fifty-three miles from the beaches of the Pacific, the sun had set on the dark streets of Chino. In the heart of the city, Larch Street was the darkest of them all. Of the ten streetlights on the block, five flickered on and off, and three were out completely. This part of Chino was always hazy, never really bright and never really dark. On the sunniest of days, the streets were clouded with exhaust sputtering from beat-up cars and the lawns were filled with discarded furniture. Even the California sun couldn’t make it bright. But nothing could make it dark either. The nights were flanked by police helicopters hovering with searchlights overhead, and the wail of sirens and the flashers on police cars cast too much light on the dusty homes. Life in Chino was plain and far from extraordinary. In a county of orange, Chino was gray. Ryan Atwood had lived in the gloom of Larch Street most of his life, and never traveled much further than the brand-new Italian restaurant they had built in the next town over. Not that he had ever

eaten the gourmet food, his family was too poor to eat out much, but he had found a liquor store next to it that would let him buy cigarettes without an I.D. Ryan was only sixteen, but with his strong build and confident rebel façade, Ryan passed for twenty. He had just returned from the liquor store with a fresh pack of cigarettes for himself and Theresa, his best friend and sometime girlfriend. “You’re back.” Ryan gave her his look, the look that she couldn’t resist. The look that said it all without any words. He handed her a cigarette. She lit hers off of his as she pulled her long brown hair off her face. Theresa and Ryan had known each other since they were kids, and it was part of their routine as friends, at least since they had gotten older, to smoke a few cigarettes on her back porch while just talking. Ryan took a drag off his cigarette. Today had been a rough day. Not that any day had ever been great, but today it had just gotten to Ryan. His family life was less than perfect. He had woken up to his brother, Trey, stumbling in drunk and A.J., his mother’s boyfriend, slapping him across the face to wake him up. His mom had skipped work yet again, and he had had to call in sick for her. He started to tell Theresa all the details, but . . . Two houses down, Ryan could hear the fighting. Theresa knew what he was about to say. They inhaled deep from their cigarettes — puffed smoke rings at each other and smiled when the rings crossed and disintegrated.

A.J. and his mom were at it again. They did this when they drank. It was their idea of fun, and it was just the way it was between them. A.J. would drink a twelve-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon and his mom would drink as much tequila as she could stomach. Then they would yell and scream, essentially about nothing. And when it got quiet, Ryan knew they had made up and taken it into the bedroom. Sometimes Ryan was embarrassed. Especially when he saw Mr. Ramirez across the street, with his two young daughters, trying to shield them from the mess that was his family. Theresa put her head in Ryan’s lap as they continued smoking under the gray light of the moon. Ryan was comforted by her brown eyes and the smoothness of her skin as he stroked her cheek. Ever since his father went away to prison, Ryan’s mom had had a string of abusive boyfriends. A.J. was the latest and, in Ryan’s mind, he was the worst. He supported her drinking and even perpetuated the problem. A.J. never worked and was constantly mooching off Dawn. He was a living contradiction. He never wanted Dawn to work, yet he expected her to pay for everything. He preferred her drunk in bed with him than off at work. He practically kicked Trey out of the house. And now, Trey was rarely around. He stayed out drinking all night, or slept over at girls’ places just to avoid the misery that was the Atwood home. Ryan despised A.J. for taking away his brother. The one person he could share his misery with was gone and in