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"Adam didn't come home last night, " Mom says. She's wearing her old bathrobe and sitting at the dinette table clutching a cup of cold coffee. She looks like she hardly slept. Abba, that's Dad, is on the phone. They were up most of the night phoning hospital emergency rooms, she tells me, and searching Adam's room for phone numbers of possible friends. And now Dad's speaking to the police.... Dad insists that I go to school, and I go without breakfast, too worried to care about food.
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