Ryan sat on the steps of the house. His bookbag sat behind him on the top step while his ringing cell phone sat on the step next to his boot.
A half-smoked cigarette sat in between his fingers and he watched the smoke play with the air and tried to plan his next step from here.
He could always just answer the cell phone and go back to Newport. To the Cohens. Marissa. But he couldn't. Never again. He didn't think he even wanted to. That was a lie, if Ryan could go back in time and keep that event from ever happening, he'd go back to Newport. But he couldn't so now he had to pick up what he could of his life which consisted in whatever he'd shoved into his bookbag in those five minutes and move on. As he did, he stomped on the cell phone. Cutting off Newport for good.