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Description
I made some sort of affirmative sound. What I should have said was: Actually, my name is Deena Jennifer Eames. I live at 32309 Scirocco Street. I was born in Chicago, Illinois nineteen years ago - specifically on June 14th (I’m a Gemini!).

My dad is Cillian Eames, a published historian, and my mom is Marlena Jansky Eames, a charter pilot and flight instructor.

When I graduated high school early and received a full scholarship to UCEM, my parents used that as an excuse to move the lot of us to El Milagro, a gorgeous little town we all loved immediately.

But we had only been here three months when my parents were killed in an accident over the Memorial Day weekend. A drunk driver - in the middle of the afternoon - slammed into their car while rocketing through an intersection. The drunk driver lost his license and did a minimum of jail time, but survived, so, there’s that.

Thanks to my parents’ wills and their life insurance, I inherited the house and a nest egg that pretty much meant I’d never have to work a day in my life (though, what would I do with all that free time?). Without any traceable extended family on either my mom’s or dad’s side, I also was without any legal guardian, but after a court ordered evaluation and with my 18th birthday looming, I was deemed adult enough to avoid being put into the foster care system.

So that left me a 17 year-old orphan in a new town where I barely knew anyone, all alone in a house full of memories and my dead parents’ stuff.

Description
I made some sort of affirmative sound. What I should have said was: Actually, my name is Deena Jennifer Eames. I live at 32309 Scirocco Street. I was born in Chicago, Illinois nineteen years ago - specifically on June 14th (I’m a Gemini!).

My dad is Cillian Eames, a published historian, and my mom is Marlena Jansky Eames, a charter pilot and flight instructor.

When I graduated high school early and received a full scholarship to UCEM, my parents used that as an excuse to move the lot of us to El Milagro, a gorgeous little town we all loved immediately.

But we had only been here three months when my parents were killed in an accident over the Memorial Day weekend. A drunk driver - in the middle of the afternoon - slammed into their car while rocketing through an intersection. The drunk driver lost his license and did a minimum of jail time, but survived, so, there’s that.

Thanks to my parents’ wills and their life insurance, I inherited the house and a nest egg that pretty much meant I’d never have to work a day in my life (though, what would I do with all that free time?). Without any traceable extended family on either my mom’s or dad’s side, I also was without any legal guardian, but after a court ordered evaluation and with my 18th birthday looming, I was deemed adult enough to avoid being put into the foster care system.

So that left me a 17 year-old orphan in a new town where I barely knew anyone, all alone in a house full of memories and my dead parents’ stuff.