A Twist of Fate SERIES (Pentatonix)

EXTRAS #3

These were all of my attempts at a first chapter for the sequel (before deciding to just keep it one book)... Lol, they kind of suck, I'm sorry. 😅 **all unedited

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#1: i deleted the first one lol but basically it was just scott on tour after he went solo following mitch's death...

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#2: broken ones

( SCOTT )

"Scott, honey, it's time to go. You don't want to be late, do you?" Mom asks gently as she comes up the stairs. She immediately stops when she sees where I am, what I'm doing: in front of my desk, blurrily staring down at the picture frames and photo albums covering the polished surface and the drops of salty water already scattering the plastic sheeting made to protect the memories.

I sniffle quietly, though I don't really need to hide it. The crew flew out to Texas three days ago, and I've been staying at my parents' house since then. They've heard all of the cries, all of the screams, all of the prayers and the godforsaken 11:11 wishes. They've shed some tears themselves, of course, especially when they found out the real reason their son was crashing at their place with a bag hastily packed by Kevin for an undetermined period of time. They learned about the abrupt cancellation of The Pentatonix Reunion Tour just like the rest of the world: through social media. And they had questions-lots of them. But the letter I showed them, the letter that's pressing against my left pec at the moment, supplied them with every answer they could have ever wanted. And so trying to hide the fact that I'm still shedding a more than a few tears every hour is essentially pointless.

"Scott?" Mom tries again, even gentler this time, and, though I don't look away from the photos, I know she's entering the room. My room. The room that holds just as many memories as these old photo albums. "Honey, the car's here. It's time to go."

I pull my bottom lip in-between my teeth, biting down so hard it starts to shake. Mom gingerly wraps an arm around my shoulder blades, her free hand curling around my bicep. My skin burns at her touch, even under the too-many layers of this damn tuxedo that Jonathan forced me to dig out of my closet, to send off to the dry cleaners, to iron, to purchase a garment bag so that it wouldn't get ruined on the flight... and then to actually put it on even though every atom in my entire body doesn't want to, doesn't want to think about the reason it's on, doesn't want to picture all of the despondent and teary faces that will be seen today.

"Yeah," I finally whisper, my voice hoarse even though it can barely be heard anyways. I swipe at my eyes, and let Mom grab a tissue to wipe my cheeks with a small smile, her eyes wet, too. And then she's guiding me out of my room, down the stairs, and into the back of the limousine that awaits us-even though we're not going to some red carpet event, despite everybody's what-would-be-fancy clothes if it weren't for an occasion such as this.

The ride to the church is filled with complete silence, aside from the small sounds that come from Kirstie's throat as she tries to swallow down her tears. Yesterday she had joked that she needed to go out and buy more waterproof mascara, but now the idea of cracking a joke is a joke all in itself. I can't even think about anything other than sadness; it's like my brain is numb, empty, muddled, so overcome by exhaustion and oncoming depression and the fact that I just don't fucking know what to do anymore.

I vaguely remember Jonathan telling me the church was twenty minutes away from my house, but it feels like twenty seconds. Because one moment my mother is guiding me across the front lawn to the car, and the next she's guiding me out of the car and up the cracked steps of the church. "Quickly," she whispers. "We can't let anyone see you."