'Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button girl,
So cradle your head in you hands
And breathe, just breathe,
Whoa breathe, just breathe
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Shock. Disgust. Disbelief. Anger. Worry.
It felt as though a cocktail bomb of emotions had been set off inside my head as I stared at the shooting range paper Alex had brought to school to show Jessica and I the next morning. Someone had left it for him with the words 'better luck next time' written across it in red.
"Holy shit, Alex." The words left Jessica's lips first as we stared at the paper.
"Who's doing this?" I frowned at the boy sitting across from me. My brows furrowed slightly when he didn't answer, his eyes trained on something behind me. I turned around to find one of the baseball players, Scott Reed, walking by our table. As he walked past he raised his hands, bending his fingers at Alex as though he were firing a gun.
"Hey, can you tell whose handwriting this is?" Jessica asked, oblivious to what had just happened.
"Jesus, put it down." Alex hissed as he snatched the paper from her and shoved it back into his bag, not wanting anyone else to see it.
"Sorry. I just... I'm really sorry, Alex," Jessica apologized.
"So you're not alone in this," Alex assured her.
"Sorry I said that. That was really shitty," Jessica shook her head. "I'm just-- This is just a lot."
"I get it-- We both do," I quickly corrected myself. It was the truth, the last year had put all of us through hell, in more ways than one.
"Wait, your hair is different." Alex frowned, seeming to just now notice that Jessica's usually curly locks had been straightened.
"It's court hair," Jessica tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
"You look beautiful," I complimented her.
"I don't like it," Alex shook his head.
"Noted," Jessica scoffed. I opened my mouth to say something but stopped at the sight of a banged up Clay making his way towards us. "What the hell happened to your face?"
"Someone ran me off the road last night," Clay informed us as he took a seat next to Alex. "Someone in what looked like a black Range Rover."
"Bryce," I frowned, well aware of what car the Walker boy drove.
