Warning: As hinted at in the last chapter, Jamie's been in some kind of accident. Now we get to find out what happened, but be warned, it gets slightly graphic.  

Also, I'm sorry if you're offended by talk of farts and poop, but you'll have to forgive Jamie and his friends. They're typical boys... what do you expect? Lol :p

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It's Friday, but somehow, this single day feels like three rolled into one. It's been dragging and I'm nearly drowning in my need to get out of this prison. I'm feeling antsy by the time lunch rolls around. With odd looks from Penny and Clarice—which makes me wonder if they've had a little chit chat recently—and a desperate need for fresh air, I present Drew and Dillon with the idea of going out for lunch.

It's not really permitted by the school to leave the grounds through the day, but seniors tend to have a little leeway... sometimes—depending on who catches you. Without hesitation, both boys agree and we make our way out to the parking lot.

Everything feels so much quieter when you're breaking the rules. It's the eerie feeling that someone's watching. As I hop on my motorcycle, the feeling skitters up my spine and I just know we're going to get caught. And yet, we don't.

Seems luck is on my side today.

We make it to Durty Gurt's burger joint in under five minutes and take our seats to order.

"Have you ever wondered..." Drew begins to say, flipping open his menu and skimming the pages, "when you're in a theater and a stranger is sitting beside you, which one of you gets the armrest? Like, do they expect people to share, or is there some unknown rule that everyone automatically has to use the left one?"

"Uh," I say, brows creased as I consider his question, "then wouldn't it make sense to always sit at the furthest right end of the row? Then you'd always have two armrests."

Both guys take a moment to visualize this before speaking.

"That," Drew says, pointing a salt shaker at me, "is brilliant, my man." His action causes a sprinkling of salt to rain down on the table and I use my forearm to swipe it to the floor.

Now I can't stop thinking about movies and how badly I'd love to set up a projector somewhere out in the woods and watch horror movies all night. I'm even picturing how we'd string a white sheet between two branches to create the screen and then lay out several sleeping bags on the foliage where Penny and I would cuddle as she screams and trembles in fear. Maybe we could somehow hook the projector up to the car battery and—

"You know what else I've always wondered?" he starts to say, breaking my thoughtful silence just as the waitress sets our plates in front of us.

"Thank you," Dillon mutters to the lady, receiving a warm smile from her before she turns to leave.

"Is why do we put the word 'pretty' in front of everything. Like 'pretty much' or 'pretty dumb.'"

"Pretty ugly," I supply.

"Yes!" he exclaims. "Like, what a stupid thing to say. Pretty ugly? How does that make a lick of sense? Why is English such a stupid language?"

"Let's add 'Lick of sense' to that list of stupid sayings," I joke, slapping Drew's shoulder blade.

"Sure makes me glad that English is my mother tongue," Dillon speaks up. "Though, I've heard that Chinese is pretty diffic—

"Did you just say... mother tongue?" Drew blurts, a strange look crossing his face as he slides his drink away and aims a pointed look at Dillon.

"Yes, I did," Dillon tells him, a smile lifting one side of his mouth. "Why? Would you like a dictionary so you can look it up?"

"Or toilets!" Drew suddenly hollers, oblivious to the fact that he's just totally ignored Dillon's question and changed the topic all with just two words. "Why are they made of porcelain? Seriously the most echoey material on the planet. Like, silent but deadly farts don't exist on toilets. Even a puff of air sounds like a foghorn. It's just stupid. Why not build a toilet out of rubber or foam?"

"Really? Foam?" Dillon deadpans. "I don't think irritable bowel syndrome would bode well for a foam toilet. Imagine trying to clean that thing?"

"But can't they design bathrooms, in general, to be less like an echo chamber," Drew goes on to say, again ignoring Dillon's questions.

I shoot Dillon a look of amusement to which he simply shrugs.

"Why tile?" Drew says. "Couldn't they soundproof a public bathroom just a little better. It's bad enough when my fart reverberates around my toilet bowl, but when the sound spreads into the entire bathroom, I just feel..." He seems stumped as to how to explain how public farting makes him feel.

"I figured you'd be proud," I tell him.

"Yeah," Dillon agrees. "The louder the better, right?"

Drew begins to chuckle, as he bites into his burger, but apparently, his mind formed an image and the hilarity of it could not be contained. A sudden burst of laughter leaves his lips as he uses the back of his hand to prevent his food from flying. Again, Drew and I share a look before we begin chuckling along with him.

Our conversation only grows stupider as we sit around munching on our burgers and fries. Before we know it, it's time to report back to the Galena prison of High Schoolers. 

"See ya back in hell!" Drew hollers as I hop back on my bike. 

I offer a salute before shoving my helmet over my head. I check the time again, realizing I've only got five minutes before class starts. Considering it takes five minutes just to get back to the school, I come to the conclusion that I'm either gonna be late or I'm gonna have to fly.

I'll only be missing Free Period if I don't hurry, not such a big deal. And then Lynn's pretty little face pops into my head. Somehow in the craziness that is my life I'd totally forgotten about her. Now, let's be honest, my life is anything but crazy, but since receiving her letters, I've been completely stumped as to how I should confront her about it. Maybe it's cowardly of me, but I'm just taking a day or two to wrap my head around the truth. At some point in our friendship, she liked me. It's absurd.

So, then why does my chest feel warm at the idea of her still harboring feelings for me? I'm clearly conflicted. I can't decide if the idea of her liking me makes me absolutely nauseated or disturbingly excited. My heart belongs to Penny... or, at least, a small fraction of it does. I like the girl. I'm not ready to just move on, and most certainly not with Lynn.

But that doesn't mean I'm not a little bit curious to see her today and give her a chance to explain herself.

With Lynn on my mind, I decide to take the quickest route to school. I make a sharp turn onto Franklin, and then accelerate, thankful that there are no stoplights the rest of the way back. I slow down slightly when I spot a white car that looks like it might belong to a cop. When I know I'm safe, I gun it again. I approach an intersection, but since I have right of way and no stop signs, I continue though.

There's no way I could have ever prepared for the kid on the blue bicycle to veer off the sidewalk and directly into my path. There's no way I could have swerved to avoid a collision in time. There's no way I even had a chance to apply the breaks as everything erupted into debris-raining chaos.

There was just no way.

The boy seemed to come out of nowhere, his small legs pumping the pedals as determination creased his brow. From somewhere in the back of my mind I think I hear someone cry out a name, but it doesn't register. I'm already in survival mode... only, it's not so much my life that I'm worried about.

I try to swerve, but I knick the bicycle's front tire. The sound of horns blaring has the nerves in my brain on high alert. For a moment, I'm aware of everything. I hear the crunch of metal, the squealing of tires, the screams of a child. 

It's the screaming that has the hairs on my arms rising in sickening alarm and I risk glancing back for a moment. Regret instantly bombards me, knocking into my consciousness like an ice cold tidal wave.

The boy has been thrown off his bike, lying unmoving in the very center of the intersection. Certain body parts appear to be mangled pretty heavily, and one of his small legs is bent in a direction no body was ever made to bend.

I'm in a panic.

My heart is driving a hole into my chest, terror racing into my shaking limbs. Just the two-second glance that I spared to look behind me was all it took. The site of such innocence—now crumpled and broken—and the shock of what I'd done causes me to lose focus. Before I have time to stop, the sound of more horns begins screaming into the air.

I see the truck just milliseconds before it crushes my body beneath it. I can feel myself being dragged across the pavement, the crunching of metal eating into my conscience as I become aware that my bike has been destroyed. I feel each pebble—each ridge of asphalt—as it grinds into my flesh, ripping and tearing it into shreds.

My vision is blurry, darkness settling in around me as I demand myself to wake up. Faint images of a large vehicle resting on its side keep coming in and out of focus. My brain feels like it's been thrown into a blender. Nothing's making any sense.

I need to go.

I need to get to class.

But I can't move. It's as if I've been glued to the ground, or like someone had filled every cavity of my body with sand. Even lifting a finger is impossible.

I can see something large and shiny towering over me—a truck, maybe?—and for a moment I wonder why it's so insufferably close to me? Why isn't it moving? Why aren't I moving? I can hear the echoing of voices, people crowding around to witness whatever has just happened, but I've already forgotten. I feel nothing. I can sense myself grinning into the sky— delusional—and yet I feel nothing. My nerves are dead. My emotions are dead.

Am I dead?

There's a slow fight between brightness and dark. In the moments of light, I can see my body—an unsightly mess of bones jutting into mutilated, blood-soaked skin, but I don't care. I don't care about anything but sleep. Without further coaxing, my eyelids drift shut and my entire world turns black, muting the pandemonium around me.

It won't be until later that I'll realize what's happened.

In the span of five seconds, I destroyed four vehicles, three lives, two street signs, and a bicycle ... all because of one girl.

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Okay, that was a big chapter. How do you feel about it? Are you anxious to find out if Jamie's going to be okay?? :(

Again, feel free to point out any plot holes or mistakes throughout the story. I'm bound to make mistakes, so having your help is essential. Thank you!