This one should be pretty good. Criticize, people, criticize!Chapter 1: That Fateful Day
Maria, Walker, and I drive down the road in Memphis, Tennessee, on our way to town to see a movie. Maria and I sit in the front seat, Hillary Duff blaring in her speakers. We mouth every single word, and Maria’s eyes are anywhere but the road.
“Harley, turn it down!” shouts Walker to me over the extraordinarily loud song. “It’s killing my eardrums.”
Boys and their endless complaints. And people always say that girls are the fussy ones!
I turn it louder in response. “Is that better?”
He crosses his arms and sinks back in his seat, with an angry look on his face. People tease he and I all the time about liking each other, but we’ve known each other way too long to feel that way.
“Hey, Walker, where’s your sense of humor?” asks Maria, in her slightly accented voice. Her parents are both from Mexico, and she’s proud of that.
“He lost it years ago.” I roll my eyes.
We arrive in one of the sketchiest areas of Memphis. It’s a lot of alleyways and beat up trucks. None of us feel very comfortable.
“Roll up the windows,” says Walker. “And slow down, would you? I mean, the speed limit is thirty and you’re pushing sixty.”
“Calm down, Walker,” she says, annoyed. “You’re always way too serious and scared. I mean, it’s not like any of us are going to get shot.”
But she spoke too soon.
“Maria!” I gasp.
The car goes out of control with no driver, and neither Walker nor I have time to react. We hit the curb, and then spin out of control. The car does twists, and finally, lands on Maria’s side.
Before my world disappears into an endless black haze, I see three men running away from the scene, and several people rushing outside to see what’s going on.
“Is she okay?” are the first words I hear when I wake up. My mother. “Is she going to be alright?”
“We did everything that we could,” says the doctor.
“Mom?” I say, and a sharp pain shoots from my stomach. “Oh!” I groan.
“Try not to talk too much,” she says. “It’ll hurt you.”
The doctor walks up to me. “Hello, Harley. I’m Doctor Zeborsky,” he introduces himself. “That was a pretty nasty car crash you got into. You broke three ribs, your scapula, your sternum, and your femur bone.”
“Oh,” I reply, not knowing half of what bones he’s talking about.
“Well, I’m going to go check up on some other patients,” he says.
“Thank you, Doctor Zeborsky,” says mom, smiling. She turns to me. “How do you feel?”
“As good as I’m going to feel for a while.” I sigh and I close my eyes. “Maria and Walker aren’t fine, are they?”
She sighs. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she says. “There was nothing the doctors could do.”
A mixture of hurt, anger, sadness, and confusion causes tears to flood my eyes.
“They were my best friends,” I say weakly, ignoring the pain.
“I know,” she hugs me gently, trying to be as careful as possible.
My eyes burn and I tremble everywhere. “I hate those three men!” I yell.
“Three men?” she wonders aloud. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t know how Maria lost control, do you, mom?” I ask.
“I thought she was just driving too fast,” she admits.
“No, mom. When we were driving down that sketchy part of town on our way to the movie,” I begin, my voice still very shaky from tears, “Maria was shot.”
Her eyes become as big as I've ever seen them before. “I had no idea, Harley! I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I sob. “The car landed on Maria’s side. Walker was sitting on that side with her.”
“I’m so sorry! I had no idea!”
“What am I going to do?” I cry. “My best friends in the whole world are both dead!”
She hugs me again, this time more tightly, and runs out of the room crying.
I cry to myself, grieving over the loss of Maria and Walker.
Before long, a young man with flowers walks in my room. I take note of his looks, because he looks a lot like Walker. He has the same dark auburn hair, the same almost crooked nose, and the same perfectly white teeth.
“Hello, uh, Harley?” he asks, in a heavily accented voice.
“I’m Harley,” I answer. “Who…who are you?”
“My name’s Elias Parks,” he replies. “I’m sorry about your unfortunate situation.”
“Thank you,” I whisper softly, choking back the urge to cry.
“These are for you.” He holds up the bouquet of sun-yellow flowers.
“Thank you,” I say. “You can set them on the table.”
He walks over to the table and sets them down. “You were in a pretty bad accident.”
“That’s what people keep saying.”
“Well, it’s true.” He nods. “The car landed on its side.”
“I know, but how do you?”
“I was there,” he replies. “I live a few blocks from the place where your car landed. I brought you to the hospital.”
“Thank you,” I say again. “I probably would have died without your help.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he says. “Uh, well, I’ll leave you alone so you can get some rest.”
“If you want to stay…,” I begin, but stop midway.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to impose,” he says. “I know you ain’t feeling too well.”
“You can stay or leave. Either one.” I try to shrug, but then I remember that a scapula is a bone in your shoulder.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks at it. “My mom just texted that I need to be home. I’ll see you later, then, Harley.”
“Bye, and thank you,” I say softly he walks out.
I yawn and lay my head back. I think about everything that has happened to me. I begin to cry again, and before I realize it, I cry myself to sleep.
And the criticizm begins!
