Young Writers Society

Hey! Basket here! I'm going review this since the first part was just so good. So, here we go. Its going to be the same as last time, mkayy?
So, lets go.

But then I collided with the soil and bushes

My rolling eventually stopped,

He crouched down on his knees so his face was level with mine

The shock of the resemblance to the girl in the road made me gasp.

Brendan snapped his fingers in front of my face, and his voice began to come back. “Ronnie? Ronnie, I’m over here. Hello?”

“Oh,” I said, my throat thick.

My eyes opened, but the stars were so thick that I couldn’t see.

trying not to loose his patience,

You want me to take a breathalyser test?”

knees of his favourite green plaid pyjama pants.

“There’s no permanent damage; just a slight concussion. Go home, get some rest, and she’ll be fine in the morning.

“You sold it?” I shrieked. “You sold my Buell 1125CR?”

like a glass filling with water…

and the near constant smell of moff balls.

Okay, I'm back.

“You’re lucky my friend knows a thing or two about bikes. That thing–”
“You sold it?” I shrieked. “You sold my Buell 1125CR?”

I woke up to the cold, winter-morning brightness, swathed in three wool blankets and flannel pyjamas. (You know, the flannel p.js with the little bears that look like over-fluffed lambs and the wool blankets with little flowers and hearts stitched in.)

There was no more crispy pie shell filled with the goodness of pumpkin; no pumpkin pie for Pumpkin.

You could hear all the gears shifting and grinding against each others as it slugged from the fifth floor.

I stared at the prison-cell like olive walls.

I froze until I heard the slam of his door, and then I glanced at the clock; three AM.

That was February third, the day they put on my mother’s grave stone. Ten years later, and I still remembered each exact detail of that day.
“When will you ever learn, Ronnie?” Dad asked sorrowfully.
Just then, the cab pulled up in front of us, so we opened our doors and got in. The rest of the way home was completely silent.

My legs and arms twisted around painfully as I rolled, getting caught in random branches.

“Your head. It’s bleeding,” he said slowly,

“Well, good evening there, Veronica!” a man’s voice greeted as it passed through the door. He was a fairly old man with a wreath of white hair and a white lab coat to go with it.

Behind his wire framed glasses were deep brown eyes with crinkly laugh lines protruding from the corners.

I said, waving at the gash above my left eyebrow.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. You want me to take a breathalyser test?”

He pressed the needle against the skin on the outer edge of my eyebrow, and I could feel the cold, sharp point threatening to break my skin.
“Ready?” the doctor asked.
I gave a stiff nod.

That Veronica is some trouble maker
Now, there were some tiny typos here and there, but I think I'm going to skip them. This part of the chapter is more captivating than the first one in my opinion. I must say the way you described the flashback from the past is truly great, I felt a strong connection to the little girl (not to mention I squealed when I read the description of the little girl standing on her toes looking outside the window).
I must say something in the hospital conversation doesn't seem right, but I just can't put my finger on it. I think the way you have described the doctor's appearance doesn't really match the way he's acting. Not sure, though, I just feel something wrong there.

You had me from the first part, so please keep PM-ing me the follow-ups, because I'm eager to see what happens next.

My legs and arms twisted around painfully as I rolled, getting caught in random branches.

“Your head. It’s bleeding,” he said slowly,