Oliver's P.O.V
Days passed and so did my nightmares. All of them were about losing Jess.
I hadn't been forced to play out for a whole week, the same with every one else, but the next Tuesday, my Mum came to me.
"Oliver. Can you play out tonight? I've got a big meeting coming up and Peter's parents are still at the hospital, so I can't rely on them," she begged me.
"Whatever," I replied, my heart sinking all the way down to my feet.
She grinned, satisfied with her accomplishment.
Really, I felt worried that Peter's attacker would return for us. I texted Jess about my new plans.
⚽ Oliver ⚽ Hey Jess! How you doing? My Mum's making me play out tonight. Don't want to.
🎮 Jess 🎮 I'm doing good. Want my Mum to pick you up and take you back to mine instead of putting yourself in danger?
⚽ Oliver ⚽ Thanks, that'd be awesome. See you tomorrow :)
🎮 Jess 🎮 See you tomorrow :)
The next day, I sat through the endless six hours of school, waiting for the day to end. When Miss Thatcher finally let us go home, I rushed over to Jess. "You ready?" she asked me.
"Yup."
We walked straight out of the door and towards the carpark. Parked in a parking lot near the front, was Rachel (Jess's Mum) 's yellow minivan. My heart skipped a beat as some of the guys in our class walked by. Jess didn't seem the slightest bit embarassed, but that's because she is independent and doesn't care what anyone else think. I am a different story. I care deeply.
Rachel honked the horn loud enough for the whole country to hear and shouted to us, "You getting in or what?"
I mean, her Mum was young (she was only fourteen when she had Jess, so she was 24 now) which meant she was cool, and understood us, but her minivan didn't reflect this.
I forced myself to walk up the the back seat, and sat in the muddy, black chair that was revealed when I opened the stiff door.
Jess had explained to me about their car before. About how, as a young and single mother, Rachel had been short on money, and had inherited the minivan as a hand-me-down from her brother. It had previously been a navy-blue colour (which would have been tolerable), but her brother had spray painted it bright yellow for a parade, and could never scrape it off.
Jess sat happily in the seat next to me. When I saw Darrell (the most popular boy in school) stroll past, I pulled the hood of my hoodie over my head and slouched low.
The whole ride to Jess's, she and her mother (who could have been her sister) chatted away to me about the normal. School, friends, homework, uniform. As we turned into her street, the topic of Peter came up.
"How's Peter?" Rachel asked me, looking at me in the mirror.
"He's doing alright. I spoke to him the other day. He might be out soon," I replied, tears welling up in my eyes. It hurt to talk about Peter when he was in such a terrible condition.
Rachel nodded, realising that this was a sensitive topic for me to talk about. We pulled up on their drive and Jess hopped out. I rushed out, relived to be out of the terrible minivan.
