7:15

the cd

someone you loved / lewis capaldi

We have a week to put together a speech that will do justice to our favorite book. A week. Seven days. I've thought about it all day long, and I still haven't solved my biggest problem: which book do I choose? I mean, I've read tons. As Riley himself said, I'm a heavy reader.

Speaking of Riley, how am I supposed to help somebody else comprehend a book that they've read? What if he hasn't read any meaningful books? Not only do I have to scramble to put together a suitable speech for a favorite book of my own, but now the fate of our school's quarterback rests in my hands.

Momentarily tossing the thought aside, I push open my front door and wander outside. I pull my phone out of the pocket of my favorite blue hoodie and press play on my phone. The song "1950," by King Princess travels through my headphones, blessing my ears.

I close the door behind me and walk across my yard. A flock of birds flies overhead, most likely migrating to somewhere with a warmer winter time. The wind picks up, blowing the little hairs that had fell out of my braid.

I live in a small area. Our school, Hudson High, has roughly 300 students  in total. Our school consists of a cluster of three small towns — Maydale, Hudson, and Brimway. Our middle and high schools are located in Hudson, which is currently the biggest of the three towns with a whopping 800 residents. The elementary school is in Brimway, which is the second-biggest town in our little cluster with roughly 650 people. I live in Maydale, the smallest town with nothing exciting. We have a park, a coffee shop, a post office, and a town population of 472 people.

All I've ever known is a small town and I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. My aunt Tiana — Mom's sister — lives in a city near Minneapolis. My mom and I have visited her on multiple occasions, staying with her for weeks at a time in the summer. It's completely different than a small town, of course. I love the cities. There is an abundance of things to do. There's always something happening and everything always seems exciting. At least, it does to me.

But here, in Maydale, it's quiet. The streets are never busy. Nothing drastic ever happens. It's calm.

I stand on the curb and look left and right to make sure a car isn't coming. The song in my earbuds switches to "Everything You Are," by Ed Sheeran as I cross the street. My house is on the corner. Right across from it, there is a cluster of mailboxes. I walk to it, opening ours. I pull our mail out of it, examining each envelope while Ed's beautiful voice soothes me. Heather Zucker, Heather Zucker, Daisy Zucker, Heather Zucker. I lift my head and double-check the mailbox, making sure it's empty.

Maybe I don't wanna be lonely
Darling, you are my only love
Behind my truth lies
Everything you —

A pickup truck comes rumbling around the corner at a speed that is much higher than legal. I stumble back, my eyes glued to the truck. Something catches the back of my ankle and I trip. Instinctively, I put my hand out to catch my fall. The mail falls out of my grip and the palm of my hand makes hard contact with the curb, causing me to cry out in pain.

The truck comes to an abrupt halt. Within seconds, both the passenger and driver seat doors are open and two boys jump out. I recognize them both from school. Quinton Marx, the driver of the vehicle, has a look on his face that shows an odd mix of concern and annoyance. The passenger, Lincoln Brooks, mirrors this look. My heart sinks.

Quickly, in hopes of avoiding confrontation, I pick up the mail and try to stand. The second I push myself up with my hands, a sharp pain travels through my right wrist. I grimace, keeping my eyes on the street instead of the two teenage boys approaching me, and I sit back down.