Chapter 43
“BEHIND THE CLOUDS” BY brAD PAISLEY
With a heavy groan, I scratched out another set of lyrics in my notebook and continued to dissociate from my shift at Barkin’ Babe.
Mr. Evers expected us to have these songs written and with a musical backtrack of some sort within a few weeks. As much as I loved music, the most I’d gotten down on paper was some pathetic nursery rhythm.
I’d been trying my hardest to think of something to write about.
Mr. Evers wanted it to be personal to us, even threatened to suspend us from the club if we paid someone to write it.
While I could probably pay someone without him knowing, I didn’t want anything fancy.
I just wanted something good enough to make Diana shake in those square shoes of hers.
“Estelle, my star . . .” I mumbled, scribbling the lyrics down on the crinkled paper. “You are . . . a star? Fucker! Why is this so difficult?”
I ripped the piece of paper out and chuckled it at my feet. My arm paused quick when Scrabble barked in fright and snapped toward my knees, backpedaling to the back corner again.
Slowly, I turned my upper body to face him and leaned against the bars of the kennel. Scrabble had taken a huge step back after leaving his home. Amanda said it was normal, but it made me feel like shit knowing this was Quinntessa’s best friend, and he was as nervous as her.
“Do you miss your mommy?” I asked.
Scrabble showed me his teeth, eyes flickering between me and the floor.
“It’s okay.” I pulled my backpack closer and took my time searching through. When I pulled out an icing covered bone Quinntessa had given me for him, I stuck it through the kennel bars and raised my brows. “It’s from your mommy. She misses?—”
Scrabble barked in my face and snatched the bone out of my hand. He circled around and curled up in the back of the kennel, facing away from me.
I sighed, rolling my eyes and turning back to my notebook. All Amanda told me to do was sit here and try to show him I wasn’t a threat. It obviously would take more than just sitting here for him to understand I wouldn’t hurt him.
Then again, maybe he remembered me holding a gun to his mother’s head.