“Jesus, how old is she now?” Jack asked, plopping down in Maura’s spot, kicking his feet up onto an amp.
“I don’t know, middle school. Eighth grade, I think.” Wade responded with his usual sarcastic tone. He knew exactly how old Maura was, he just didn’t want to admit it.
Jack pulled out the notebook from his backpack. He’d been playing around with some lyrics. Sometimes he’d hear music in his head, a little tune that would make him think of words that flowed easily but made no sense. He kept the notebook with him, stuffed in the inside pocket of his jacket. A place that was far away from his father, who had already taken enough from him.
When he got up from the couch, his shoulders and neck were sore and he kneaded it with his fingers to get the kinks out.
“Neck sore?” Wade asked, mim
