14 | J.S. BAILEY
Her blazing green eyes seemed to belong to a stranger. “That stupid Honeycutt boy ruined you, and you were stupid enough to go with him! If he wasn’t dead, I’d go and kill him myself!” She turned away sobbing, and Nate’s father gave him such a look of pity that he started to cry, too. “But my song,” Nate said, remembering the violin he’d left lying on his bed. “I’m supposed to be practicing my song.” He tried to sit up, to lift his arm to scratch the itch on his nose, but nothing happened. And then, with sickening certainty, he understood.