I stare at Jamie as she aims her weapon at me. Her eyes seem darker than usual and her face contorted; the mask of normal Jamie has been taken off. My heart is beating so fast in my chest that it feels like a constant hum. Everett, still holding my waist, squeezes me tight but is sure not to make any sudden movements.
I find my mind wondering back to a memory I have with Jamie. We were 14 and we had both entered the same show jumping competition. She was riding her own pony, a young colt named Blaze. I remember the day her parents bought her that pony; she had called me straight away to boast about it. She knew that my parents couldn’t afford to get me a horse of my own, but even still, I was happy for her and shared in her excitement. When the day of the competition came around, she was
