Verse 1) Eighteen days left of this sun-faded room. Eighteen days left till the textbooks resume. I’m organizing pens in a brand-new case. While trying to erase the look on my face. My friends dropped his name on a FaceTime call. Said he turned into a rebel since late last fall. They don't really care, it’s just gossip they pass. While I’m sitting here dreading the very first class. (Pre-Chorus) They shrug it right off like it’s nothing at all. Just another new kid walking down the long hall. But my chest gets heavy and my heart starts to race. Thinking of a rebel in our usual place. (Chorus) Eighteen days left till the homeroom bell rings. Eighteen days left of these underlying stings. Will he wear a leather jacket, will he look real tough? Or is all this gossip just made-up stuff? Seventh grade is shifting before it begins. And the nerves are creeping right under my skin. (Verse 2) They’re talking about teachers and schedules they got. While I’m trapped in a loop of a single thought. If he’s acting reckless and breaking the rules. Will he still be the sweetest guy in the school? I’m stuck in the gap of the boy that I knew. And this new rebel version they’re painting as true. They don't care either way, they just think it’s a phase. With an eighteen-day countdown of summer-time haze. (Verse 3) They weren't on the mountain when the sun went down. Far away from the rumors and the noise of the town. They didn't see the sparks flying into the night. Or the way that his eyes caught the bonfire light. We shivered on a log under Pali's big trees. Completely ignoring the mountain breeze. He choked down that chocolate-free s'more with a grin. No matter his label, I want to see him again. (Pre-Chorus) They shrug it right off like it’s nothing at all. Just another new kid walking down the long hall. But my chest gets heavy and my heart starts to race. Thinking of a rebel in our usual place. (Bridge) If he sits in the back with a smirk on his face, I'll step right on up and reclaim my space. Will he whisper a joke like he did by the fire? Or has this new attitude set the bar higher? My breathing goes shallow, my thoughts start to spin. A seventh-grade mystery I'm trapped within. One word could remind him of everything we made. Or show me the camp memory is starting to fade. (Chorus) Eighteen days left till the homeroom bell rings. Eighteen days left of these underlying stings. Will he wear a leather jacket, will he look real tough? Or is all this gossip just made-up stuff? Seventh grade is shifting before it begins. And the nerves are creeping right under my skin. (Outro) Eighteen days. Let them all shrug. I’m still remembering that Pali Camp hug. Three days of peace. Yeah, eighteen days. Rebel or not. Just eighteen days. Losing my plot. ───
