CONFESSION
“Richard, what are you doing here?” The question slipped from my lips the moment my parents’ car disappeared down the road, heading toward their separate workplaces. I hadn’t heard him approach. He was just there, standing near the gate outside of our house, half-hidden by the shadows, as if the morning itself had conjured him. “I need to talk to you,” he said, while walking near me. I frowned, uneasing prickling at the back of my neck. “We talk every day. We see each other at school. You don't have to come all the way here.” “I came because there’s something I need to tell you,” he replied. His jaw tightened. “Something important. And you’re not going to like it.” My heart skipped. A strange instinct stirred inside me, warning and curious at the same time. Should I be scared? “It
- Writer
