I said nothing. She kept talking, “Ugh, walking through these woods always sucks. Why do they have to have their ultra secret meetings out here?”

“I’d find you here again?”

“I’d say you’re poking a sleeping bear, but the bear is wide awake and has been for a while now.”

I said nothing. She fell into step beside me. Her gaze scanned the path ahead. The trees eased away to reveal the park we’d crossed to enter. It was just as busy as when we arrived. The reddening sky did little to persuade those here.

And she kept going, “I don’t have any secrets now.”

“So?”

“So I think it’s only fair. What have you been hiding?” Blue eyes like ice. Blue eyes like a raging sea. I felt both as she looked at me.

The noise of the world was lost on me, “I haven’t been hiding anything.”

“Ah, yes. You were just poorly dodging questions for fun.” She kicked a rock, and it rolled through overgrown grass. “Our friendship won’t heal like this.”

“It’ll never heal.” She kept staring at me. “At least, it won’t go back to how it was before.”

“…How long have you had issues with our friendship?”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

I wasn’t sure. When did it start? Years blurred together. I picked at the strands, hoping they unraveled to the source. I knew, as we were back on the concrete sidewalk. I knew when we passed the basketball court, “It started with Jen.”

“Jen.” Her features twisted. A clear sign of distaste. “Maybe I should hate her even more if that’s the case.”

“You know she’s not the only one to place blame on.”

“Are you placing it all on me?”

“On both of us.” Jen did have a right to hate us. The admission was sour. A too ripe fruit. Of course it’d be hard to admit, when we created a world of pretend and we were always heroes.

She went quiet then. Only for a second of reprieve, “I’m afraid she’ll tell Cinder one day.”

“She has no reason to.”

“Other than hating our guts.” I was surprised she hadn’t. Maybe because Cinder clung to us. The rest of the world didn’t exist. It was hard for Jen to talk to her when we were always standing guard.

“When this year is over, she’ll be graduated and gone. We won’t have to worry about it ever again.”

“No, we’ll just have to worry about you now.”

“Back to this again? I really was just trying to protect you guys.” Her mask slipped. Finally. It always took too much pressure for her to show the truth. Her eyes flickered down, lips pressed together.

“We can handle our own.”

“Maybe you can…”

It was hard not to have a flash of worry then. I couldn’t look back. I couldn’t check to see if Cinder had gotten out ok. I was sure she’d be fine. I kept repeating it, over and over. To Abigail, I said, “I think she’ll be ok.”

“Cinder’s been worrying me all month.” Her eyebrows furrowed further at the admission. “Like…she’s been extra mopey and jittery.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“But it’s Cinder—”

“Maybe she’s protecting you.” I didn’t care about the truth behind the words or not. But throwing it back in her face felt good. The way her mouth clamped shut. The way her shoulders fell. The two of us kept walking, until we needed to head our separate ways.

I said nothing. And neither did she.