Quietly as possible, I unzip my backpack at the foot of my bed and feel around for my journal and the tiny book light. Keeping on my stomach and facing the end of my bed, I clip the light onto the cover of the journal and turn to my next assignment.
In my periphery I see Darren's feet move. I quickly press the button on my book light, straining to listen as he wrestles with his sheets, presumably to get comfy.
"What are you doing?" he whispers, so close his breath causes a stray hair to tickle my cheek.
I startle, leaning away and curling the wisps behind my ear.
"Are you writing in your diary?" Even through the whisper I can tell he's laughing.
"No." I feel in the dark for my backpack and cram the journal inside.
"Please. Just admit you were drawing hearts around someone's name."
"I didn't even do that in junior high," I say, my high-pitched whisper threatening to break into full voice. "Like I believe that." He whisper-laughs again.
In my periphery I see Darren's feet move. I quickly press the button on my book light, straining to listen as he wrestles with his sheets, presumably to get comfy.
"What are you doing?" he whispers, so close his breath causes a stray hair to tickle my cheek.
I startle, leaning away and curling the wisps behind my ear.
"Are you writing in your diary?" Even through the whisper I can tell he's laughing.
"No." I feel in the dark for my backpack and cram the journal inside.
"Please. Just admit you were drawing hearts around someone's name."
"I didn't even do that in junior high," I say, my high-pitched whisper threatening to break into full voice. "Like I believe that." He whisper-laughs again.
( Kristin Rae )
[ Wish You Were Italian ]
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