Dear Locker 89,

It’s me again. You were such a help last time, thank you so much for your advice. I struggled with writing this letter, because, in a weird way, it feels like you know me and you were rooting for me. I hope this won’t change that.

I have a confession. The girl I wrote in about last time? She’s now my girlfriend (yay!) but I’ve been hiding a secret from her. Last year we were in competition for something (I don’t want to say what because it’ll give me away), and I wanted it so badly I did something awful. Long story short, I rigged it so I won. This was before I liked her. The problem is, I told a couple of my friends about it this week (I cracked from the guilt), and it’s not necessarily that I think they’ll tell on me? It’s that I know if they did, she’d never forgive me.

I guess what I’m asking is … do you think I should tell her myself? I’m terrified of how she’ll react, but more terrified of her finding out through someone else. Just … please tell me if you think I’m making a huge mistake.

Thank you,

[email protected]

The letter, which had made me see red, sat hidden in my desk drawer under three textbooks back at home.

Right now, all I could see was black, as I sat motionless on Brooke’s bed with my eyes closed and my head tipped back, waiting for Brooke to finish my eye shadow, her warm hand resting on my forehead. “Cut-crease time,” she’d declared ten minutes ago, pulling out her kit. It was pathetic, but I was thrilled to hear those words, because it meant I got a solid ten minutes of attention from her.

When she let me open my eyes again I blinked, and Ray came into focus. She had a curling iron in her hand, and was methodically working through strips of her hair, styling them into tight curls. She started them higher than she should’ve, though, and it gave the top of her head a bumpy, uneven finish. I could’ve given her a hand, but after that letter, I wasn’t feeling generous. If she wanted to go to tonight’s mixer with a head full of regency curls, it was none of my business.

She seemed casual, and chirpy. If my disgust had slipped and shown on my face at any point this evening, neither she nor Brooke seemed to have noticed. At least, they hadn’t mentioned anything.

I wondered how she would react if she knew her letter was sitting back in my bedroom. If she’d notice my expression then.

Satisfied with my makeup, Brooke headed over to fuss over Ray, leaving my forehead cold in her hand’s sudden absence.