Thanks be to Ms. EBT.
I get out of my car and immediately start crying the moment I see him.
He's sitting on our bench.
The one he asked me to prom to. The one where he kissed me.
He must hear me approaching, because he looks up.
I can't look him in the eye, so I sit down, making sure it's as far away from him as possible.
I don't deserve to be here. I don't deserve to apologize or explain.
But for some reason, he wants me here.
He wants to know.
I sit with my head bowed and my hands tucked between my knees, the both of us quiet.
As I try to find a way to tell him how sorry I am.
The bench creaks as he finally moves, shifting his body toward mine.
"Talk to me, Angela."