One time I went down the hill behind our house over to the field, passing the thin creek that ran under the trees. There was Mark, smoking a cigarette with Brian Cameron. He thought he could get away with it, I realized. You can’t see the house from down here and the house can’t see you. “What, are you smoking now?” I asked. Mark shrugged and took another drag. “I think I’m going to talk to Mom and Dad about what you’re doing here.”
“Just leave me alone,” Mark muttered. “Come on, don’t go tell them.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I like that Simmons knife you got. You’re going to have to give me that.”
“I got that for my birthday!”
“I know it was for your birthday. Mine’s the same day,” I told him, laughing. Mark just stared at me.
“That’s a real nice knife,” Mark pointed out. “I don’t think that’s fair.”
“I don’t care what you think is fair or what isn’t fair. Mark, you need to give me that knife,” I insisted.
“You need to just give him the knife,” Brian said.
“Fine,” Mark said. “Just go take it and get the heck out of here.”
I went up the hill and found the knife in his room. I took it and claimed it as my own, never thinking anything of it.
Last edited by VincePierce; 11-30-2010 at 02:00 AM.