Gabe's POV
The bus tires screeched loudly as the monstrous yellow vehicle rumbled away from my house. I stood in the driveway, watching it disappear into the depths of my neighborhood. Soon, it was completely out of sight. I turned to my house and sighed to myself.
I walked inside, like it was any other normal day. My parents weren't home, and neither were my siblings. My entire family except me was at my sister's orchestra concert. That was fine with me. I wanted to be alone. After grabbing a pack of Double Stuffed Oreos, I ducked into my room. It was as usual, messy, with clothes thrown across the floor and papers and pencils littering my desk. I plopped on my bed, staring at the plain white ceiling. Many emotions swirled in my head and it was hard to keep them inside. I wanted so badly to tell someone, anyone, my secret. But who could I tell? My friends? They'd never speak to me again. My girlfriend, Kaitlyn? She would cast me away, shaming me for what I had done. My parents would stand there, in complete shock, not knowing what to say but never looking at me the same way again.
I huffed and rolled over on my side. My fingers dangled over the side of the bed. I reached underneath it, and found a small, circular button. I pushed it. A small whoosh and a secret compartment opened. I searched inside, not stopping until I had touched the leathery side of a journal. My old journal.
I pulled the small book onto my bed. I caressed the old, yellowing pages. It was a journal I hadn't used for a long time. Probably since I was about ten. Two years. I flipped open the cover. Inside was my first journal entry about my first day of fifth grade. I could barely read my messy handwriting and smiled at the names of some of my old classmates.
I flipped to an empty page. Then I scribbled down the date and time. I could tell my secret here, and keep it hidden within these pages. No one would know. I could feel the weight cone off my shoulders without actually telling my secret.
My pen scribbled as I doodled on the page. What would I write? How could I explain myself? I sighed and began my story.
Dear Journal,
I killed my best friend.
