Wicked Hunger
“I don’t speak to Ivy or Noah. I know I won’t get the chance to confront Zander until I get home from work tonight, so I force myself to focus on going to the senior center with Ketchup after school. A quick text message to Grandma explaining my plans to “volunteer” are met with happy approval. I, on the other hand, am sick just thinking about it. What if Ketchup is right?
It is with trepidation that I cross the parking lot to Ketchup’s car after school. When I finally make it to him, his subdued demeanor lowers my eyes.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod and slip into his SUV. The drive is quiet at first. After about ten minutes, I can’t stand it anymore. “Ketchup, I’m sorry about earlier.”
When he looks over at me, his smile is faint, but genuine. “You don’t have to be sorry about anything. I had no right to act the way I did. Forgive me?”
“I don’t need to.
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