"Tell me your deepest secret," Marion said, lying back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. "A secret you wouldn't tell anyone else."
I sat across from her on the bed, not really paying attention to what she was saying.
"What?" I said, jolted out of my daydream.
"I said," said Marion impatiently, "tell me your deepest secret."
"Why?" I said, not seeing the importance of this task that was all to clear to Marion. "I mean, what's the point?"
Marion sighed, looking at me with her big amber eyes. "It's what friends do," she explained, "and you want to remain my fiend, right?"
"and you want to remain my friend, right?" Those words echo in my ears. It was what Marion had said all through our friendship, beginning in third grade when she made me steal the teacher's roll book to prove I was worthy of being her friend. It was only now that I began to ponder those words, and the power within them. Was it rally worth it? All that torture I had to undergo again and again. My third grade teacher had punished me when I had stolen her roll book, but that was only the beginning. After that, I had to give Marion the money I had been saving up for an new bike, and then I was forced to trade my Egyptian diorama that I had been working on for school with hers, which, sadly, she had spent about five minutes on. In every game we played I was the prop and she was the actress. In everything we did, I was the puppet, and she the puppeteer. Now that I looked back, I realized that it wasn't worth it, no not at all. She wasn't the only girl existing. There were plenty others who would be willing to be friends with me. I deserved better than the twisted, cruel friendship I shared with Marion.
I got up fast, knocking down my bedside lamp.
"Sorry, Marion," I said, placing my lamp back in it's original position. "But my secrets are mine, and mine alone. I choose who I want to share them with."
"You mean you don't want to share them with me?" she said softly, almost as if she couldn't quite believe what I had just said.
My silence was enough of an answer. She looked up at me, and that is when I noticed something new in her eyes that wasn't there before-she looked hurt.
But, the scary thing was, I didn't really care.
"Fine then," Marion said as her hurt morphed into anger. She seemed to get the idea that I no longer wanted to be best friends, if friends at all, with her.
She got up from my bed, walked over to the door, and then she paused, facing me one last time as if to give me another chance to turn things around.
But I had had enough. "It's the end Marion," was all I said.
So, turning away from me and not looking back, she opened the door of my room, left my life, and never returned
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