We all would’ve been better off, if you hadn’t told me where you actually were last night. We just can’t be friends anymore. This was how it was supposed to go:

You come over at seven. Together, we leave my house at 7:25. We drive to Angelica’s house to pick her up around 7:40. At approximately eight o’clock, we would arrive at the party. The deal was that we leave at ten. That’s the responsible thing to do. You know how much my grades and street credibility matter to me. We drop of Angelica, she’s home at roughly 10:30, we get home 10:45 and you stay the night.

THAT

WAS

THE

DEAL.

Here’s what really happened:

I can’t find you at 10. We agreed to meet in front of the staircase at ten sharp. I even told you 9:45 because you can’t be on time for s**t. Angelica was there. I was there. But you weren’t. I guess you couldn’t be bothered. Typical. I was too tired to care. So I shrugged and Angelica and I left. You know, without you, we even arrived eight minutes early. At some point I got a text from Keinan McGill saying she was taking you home. What isn’t said is always key.

It doesn’t matter. You told me later anyways. I’d ask if you remember confessing as you stumbled up the stairs to my bedroom, but I know better.

When the cops come, they’ll be here for you because everyone else was too drunk to give strong alibis and ratted you out. If they take me in for questioning, I’ll answer strongly and surely, sober and fully aware of what happened. I will not be involved further, neither will Angelica.

I hope the back of the cop car is lavish.