The car door shut, and for a moment, silence filled the air. Then he turned to me, his face tense, and said words that caught me completely off guard:
“You could’ve at least told me.”
“That note,” he snapped. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I blinked at him in disbelief. “What note?”
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “The one on the fridge. My parents think we’re hiding something.”
The Mystery of the Fridge Note
At first, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. What in the world could his parents have found on a refrigerator that caused such suspicion? Then it hit me.
I dug into my bag, pulled out my planner, and began flipping through pages. Nestled inside was the small sticky note in question.
“Wait,” I said, holding it up. “You mean this?”
The note was a simple reminder I had jotted down after bumping into his mom at the supermarket earlier in the week. It read: Book club — Thursday at 7.
Completely innocent. Nothing more.
