"What's wrong?" a voice asked and I looked up to see a twelve-year-old Kyle staring at me.
I sniffed loudly, wiping my tears. "I'm scared, Kyle."
He kneeled beside me. "Why're you scared?"
I blinked. "What if we get caught like last time?"
I stared at the scar on his forearm. The last home we broke into, the owner had caught us stealing, and while trying to escape, he had injured his arm on a broken glass.
He covered the scar quickly and smiled at me. "We won't get caught this time, I promise."
I glanced at the covered scar. "Does it hurt?"
He patted my head. "Not anymore. It's all healed."
He shoved his arm in my face, showing me the scar. "See?"
It looked like it hurt.
I stared at him. "You're sure we won't get caught?"
"I promise," he said, and held out his finger to me.
I chuckled, as I joined pinkies with him.
He stood up and stretched out his hand to me. "Come on."
