Revealed

4. Jeremy

*Picture of Jeremy's mom*

"Jeremy? Where have you been?", asks Hannah, my mom.

"Places. Don't worry about it."

"Sweetie, your father and I just want to know what you're up to. You're not doing anything illegal are you?" She says this with so much concern and repercussion in her voice.

I roll my eyes. My mother can get under my skin sometimes. She really doesn't know how to mind her own business. I ignore her obvious question. Within minutes, I leave my house and start to wander the streets.

School is about to start for all the minors. Not me though. I may be doing illegal activities, but that doesn't mean I don't value my education. I graduated at rank 14 of my class last year. My parents wanted me to go to college so desperately, but for now, I just want to get out my current situations.

Today, the weather is the best it has been all week. I'd say we were in the low 90's.

The city is so quiet and motionless. Everyone is at work or school trying to obtain their future's. This is why I love summer. No more school. All the kids running around the malls and stores filled to the brim.

I continue to walk down the sidewalk in thought. Once I pass the closest park, I sit down on one of the benches and admire the warm, fresh breeze. All the flowers are moving swiftly in synch with the wind and there are just a few leaves flying across the road. It inspires me to write. Soon enough, after all my emotions were set in stone and down on paper, I realize that I lost track of time. My hands were writing nonstop in my notebook. What seemed to be only 30 minutes was actually 4 hours.

Did I mention I love poetry? It's a talent that literally no one knows about. It was too risky to share these with people. I can't mix my personal life with business. And I plan for my poetry to never be seen by anyone as long as I'm alive.

Stupid. I know. Gangbanger poet. How classy.

I don't know how to explain it. The words just come to me and the messages pass through my hands and onto the paper. In my whole 19 years of existence, I'd say I have written over 200 poems ranging from limericks to sonnets and even long excerpts that could technically be identified as short stories. In my room, I keep a stack of poetry books hidden behind a bunch of shoe boxes in my closet. No one needs to know that 'bad boy Jeremy' had a soft side. That's how people find your weakness, by observing what makes your emotions activate.

A few hours pass by and I hear loud bells. School is over. Only then do I realize I was sitting on the bench of an elementary school playground. Grabbing my notebook and the rest of my stuff, I begin to walk on the sidewalk again.

"I better get to the boys. They're probably waiting for me.", I think to myself. I decide to take the long way and enjoy the weather while it lasted. Days like this don't happen too often.

I pass by a few bookstores, a Chinese restaurant, a toy shop, and a few apartments. But only one shop had catches my eye. It's a bakery. Based on the number of people standing in the line, I can tell it was a successful business.

People of all ages, sizes, and races were enjoying themselves at the small tables near the front window and even towards the back booths. I make a note to self to come see what this place is all about before I continue to walk farther down the block.