He acts as though secrets can be shared like sweets.
But I hardly know him.
Not sure I can trust him.
I mean, I don’t trust anyone,
usually,
and definitely not with stuff about him:
Terry the terrible.
Terry the terrier.
Terry the twat.
‘You can talking with me,’ Nicu says.
And for some reason
I know he’ll be good at keeping secrets
so I start to speak.
But I can’t tell him everything.