By
Lindsey Smith
Monticello Independent Schools
Monticello, KY
10th Grade

A tear slid down Allyson's face, caressing her cheek. I didn't understand, couldn't comprehend why the angry, red welts seemed so unfamiliar, so unknown. I had seen them before, when we were younger. But now, several years later, staring at the forearm of my best friend, I just couldn't believe that she would cut herself again.

"You promised me you'd stopped," I whispered breathlessly, accusingly. I avoided her eyes, knowing what I would see. Pain and depression had haunted her very presence for weeks. I had noticed, yes, but was too scared to mention it, frightened that my suspicions would be accurate. She stared at the floor, her head hanging in shame. As I turned to leave, I heard her last whispered attempt.

" Please." She whimpered, "Please, Lindsey. Don't tell anyone." In a hurry to leave behind the heartache and desperate to feel the relief of forgetting, I mumbled an almost silent agreement.

I wandered through the next few days as a ghost. I evaded any chance of coming face-to-face with Allyson. What was I going to do? Should I tell someone" I had been friends with Allyson for almost six years and in all that time I had never betrayed her trust. Even when she came to me the first time with her problem, I kept her secret. Ihad regretted it later. What if something had happened? I was extremely lucky that it didn't. And now that the problem had reappeared, was I just going to stand back and take that chance again? Then I decided that no matter what the cost, Allyson needed help and I was going to do everything I could to assist her.

The knock resounded in the hallway, an empty, hollow echo that filled my heart with pain. It seemed to take eternity for the wooden door to creak its way open. But as I stared into the face of our school counselor, I knew I was doing the right thing. Allyson meant more to me than anyone else I could name and I didn't want to hurt her. But the idea of her hurting herself and possibly attending her funeral was a thought I couldn't stand to bear.

After I finally told someone who could help, relief flooded my very being. I was in high spirits for a few days until the day that I knew would happen, finally came.

" You told!" she screeched, slamming the door behind her with an earsplitting bang. For a minute I stared at he shocked, at a loss for words.

" Allyson, I'm sorry," I faintly whispered, silently praying that the counselor had done something to help her.

" How could you?!" she screamed. "I thought you were my friend!" And with that last piercing insult, she turned to go and I was left to wonder if I would ever see her again. I sat there, unmoving, her words resounding in my head. But just a few moments later, the door burst open again and Allyson ran across the room to me, tears streaming down her face. I waited for a moment surprised and unbelieving. I embraced her and I found my own tears falling on my hand.

" Thank you," she murmured.

For the next few weeks, Allyson went through therapy sessions with a psychiatrist. I watched as her once vivacious, cheerful personality returned. Sometimes keeping a secret is important to friendships. The trick is to realize that friendships are not only based on trust, but also on the worry and care that you have for your friend. In certain situations, telling a secret is the best way to be a friend. In my situation, it not only saved my friendship, but it saved my friend's life.