Four
Michael glanced around nervously, putting his hand over Gerald’s shoulder and steering him toward the brilliant pink oleander in the pot in the corner, away from prying ears. It was usually in such corners that they had spoken before. Junior year Michael had dragged Gerald near some poison oak that had itched him for a week. The guy stayed away for that week, giving Michael and the other guys some (relatively) quiet time. Michael hoped it was no different this time."Listen," he started to say. But Gerald's eyes suddenly bugged.
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