"Whoa, whoa–wait… wait," I said, trying to process what just occurred. "Why would he want to hide that from anyone in the YMPA?"
"I don't know, but I'm not sure if it's a good thing," Greg said, sighing with worry. "What should we do?"
"I don't–" I stuttered, unsure of what to even say next. "Maybe… I don't know." But then Greg looked up with these pleading and hopeless eyes.
"Maybe we ask Fulton himself? He might have more information," he said. I sighed. That was the only thing we could probably do in this case. He has answers which I desperately need–desperately need.
How is my father not himself in this case?
"Might as well," I said, taking a deep breath. "Let's do that."
***
It was the end of school, meaning it was time for me to get transported to the YMPA for our mission. I'm scared about it, because I never have been much of a camera guy.
Never been much of anything to be honest.
