CHAPTER 50

 

When my mom was over in Iraq, I used to write her letters all the time. I found that telling her stuff was a lot easier when I wrote it down, instead of keeping it all locked up inside me.

Now that she’s home, she’s so busy taking her cop class, we hardly have time to talk about anything except who’s watching Emma and what to microwave for dinner and where her missing keys might be.

So, that night, I decide to write Mom a letter.

For old times’ sake.

And to ask her advice.

Dear Mom:

Things aren’t going so great. In fact, this is turning into the weirdest and worst summer of my young life, even though it should be one of the best. I mean, I have a big part in a big show. I have a pretty fun job. Bill still has gorgeous hazel eyes and acts like he’s crazy about me.

But that’s the thing. I’m twelve. I think I want to go back to being eleven, when boys were just annoying creatures who picked boogers out of their noses and ate them.

I don’t like feeling all giggly and goofy around boys. Well, actually I do. And then I don’t.

Have I mentioned that Bubblebutt has turned into Bob and he’s not as bad as I thought he was during the first decade of my life? He needs new friends besides Ringworm, but he’s actually kind of sweet.

Maybe it’s Shakespeare. But, all of a sudden, I’m running around Seaside Heights thinking about love, and when I’m not thinking about love, I’m playing matchmaker for other people to fall in love. The problem is, my matchmaking is making everybody sad, when all I wanted was to help them be happy.

And then there’s Schuyler. He might be a thief. Or he might just really like taffy. I know he likes Sophia, but do we, like, want her to be with a boy who might like to shoplift? Is there, like, another word besides like I could use in that sentence?

I wonder what it was about Dad that made you fall in love with him, besides, of course, him being the most handsome boy on the beach.

If you get a second, send me a reply.

You don’t need to waste a stamp.

You can just slip it under my door. I’ll probably be in my room. Crying.

Because I’ve messed up my summer and everybody else’s.

Sincerely,

Your daughter JACKY

That’s what I wrote. I could show it to you. It’s still in the shoe box where I stashed it that night.

That’s right. I never mailed that letter to my mother. Even though I didn’t even need a stamp.

I figured she had enough problems without me giving her all of mine.