Dear Rachel,
Look—I guess neither one of us
knows much about boys.
I hope there aren’t too many more
Ginos out there.
Brandy says, “Beware.”
She’s kind of superficial
but maybe also
a little wise about certain things.
Today, my grandma and I
were walking downtown.
The sky was a cheerful, zip-a-dee-doo-dah blue.
She gave me a handmade silk scarf
with the most elaborate,
exquisite embroidery,
which was stitched by her mother,
my great-grandmother Estelle.
When I looked at it, I thought of you.
Which is why I’m sending it.
It’s a please-forgive-me-or-at-least-
don’t-despise-me-forever gift.
Dear Maisie,
Your mother gave me this letter to give to you.
Doesn’t she have your address?
I think it’s from France!
Who do you know in France?
Richie? Could it be from Richie?
If it is, I’d like to know if he’s okay.
Rachel
I open the letter.
Cher Maisie (pronounced “May-zee”),
Ça va bien. Really. I’m good!
Tres bien, actually.
I’m in Paris!
I walked on the rue where James Joyce lived!
I had to wait to write you
until I knew my father pulled through.
When I first ran off,
I lived with my second cousin, Colin,
until I was able to get a passport.
Then I went to the docks
and hid in the hull of a ship.
I know. I never thought of myself
as adventurous, either.
Yes, they discovered me.
I begged the captain to give me passage.
I said I could teach everyone karate.
I had the best time, Maisie.
My French is improving, vraiment.
I called my mom long distance.
She moved back in.
My dad is going to therapy now.
A miracle.
Write me. Tell me everything.
Je t’adore,
The boy across the way.
R
Dear Rachel,
Yes! The letter is from Richie!
I’ll tell you more when I see you.
If I see you. No. When I see you.
Okay, that’s asking too much.
Forget I mentioned it.
You can’t get arrested for wishing, though, right?
Every day that passes,
there’s remorse in every cell of my body.
If I put it on a scale
it would weigh tons and tons.
Maisie