Dear Little Jo,
Who would have thought in a million years I’d be so happy to be back at school? There you were at lunchtime wearing some kind of heavy goat herder’s turtleneck sweater under your Loaghtan tweed jacket. And those knitted gloves that only reach your knuckles.
“Oh, hi, Kurl,” you said.
Do not press Jo’s icy red fingertips between your hands and blow on them, I told myself. Do not put Jo’s fingers into your mouth. I mean Bron was standing right there.
It’s actually hard to think of things to write when you just invited me home with you after school. What are we going to write about, Jo, now that we can say everything to each other in person?
Sincerely,
AK