Dear Kurl,
Lyle asked me last night about the butcherboys. He noticed that the collar point of my rough-spun linen shirt had been snipped off and guessed, correctly, that it hadn’t been a slip of my scissors.
He said Bron had mentioned that maybe it was worse for me this year at school than last. “Are you suffering?” he asked.
I told him it was indeed worse, actually, but that I didn’t feel I was suffering, exactly. I couldn’t tell him about you, of course—about how your presence at school more than compensates for the presence of the butcherboys. It’s been months now since I last left for school carrying dread like stones in all my pockets.
“And what about your sister?” he said. “Do you have any thoughts on what’s up with her lately?”
I shrugged. “She seems okay to me.”
“Okay? She’s been cutting school almost every day. They leave automated messages on my phone, you know.”
I did know. I also know that Shayna and Lyle argue constantly these days. When she dyed her hair jet-black on New Year’s Day, they yelled at each other for nearly an hour. Lyle has worlds to say about Shayna’s clothes, her hair and makeup, her attitude, her habits; Shayna has nothing to say in return but “Get off my case” and “Leave me alone, Lyle.”
I said, “I thought you were asking me whether she’s happy.”
“Well, does she seem happy to you?”
“Happy enough,” I said. Happy being Axel’s newest rising star at the Ace, I meant. But I kept that tidbit to myself.
As you know, Kurl, Lincoln High is supposed to be a place of learning. What I learned today at lunchtime, in the art-supply closet: There is a three-inch section of skin over your spine, just above your shoulder blades, where the fine hair forms an almost-invisible furrow. Brushing my lips along it generates the softest, most delicate sensation any part of my body has ever experienced.
Yours,
Jo
PS: I’m going to put this letter in Ms. Khang’s box regardless of the fact that I’ll (hopefully!) see you today after school. Now that the assignment is finished, Ms. Khang will give you the combination so you can access the mailbox whenever you want. I don’t want you to feel disappointed when you check the mail, Kurl! I don’t want you to experience any disappointment, in any context, even for one second. And anyhow I’m still exchanging letters with Abigail Cuttler from time to time. She and I enjoy some interesting philosophical debates, so we’ve agreed to keep corresponding.