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He finally answered me.
Kennedy was still lounging on her bed when I unlocked the door and breezed past her. She didn’t even glance up long enough to stop texting.
Her straight platinum blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, tan legs on display with her tiny, barely-there shorts covering only what she deemed necessary.
She ate whatever she wanted, and still looked like a damn model. I wasn’t as lucky.
When we moved in here, I thought we’d be friends, until she started spreading my secrets around campus.
She didn’t have to tell everyone my secrets. And everyone started to hate the weird girl with two different colored eyes. I’d worn a contact for as long as I could remember to hide the fact that I was different.
But Kennedy couldn’t keep it between us. And then, she’d told everyone about my parents, who never wanted to spend the holidays with me.
Secret after goddamn secret she shared with our peers, pushing me farther and farther away from making any friends.
Some days, I really hated her.
Flopping onto my bed, I ripped open the letter. Glancing at the top corner, I saw it was stamped with yesterday’s date.
August 24th
Dear Harley,
Just thought I’d start out by letting you know that your name is killer. Wanna trade?
This one-piece-of-paper rule is bullshit, but what are we supposed to talk about that will fill more than one page?
I haven’t written to anyone in so long, I had to remind myself how to hold a pen. My fingers already ache, but I’m going to do my best to answer all your questions.
I don’t care why you’re writing me. I haven’t had any contact with the world aside from my lawyer, and he isn’t the friendly type. You need to graduate, and I need to get out of here.
Everyone asks if I was born in the east, and honestly, I don’t know where the name came from. I grew up in the foster system. My first memory is of a foster home. Names don’t really bother me. They don’t mean anything in the long run.
I like to read as well, but I’ve read all the books they have here, so I then switched to working out and trying to learn new hobbies. One of my previous cellmates was an artist, and he taught me how to draw, so that’s what I do to ignore the reality of my life.
Red
Yellow
Clifford, the Big Red Dog
Go, Diego, Go!
