Page 52 of Sending Love Letters to Animals

I couldn’t be bothered with worrying about Jules’ concern for me. Facing Chris, Ms. Tabatabai, and all of the other students in English while a report about who I am as a person was read aloud had my gut in knots. The worst part about it was that the cafeteria was actually serving a decent lunch for once. Chicken and veggie stir fry and a fruit plate where the fruit hadn’t come out of a can or a plastic tub. The fact that I could only pick at my food only made things worse.

By the time lunch was coming to a close, I knew that Jules and Connor would be walking to English together. I didn’t want to be a fifth wheel, so I took off for English before they’d even gotten out of their seats. I trudged my way to my doom. I was sliding into my desk in Ms. Tabatabai’s classroom as she was taking the last bite of her food and putting away her lunch bag.

I sat in my desk, gloomy and anxious as other students arrived, rambunctious, without a care in the world. I did my best to not look like such a turd, but my feelings were overwhelming. Though worrying about things was not new to me, the oral reports, for some reason, were really getting to me. As more and more students filed into class and took their seats, I got more and more anxious. When Chris came into class and our eyes met, he smiled at me. All I could manage was a tight smile that probably made it look like I was actively shitting my pants. Or trying not to shit my pants.

Chris gave me a concerned look, but managed to keep smiling as he slid into his desk.

Then Ms. Tabatabai was standing at her podium, waiting for everyone to settle down so she could get class started. For some reason, seeing our teacher at the front of the class and knowing that there was no avoiding what was to come, calmed my nerves. The thing I was dreading was about to happen. I nearly raised my hand and asked her if Chris and I could go first and get it out of the way. However, once everyone grew quiet so we could begin class, Ms. Tabatabai sighed deeply and looked out at us.

“So,” she said, “due to an unfortunate incident in first period where the ‘b-word’ was used and an ‘f-bomb’ was dropped, you won’t be reading your reports to the class today.”

The class was deathly quiet for a moment, then someone laughed maniacally at the back of the classroom. Ms. Tabatabai silenced them with a steely gaze. She eyed them for a few moments, then addressed the class once again.

“However,” she continued, “it’s not fair that this class won’t get to know what was written about them. So, if partners will exchange their essays about each other, I’ll give you all five to ten minutes to read their reports. Then you can all pass them in and I’ll grade them this weekend.”

I was elated and immediately began digging out my report to give to Chris.

“We’ll spend the rest of the class doing silent reading or you can work on homework,” Ms. Tabatabai said. “Play on your phones with the sound off, I don’t care. Just…let’s not have any hysterics this period, okay?”

Everyone laughed nervously.

“Exchange your essays,” she said with a wave of her hand before returning to her desk. “Read quietly.”

I might have been the only one paying close enough attention, but I could have sworn I heard Ms. Tabatabai mumble: God, I hate kids.

Fair enough, Ms. T. Fair enough.

Once I had located my two-page essay I’d written about Chris, I popped out of my seat jubilantly and walked over to his desk. He was already holding his report out to me, a shy grin on his face.

“I hope I did you justice,” I said. “I tried my hardest.”

“I only wrote the good things,” he said.

It was the first thing he had said to me since he arrived at A.M. Whitemane.

“So,” I sighed happily, “it’s full of lies?”

He considered this, which made me chuckle.

“I don’t think so,” he said, finally. “Not anymore anyway.”

There was nothing else to say. He took my report from me and I slid his from his grasp. I gave him a nod and went back to my desk and plopped into my seat. After a deep breath, I looked down at the papers.

How do you know that a guy is a horrible person?

Is it the things they do—their actions? The things they say? Do you judge them by their kindness or cruelty, their mistakes or successes? When considering a person as a whole, which is more important—their worst moments? Or their best? Almost every person you know is capable of both wonderful and terrible things. Sometimes they’re a good person. A good friend. Sometimes they’re selfish and cowardly. A person is not just one thing or the other.

So, how do you judge a person? If people are often full of contradictions—the kindest person sometimes being cruel—is it really possible to decide if they are a good or bad person?

I’ve known Ryan Offsteader since junior high. He used to be a scrawny nerd who liked superheroes and The Lord of the Rings way too much. He was borderline obsessive. But it was also true. And he wasn’t ashamed of it.

He has a family he loves—even his sister, even when she picks on him—and hobbies he enjoys. His friends mean the world to him, even when they aren’t being the best friends possible. Even when he is the worst friend you can imagine, it’s not because he’s a bad person.

I could talk about the things Ryan loves to do in his free time. His hobbies. His family. How he used to eat his Kraft macaroni and cheese with tortilla chips crunched up in it to improve the texture.

I could tell you that he was brave, even when he wasn’t. Or how he was kind, even when he wasn’t.

But I won’t.