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He’d sent eight letters total, and each letter became more serious and less romantic. He stopped signing them with a heart and he’d put my full name on them instead of my nickname. He stopped talking about our future and began writing about how long his days were.

I know why he stopped sending them. It’s because I never wrote back.

I’m not really sure why I didn’t. I’d wait week after week for those letters. I was pretty selfish back then. I don’t like to think too hard about it. It means having to admit how cruel I can be. I would like to think I’ve changed—that I’m more compassionate toward others.

That’s what I’m hoping to fix with Sean tomorrow. Possibly make up for all those times I broke his heart to protect mine.

His handwriting is small and a bit sloppy, smudged on the yellow stationary. He never knew the difference between you’re and your.

I can’t bring myself to read another. I place them back into the box and shove it in the closet.

Tears fall down my face and hit my grey sweatshirt, leaving dark marks all down the front as I curl underneath the soft pillowy covers of my bed.

5

June, Ten Years Earlier

“Billie—just shut the fuck up. No one wants to hear you blab your mouth. Go start the dishes,” Eloise scolds, tossing her head toward the tower of dishes that fill the sink.

I dart my eyes over to Dad who’s staring back at me, silent. I shake my head, my eyes saying, say something to her. He knows she shouldn’t talk to me like this. Anyone would know that.

Just say something! Anything! I scream in my head.

I don’t know what sort of consequences I’d have to face if I stood up to Eloise in real life. So I stick to my imagination.

He shrugs at me, no thoughts reaching his eyes.

I never thought that teenagers could be disappointed in their parents. It’s supposed to be the other way around.

I haven’t even finished eating my dinner and my stomach is no where near full, but I don’t feel like being yelled at anymore tonight.

I push myself out of my seat with a huff and stick my hands in the sink. Years of experience has taught me that it’s better to not fight it.

I splash the pans with hot water and soap, creating suds when my phone vibrates in my back pocket.

If my phone is in sight—Eloise will lose her marbles.

I glance up to see she’s busy talking to my dad, gossiping about her coworkers. I slip my phone onto the counter, hiding it behind the clean dishes in the drying rack.

It’s Sean. My heart leaps out of my chest.

Meet me at the high school. I have a fun idea. 7:37pm

Even though I just escaped the terror that is high school, if he’s there—I’m in.

I start scrubbing so harshly my elbow hits the edge of the granite countertop. There’s no point to rushing, because there is absolutely no way my parents will let me leave this late. It’s starting to get dark.

“Your generation is so stupid with your electronics. You’re addicted,” Eloise hisses at me, looking at my phone screen that is still open.

I didn’t even see her walk over to me. She’s like a stealthy lion, always ready to pounce.

Even though I’ve been caught, it’s still a reflex to hide it. I pull it off the counter and slide it back into my pocket.

Sometimes I wish I could just tell her off.

It’s your generation raising us, so what does that say about you?

But of course, all I can do is put my head down and try to restrain myself. I don’t want to have to stand here for two hours while she tells me how stupid I am over and over again.