Dear No One (Wattys2017) (UNDER CONSTRUCTION)

Dear No One, The Technical Term For That Is

I danced back and forth between feet anxiously, watching intently as the postal worker dropped a key on the marble countertop between us with a bored look.

"Your P.O box number is forty-three, have a nice day." The monotone response matched the beyond miserable expression she wore.

I snatched the key and turned my back, fiddling with it until it was securely on my key ring, not allowing the woman's depressing aura to bring me down. I felt as if a huge cloud of heaviness had been lifted off me as soon as I escaped the postal shop. It was crazy how much of an affect someone's mood could have on you.

I don't know exactly what I expected to find in my P.O box. Maybe some part of me had thought I'd have a huge influx of letters. So many, in fact, that they'd all come pouring out as soon as I turned the key to open it.

Instead I found two lonely letters within. The first was a plain white envelope with Ms. Nobody scribbled across in gorgeous calligraphy that even my grandmother would be jealous of. The second was a black envelope, written on with what appeared to be a fluorescent marker.

"There you are, Kasey! I've been looking everywhere for you!" My best friend's high-pitched squeal broke my concentration. I hurriedly stuffed the letters in my purse, afraid she'd ask to read them if she was able to get them within hands reach. I had promised these people everything would remain confidential, which meant no one, not even my best friend should be able to read them.

"Steph!" I whirled around to find a crimson mess of hair being brushed threw a few feet away. "I told you I'd meet you at King Slush in five."

"Well, there were cute guys everywhere." She stated matter of factly, "What did you expect me to do? Just stand there and stare like a creep?"

I wasn't antisocial per say, I just kept to myself. I'd learned over the years, outside of being Ms. Nobody, it's best to keep a low profile. You don't talk or mess with anyone, no one talked about or messed with you.

Stephanie Cruz, on the other hand, was as antisocial as it gets. She got anxiety when a boy would even look in her direction and had panic attacks when girls tried talking to her, even over the simplest things. She had found a kindred spirit and save haven in me when she moved here in fifth grade from Alaska and got paired with me on a reading project. Since then, we'd been nearly inseparable. Just the two flies on the wall everywhere, not looking to bother or be bothered.

Stephanie's shyness and antisocial attitude paired with my cautiousness was one of the reasons I'd created Dear No One. For people like us. People who wanted to speak without having another face staring back expectantly or finding a way to redirect the conversation back to themselves.

"How cute are we talking?" I finally questioned; eyebrows drawn.

Her face fell. "Way out of our league. Or my league I guess."

She wasn't wrong. The second we entered the mall food court my stomach tightened into a knot. I recognized a majority of the boys from the various sports teams at our school. I'd even attended a couple of their parties in the past, not that I'd had any fun. I'd been dragged along by my popular brothers hoping they could give me a gentle push so I'd try and make my way up the high school food chain. But I was happy and content where I was at the bottom and after a while they finally came to that obvious conclusion their selves and stopping forcing me along on their escapades.

"I'm feeling extra confident today." I grinned. "Let's walk by them."

You would have thought I'd suggested murder by the look that crossed my best friend's face in response to my statement. Once she got over her initial shock she threw herself down at a empty table and shook her head.