The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 19: Ronan

"Tell that to the judge."

"I was just curious!"

"If you want to get in my business so badly, then fine. Jesse is one of my friends from New York. We've known each other since seventh grade. That's all."

"You have friends?"

"Yes, surprisingly."

Finn raises his eyebrows at me. (He's only capable of raising both of them at the same time. I've observed this.) "I thought you didn't like to make friends."

"I do like to make friends. Just not with people from the state of Indiana."

"That's downright discriminatory."

I want to steer the conversation away from Indiana and Jesse and friendships, so I ask, "Are those your letters?" and jerk my head towards the envelopes sticking out of Finn's pants. He hasn't opened them yet, which means they must be important— too important to open in the Mess Hall in front of all the other campers. Hopefully, they're also important enough to distract him from my letter.

"Yeah." Finn's gaze suddenly turns shifty, and he yanks the letters out of his waistband and tucks them away under his pillow. "Not that it's any of your business, of course."

"Are they from your parents?" I query.

"Sort of. One of them is from my mom."

"No dad?"

Finn gives a small smile. "Another wolf."

I'm tempted to press the subject, but I decide not to. If there's one thing in life I understand, it's family issues. And even though Finn looks and acts like he comes from the family on the back of a Hallmark card, I can already see that pressing him about his dad would just be more trouble than it's worth.

So instead of asking more questions, I just nod at him. Finn nods back. It's a small act of peace between us. Not that I'm planning on acting all chummy with him in the future.

"Well, I've got to go to my third activity." Finn leaps to his feet, already reaching for his rain-jacket (it's been drizzling since lunch). "Any chance you have hiking at twelve-thirty?"

"Nope. Got fishing at one."

"Okay. Well, see you later." Finn's halfway to the door when he turns around, realizing that he's forgotten something. "Asshole."

Dear Ronan,

Fuck Sabrina.

Sorry. I had to get that out of the way. Did you know that your mother sucks? Probably. I still don't understand why you crashed that car for her. She would definitely benefit from some time in jail.

Sorry.

I always feel bad about insulting other people's parents. Even the ones that really, really suck.

Sorry!

(Sabrina does suck, though. I really hope you agree with me on this.)

But I'm not here to write about your terrible mother. To be honest, I'd love to never think about her again.

So forget Sabrina.

You're probably wondering how I sent this letter to you, since obviously your parents would never willingly allow me to contact you. (I know that they hate me. It's okay. The feeling is mutual.) Anyways, the story is that I managed to cajole the name of your summer camp out of some poor guy named Fred that works in your lobby. Apparently he overheard it during an argument between you and your mom. (I have a feeling that this argument involved you sneaking away to hang out with me, and for that I sincerely apologize.) So I did some Nancy Drew-ing (am I allowed to turn her name into a verb?) and found the address to Lightlake— and holy shit, you're really in Alaska? You must have seriously pissed Sabrina off to get sent all the way to Canada.

I don't mean to make light of the situation. Seriously, I'm worried about you. I know that I said to give 'em hell, but maybe keep your hell more contained. Give them a little hell. A sensible amount of hell. I really don't want you to get shivved or sent to jail. I only have two best friends— please don't lower that number to one.

I hope you get this letter. I'm not super sure how the whole troubled teens summer camp thing works. Do you think they'll censor my swearing? Let's experiment: Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

(Did they censor it!? Let me know!)

So, I'm running out of time to write this letter because I'm meeting Margot in twenty minutes, and I have to explain this whole situation to her, which is going to be a fucking disaster because she's understandably freaked out. After Sabrina wouldn't let us say goodbye to you (did I mention how much she sucks?), Margot realized that something was up, and the only way I could get her to calm down was by promising to tell her what happened to you. Don't worry— I won't tell her about Alice. Your secrets are safe with me.

I'm not sure what else to say. I don't write letters that often.

I guess I could mention that the Yankee's beat the Met's the other day.

Ha.

Now I've really got to go. But don't worry, I'll write you more letters. I hope your prison guards actually let you write back sometime. I want to know all about Lightlake. Are there fights? Have you had to punch anybody yet? Do the counselors ever line you up and check for contraband? Fill me on all of the gossip. Like, do you get roommates? And if you do, did you get a cool one?

New York isn't the same without you. Stay out of trouble and come home soon.

P.S— You haven't forgotten my phone number yet, have you?

— Your friend, Jesse

I read the letter three times. It makes me smile every time.

(Also, for your information, the counselors did not censor the swearing. I don't even think they read our letters— just feel to make sure there's nothing illegal inside of them.)

I read the letter again.

I definitely need to find a phone.