The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 23: Finn

I slip her letter under my pillow, in the hopes that it will bring me good dreams. Then I bring out the second letter.

The return address is the same street that I live on, which is perplexing because I don't understand why mom would send me two letters in different envelopes. It's not even her handwriting. I would know; I spent years studying that same handwriting on dozens of notes in school. I would know, because the handwriting belongs to the girl that used to be my best friend.

And then it dawns on me: the letter isn't from mom. It's from Anna.

Anna.

I don't know why Anna would try to write me after everything she did; it's her fault that I'm this summer camp, afterall. She wouldn't be sending me a letter at all if she'd just kept her blabbing mouth shut. I've got half a mind to teach her a lesson by throwing the letter in the trash— but my curiosity wins out before I can even debate tearing the envelope in half. Why did Anna write me after everything that happened? What could she possibly have to say to me? Anna never apologizes for anything, ever. So, if this isn't an apology letter— what the hell could it be?

I slide a fingernail under the flap and tear the envelope wide open.

Anna's letter is written on a sheet of Lisa Frank stationary that I got her for her birthday a couple years ago. There's only three words on it. Three words that say:

I'm so sorry.

I read and reread these words, sure that I must be misunderstanding them. Anna never says she's sorry. Apologizing isn't something that she does. Friends don't need to say sorry, she used to insist to me. Real friends can forgive each other without words.

Which makes this letter monumental. This letter is the probably the biggest shift in our friendship since my parents started the divorce process and everything in my life went to shit. According to Anna, friends don't say sorry— so does this mean that our friendship has come to an end? Or, for the first time ever, has Anna concurred that maybe she's the one who is wrong?

I stare at the stationary for a few more seconds, burning the image of those three words into my brain.

And then I crumple the letter, envelope and all, into a ball of paper in my fist.

If Anna really does want to apologize to me, it's too late. My entire summer has been ruined because of her. All of this— my shitty roommate, the terrible cafeteria food, the constant bullying, the agony of Sharing Circle— is because of her. I don't care if she wants to be friends. Because I certainly don't. As far as I know, our friendship ended the moment she picked up that telephone to rat me out to my dad. Friendships ends. That's just how life is sometimes. I need to come to terms with the fact that Anna and I are through.

"Finn?"

Ronan's voice shakes me out of my thoughts of Anna. "What is it?" I reply. My voice is tight, tense. I sound a little like I've been crying, even though my eyes are still as dry as a desert.

"The counselors are stopping by for bed-check soon. You should probably turn your flashlight off until they leave."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks, I guess."

"Don't thank me. I just don't want to get a mark for violating the light's out rule because you're ogling some skin mag under your blankets."

"You're a real hero, Ronan."

I turn my flashlight off and lie still until I hear the door open, then shut. When I'm confident that the counselor is gone for good, I flick the light back on and reach for the third letter.