P.S. I Miss You

by Jen Petro-Roy

  I hope.

  It has to be, or else why would you have kept making valentines, even after BrettBradBrandon called you a loser? You made them the next year, too. The big purple heart with pink lace all over it. The turquoise one with colored beads laced around the edges. The yellow one with gold sparkles. I remember you used the fancy calligraphy pen Grandma gave you for that one. She taught us both, but you were always way better than me. My calligraphy looks like a foreign language.

  I remember we made cookies last year, too. Chocolate chip cookies and butterscotch cookies and sugar cookies. We slathered pink frosting all over them and I ate so many that I was stuffed by the time Mom came home from errands and Dad came home from work and it was dinnertime. But then Mom threw up her hands and grabbed one of each kind.

  “One for my appetizer, one for my meal, and one for dessert.”

  Mom and Dad don’t do fun stuff like that anymore. Dad works all the time. Yeah, it’s tax season, but he’s at work way more than normal. He doesn’t even go to Ultimate practice anymore. He complains he’s getting out of shape, but then just mopes around the house and watches Star Wars for the bazillionth time.

  Mom cooks and goes to Bible study and watches those home remodeling shows. And she says I watch too much TV! Because of her, I can now tell you exactly what kind of shower and toilet you should get for basically every kind of bathroom.

  If you didn’t care about BrettBradBrandon making fun of you for making valentines, why were you so worried about people knowing you were pregnant? I know Catholicism says premarital … you know … is wrong, but that didn’t mean you had to hide it. That didn’t mean you had to run away. It was like we were in some magic show and all of a sudden POOF! you disappeared. Like Mom and Dad were the magicians and you were the rabbit they decided wasn’t good enough to be in their talent show.

  If you didn’t agree to stay away, things would have been different. People would have forgotten about the baby. You’d be sitting next to me and we’d be surrounded by glue and beads and pom-poms. Mom would be complaining about how she’s going to find glitter in the carpet for the next year and Dad would be getting ready to go to his weekly scrimmage.

  Instead, Dad’s at work. Mom and I ate leftover lasagna that she pulled out of the back of the freezer. (It has ice crystals all over it and tastes like tomato cardboard.) And I’m signing my name on the back of a stack of store-bought valentines with Ariel and Flounder on them. (They were the only ones left.)

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss the glitter. I miss you.

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 14TH

  Dear Cilla,

  Were you wondering why I was still writing out valentines, even though I’m in seventh grade? It’s because of Mr. Barrett. He’s super into holidays and decorating his classroom. His bulletin board has been covered with shiny red paper for the past two weeks. He had us decorate little mailboxes for our Valentine’s Day party and then we exchanged valentines like we were in kindergarten. We were the only class in our grade to do it.

  Everyone pretended it was silly, but it was totally fun. Especially since we were also the only class to have a party. And lots and lots of desserts! Miri brought in these red-velvet cupcakes that she said were gourmet but really tasted exactly like the store mix Mom uses when she doesn’t have time to bake. Joey Witter brought in pretzel sticks, which we got to dip into frosting and red sprinkles. I was supposed to bring in those peanut butter kiss things that are your favorite, but every time I told Mom about it, she kept changing the subject. Then it was too late to bring them at all. I had to be the girl who showed up with a fruit salad. One premade at the supermarket where the pineapple was already turning brown.

  That wasn’t the most embarrassing part, though. That happened later, after lunch. The student council has this thing called Flowergrams. Did they do it when you were in middle school? You can buy a flower and have it sent to someone you like. The eighth graders were talking about it in the hall all week. I got one for Katie and one for Maggie and one for June. They all got me one, too, but then I got another one from Joey Witter!

  He smiled at me when I looked at the tag.

  It was weird because I definitely don’t like him that way.

  So I hid his flower in my desk and kept the other three on top. He stopped smiling then.

  I know that was probably mean of me, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I don’t want anyone thinking I like him.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you. I hope you get my letters soon.

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 15TH

  Dear Cilla,

  Joey Witter came over to our table at lunch today. Walked right up and stood next to me. He was so close I could smell the peanut butter on his breath. He was wearing that body spray they sell by the registers at CVS and Alex practically took a bath in every day when you guys were first dating.

  Joey asked me about the math homework, which was weird because he knew we didn’t have any. He’d shouted “Woo-hoo!” in class when Ms. Pasquale told us. Joey’s voice was all shaky and kind of squeaked when he talked to me, too. Then his cheeks turned as pink as bubble gum and he practically ran away.

  Ugh. UGH UGH UGH. I think he does like me.

  These are the times I wish you were here. When I could curl up on your bed and watch you do homework, then casually ask how to stop a boy from liking me. Or when I could go running with you (or bike beside you) and we could talk about why I don’t like Joey. Katie and Maggie say he’s dreamy, but I don’t get it. Maybe I’m too busy choking on his body spray.

  I can’t ask Mom or Dad about stuff like this. They’d tell me that seventh grade is way too young to think about boys. Or they’d start freaking out that I’m going to get pregnant or something. They’d be freaking out about nothing, too, because I don’t like boys that way yet. They smell gross and fart and burp all the time. Plus I don’t see what’s so dreamy about floppy hair that looks like it hasn’t been brushed since Christmas.

  You wouldn’t react like Mom and Dad if you were here.

  I can still go into your room and I can still ride my bike or run outside. There’s just no you to do it with. No you to talk to.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you.

  P.P.S. And I still haven’t gotten a letter from you.

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 16TH

  Dear Cilla,

  The postal box near school has a sign on it that says mail pickups are every day at 11 a.m. and 4 p.m. That means that one of these letters should have gotten to you. All of these letters should be getting to you. You’re not in farm country anymore, so why haven’t you written back? I mentioned a mail thief as a joke, but maybe there really is one.

  Or the mailman is just really bad at his job.

  I wish I wasn’t in school during those times. If I didn’t have school, I could stake out the postal box and solve the mystery of the missing letters. Either that or yell at the mailman.

  I do have lunch at 11, though. I wonder if I could sneak out. The eighth graders do it all the time. They hide behind the teachers’ cars in the parking lot to avoid the security guard and then go through the hole in the fence to the Dunkin’ Donuts down the street. You can always tell which kids went because they smell like doughnuts the rest of the day. Glazed doughnuts. My favorites.

  Miri went with them last week. She likes this guy Nolan in eighth grade. He plays Pop Warner football and Miri says he’s going to be the quarterback of the high school team next year. I think she’s just saying that, though. Because Nolan is really short. (He’s kind of a jerk, too. Miri’s the only seventh grader he talks to.)

  Are you not allowed to write back? Mom said you don’t have e-mail, but maybe they don’t let you write letters, either. Maybe you’re locked in some dark dungeon, shackled to the wall in chains! Maybe you didn’t decide not to come back. Maybe you’re a prisoner!

  I think the horror movie we watched last night
is getting to me. June convinced me to watch another one with her, even though the first one really freaked me out. This one was really old, but she said it was her favorite. But I couldn’t get through more than a half hour without clutching June’s arm. The ghost mask was way too creepy. June was nice, though. She turned the movie off right away and gave me a hug.

  I jumped a little bit when she did it, and June pulled back. She hugged her arms to her chest.

  “Was that weird?” she asked. “Because, um, maybe I shouldn’t have.”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “Unless you, um, didn’t want to. But friends hug, right?”

  June nodded. “Right.”

  “Right.”

  We didn’t say anything else about it after that, and I didn’t want to watch any more of the movie, so we watched funny videos online for a while. Then I showed her your school’s website.

  Saint Augustine’s doesn’t look awful in the picture. It looks like Hogwarts, all tall towers and stone walls. Big green lawns and fancy statues. No Quidditch court, though. No Hagrid’s hut, either.

  Sometimes I like to pretend you’re actually at Hogwarts. (Don’t tell anyone I said that—they’d totally make fun of me.) I pretend Mom and Dad are the Dursleys and they sent you away because you had magical powers instead of a baby growing inside you. It’s nice to think about you off having adventures with Harry and Ron and Hermione instead of learning how to be a good Catholic and missing your baby.

  I wonder if Dumbledore would have used an adoption agency if the Dursleys hadn’t been around. I asked Mom how adoption works last night, when she was doing the dishes. I mean, I know that parents and babies get matched up, but I don’t know all the details. Like, does it cost money? What happens if the baby grows up and wants to find the birth parents? Or if the aunt wants to find the baby?

  Mom told me that’d be impossible. Then she scrubbed the saucepan so hard I think she took a layer of coating off.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you. Please cast a magic spell and come home soon.

  P.P.S. Sometimes I pretend my invitation to Hogwarts is on its way, too. I haven’t seen an owl yet, though.

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 17TH

  Dear Cilla,

  I have a plan!

  June and I have a plan, actually. She suggested it. (She’s really good at being sneaky. We’ve watched three horror movies so far without Mom and Dad finding out! I’ve also had three nightmares.) June decided we should stake out the mailbox. It’s right across from school, though, which means anyone can see us, which means I’m super nervous. If any of the teachers look outside at the wrong time, I’ll be in the worst trouble ever.

  Grounded for LIFE. Or worse.

  I need to know why my letters aren’t getting to you, though.

  (Because that’s the only explanation. It has to be. Staying away is one thing, cutting off all contact is another. And I know you wouldn’t do that. Know it like you used to say that Alex was your “one true love.” You’d say it all swoony and breathy, like the ladies in that British miniseries Mom watches.)

  We’re going to leave right after language arts. No one will notice we’re gone in the locker rush, and if the lunch monitors ask any questions, Katie and Maggie will make an excuse. I told them it’d be good acting experience for the musical.

  They agreed right away, of course. They’re obsessed with the musical. Annoyingly obsessed. It’s all they talk about. When we hang out outside of school, they sing all the time. Thank goodness I have June.

  When Katie asked where I was going, I made an excuse. Katie and Maggie don’t know I’ve been writing to you. They don’t even know what happened to you. They think the same thing as most of your friends, that you were away all summer on a mission trip and then decided to transfer. They don’t know about the baby and they don’t know we haven’t talked.

  They don’t know that I miss you more than I miss candy when Mom makes me give it up for Lent.

  June’s the only one I can talk to about everything. I’ve only known her for six months, but she gets me, you know? Maybe it’s because her dad died when she was little. He was hit by a drunk driver when he was on his bike and died instantly. Isn’t that the saddest thing you’ve ever heard? June didn’t cry when she told me the details, though. She said she was only two when it happened, so she doesn’t remember him at all. I squeezed her hand and told her I was sorry. She squeezed it back. Her hands are really soft. Her nails are longer than mine. They were painted dark maroon that day.

  Do they let you paint your nails at Saint Augustine’s? I hope they do. I bet you need a little shine and sparkle in that dungeon of a school.

  I’m going to seal up this letter now. If you get it, you’ll know our plan has worked.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I really, really miss you. If you get this letter, can you call me? Our phone number is the same.

  TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 19TH

  Dear Cilla,

  Joey Witter left a note on my desk today. It had a heart on it. A dark blue crayon heart. There was one of those candy hearts taped to it, too. It said WILL YOU BE MINE? in white letters.

  Joey sits two seats behind me and when I turned around he smiled all big. His hair was combed and slicked down and he was wearing a fancy button-down shirt instead of the Patriots T-shirts he usually has on. He looked weird.

  Miri and Zoe were whispering earlier about how cute he was, but I didn’t think so. Especially when he was staring at me like that. And had a piece of lettuce stuck in his teeth. I didn’t know what to do. Was I supposed to eat the candy heart? I didn’t want to because:

  1.  It was green. Green candy hearts taste like dental floss.

  2.  It looked hard and dusty, like it’d been in Joey’s pocket for the past few days. Was I supposed to proclaim my love for him? Because I definitely don’t love Joey. I don’t even really like him. All he talks about is football and fishing. Fishing is gross. It’s all guts and worms.

  So I ignored him, just like I’ve been avoiding him when he tries to talk to me in the hallway. I didn’t even smile. So he stopped smiling. I hope he finally got the message.

  I feel kind of bad for being mean, but not too bad. Because if I was going out with Joey, then I wouldn’t be able to go out with anyone else. If I liked someone else, I mean.

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you.

  P.P.S. Tomorrow is the Great Mailbox Stakeout!

  WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 20TH

  Dear Cilla,

  Well, we tried to do it. We had a plan:

  STEP ONE: When the bell rang, we’d split up. June would walk toward the bathroom and I’d head toward my locker. That way, Mr. Barrett wouldn’t see us leaving together.

  STEP TWO: We’d meet in front of the gym. There’s a foot of snow on the ground, so whatever class had gym that day would definitely be inside. Then we’d sneak into the parking lot and hide behind the teachers’ cars all the way to the street, just like the eighth graders do. Only instead of going to Dunkin’ Donuts, we’d run across the street and hide behind a bush.

  STEP THREE: When the mailman came, I’d hand him the letter and make sure he put it in his bag. Then I’d tell him about my missing letters and demand he open up the mailbox so I could check for a false bottom. I’d also ask him if he knew of any suspicious behavior in the area.

  STEP FOUR: He’d really mail my letter to you. Then you’d write or call me right away. We’d live happily ever after!

  That was the plan, anyway. Steps one and two went great, even though it was snowing pretty hard by the time we got to the parking lot. June had forgotten her winter boots, too. She moved to Massachusetts from California, and I think she forgets that winter isn’t just an idea anymore. I darted from car to car, but she kept slipping all over the place. She almost fell once, but I reached out and grabbed her arm. Then she grabbed my arm and we both fell on our butts. It hurt at first, but then we looked
at each other and started laughing.

  When June and I finally made it to the bush, it was snowing even harder. I kept looking back to make sure there weren’t any teachers following us. June kept looking at her watch. She’s the only one in our grade who wears a watch. Isn’t that cool? All the other kids check their phones, but June is different. Her watch is pink, with a navy blue face. The hands of the clock are thin arrows.

  I started worrying at 11:15. If a lunch monitor was going to notice we were gone, they’d definitely do it by then. By 11:20, my hair was wet from all the snow. By 11:25, we had five more minutes in our lunch block and the mailman still hadn’t come.

  So we left. I could see the mailbox from class when the mailman drove up at 11:47. Forty-seven minutes late! Mr. Barrett asked me why I was looking out the window and I made some excuse about the snow. That was when he asked me about my wet hair. He asked June about hers, too. Luckily he bought our excuse about a water bubbler malfunction.

  So I don’t think we’ll be staking out any more mailboxes. Just to be safe, though, I’m going to find somewhere else to mail my letters from now on. I should have thought of doing that earlier. So if this is the first letter you’ve ever gotten from me, write back as soon as you can. Or call me. If you don’t want to talk to Mom and Dad, you can let the phone ring two times and then hang up. I’ll pick up the next time it rings. It can be our secret code.

  If this doesn’t work, I’ll have to find some other way to get in touch with you. I’ll have to take drastic measures. (I heard someone on a TV show say that once. It sounds super dramatic and serious. But you know what? This is serious.)

  Love,

  Evie

  P.S. I miss you.