When school finally ended, I was so relieved, I'm finally out of that confusing prison. Once I get off the bus, I unlock my temporary house's front door and run up the stairs to my room. I don't bother with talking to my foster parents, I go straight to my cluttered safe space.
The next week was filled with lots of schoolwork, small friendships, and this Lucas boy who makes my heart flutter stupidly. Today is Friday, and I'm not really looking forward to the weekend. I can't get enough of Lucas. He was a bright light to my darkness, and I wanted to savor every moment. I walked up to my locker and noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the vent. I opened my locker and plucked it out. The handwriting was very unique and kinda pretty, I could tell right away that a boy wrote this and I got excited. Maybe Lucas wrote me a letter!
To Emily,
I'm not really sure why I'm writing this—no one writes letters anymore, and it feels kind of old-fashioned. But something about you makes me want to do things differently. Maybe this will stand out. We haven't known each other long, but I already feel drawn to you. It's not just the way you smile—though that alone could stop traffic—it's the way you carry yourself. Quiet, but strong. Kind, but guarded. You light up a room without trying, and I swear, every time you do, it knocks the air out of me. I've never felt this kind of pull toward someone before. It's like you walked into my world, and suddenly, everything feels a little clearer—like music sounds better, colors are brighter, and being around you makes even the bad days feel worth it. You probably get a lot of attention—honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if half the school's writing poems about you—but I'm not trying to impress you with fancy words or perfect lines. I just want to be real with you. I won't sign this letter—not yet. Call me a coward, or maybe I just want to see if you'll figure it out. I'll give you a hint, though: you already smiled at me once in the hallway, and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.
—Yours,
Someone who hopes you'll smile at them again
I smiled and reread the letter three times, soaking up all the nice words. I can't quite tell who wrote this, but it's sweet, and I really want to get to know this person. He's wrong about one thing, though. I've been here a few weeks now, and no one has written me any letters. I grabbed my stuff out of my locker and ran to find Lucas. I spotted him in our first hour class, and I set my stuff down next to him on the desk and pulled him outside the classroom.
I put the letter in front of his face, smiling, and I typed it out. "Lucas! Someone wrote me a letter! It's adorable and sweet. I really want to know who wrote this. Do you know whose handwriting it is?"
He slowly takes the letter, smiling at my enthusiasm, but once he looks down at the letter, he loses his smile. I look at him, confused.
"Read it!"
"I just give me a minute, Emily." He smiles goofily at me, and I totally melt. He reads the letter quietly, and when he hands it back, he shrugs. "I don't know who wrote it. Are you gonna write back?"
"I was thinking about it, but I wouldn't know where to put it."
"Maybe put it where you found the letter? I don't know."
"Why do you seem so detached all of a sudden? I think it's a good thing that I got a letter. To be honest, it makes me feel better about myself." My robot answer took the human out of my emotions, but it got the job done. I only hoped my face would tell more without me having to type more.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Em, I'm fine. I'm happy for you."
I sighed and pulled him back into class, and I dropped the subject. 'Maybe he really didn't write the letter. I scan the room, wondering if it could be anyone in this room. What if it were a girl? What would I do then?' We sit in our seats, and no one seems to be paying attention to me besides Lucas, so maybe the writer isn't in this class.