rising and falling, crashing onto the gulf coast. Undulating seems to fit.
I have to write my favorite number, one, plus the day of the week, Saturday.
One is the number of people I have to forward the e-mail to for my wish to come true by Saturday. I consider deleting the survey. I’m not superstitious, but there’s no way I want to delete my wish. The moment I send the survey back to Delia, the phone rings. I slide my headphones off so fast I rip a couple of hairs from my scalp. Ouch!
“Hello, is this Calli?” a familiar voice asks when I answer. Unbelievable! It’s Michelle. “I’m returning your call. How can I help you?”
It’s a coincidence that she’s called at this exact moment, I know, but it’s enough to make me rethink my statement about not being superstitious. This could be an opportunity for my wish to come true, my mothers’ wishes to come true. I should carefully choose my words, but after thanking Michelle for returning my call, I can’t keep myself from saying that I feel horrible about what has happened with Cherish. I’ve confessed my actions to Dub. Liz. Mom. I’m not exactly obligated to tell Michelle anything, but it’s the right thing to do. “I want you to know I’m mostly responsible. Cherish made me so mad at times, and I . . .”
“I’m sure it’s been emotional. Cherish explained the
entire situation right up to wrongfully accusing you of stealing the jewelry. She admitted she’d been trying to start fights with you.”
I almost drop the phone. Did Michelle get the facts wrong? I doubt it—she’s not the type to get confused. Why did Cherish say that? I really need to talk to her, and I ask Michelle if this is possible.
“Only by mail.” Michelle explains how minors aren’t allowed to visit the detention center. It might even be complicated for Mom and Liz to visit her because the judge has to approve it. Michelle gives me a URL so I can look up the mailing address, and I clumsily clack the keyboard to find it while we’re speaking.
“I really appreciate the information, Michelle. One last thing. Is it possible for my moms to change their minds about taking Lemond in? It’s something they’re seriously considering.”
I expect her to sound hesitant or enthusiastic or appalled, but her voice sounds just as even when she says, “I’d have talk to them of course, as well as to others at the agency. I should be by your house soon to collect Cherish’s things and could talk to them then.”
“Thanks, Michelle. I’ll let my moms know.”
When I get off the phone I read the juvenile justice center’s mail rules. I can’t send anything else with my letter like stickers, food, or drugs. My letter might be searched or confiscated. Okay then.
I find an envelope and scrawl out the address. I haven’t written an official letter to anyone since my grandmother died, and the only person other than her I’ve ever written to was my father. I’d always hoped he would answer my
letters and we could be pen pals if nothing else. A lot has changed since those days.
I stare out my window while I think about what to write. Two squirrels race each other across the neighbor’s yard and up into a tree until I can’t see them anymore, but just a few moving branches.
Do I ask Cherish why she told Michelle what she’d done? Ask her how she’s doing even though I know she must be miserable? It takes awhile for the words to come to me.
Dear Cherish,
I’m not sure what to say other than I wish things hadn’t happened like they did.
But things did happen like they did, and I’m sorry for not being a better person. I’m trying to be a better person now, and I owe you a lot for that. I regret not treating you better, and I forgive you for what you did.
Your necklace should be safe with Michelle.
I’m okay and hope you are too.
I sign my name and draw a flower over the “i.” Before I overthink sending the letter, I search for a stamp and head out to mail
I have to write my favorite number, one, plus the day of the week, Saturday.
One is the number of people I have to forward the e-mail to for my wish to come true by Saturday. I consider deleting the survey. I’m not superstitious, but there’s no way I want to delete my wish. The moment I send the survey back to Delia, the phone rings. I slide my headphones off so fast I rip a couple of hairs from my scalp. Ouch!
“Hello, is this Calli?” a familiar voice asks when I answer. Unbelievable! It’s Michelle. “I’m returning your call. How can I help you?”
It’s a coincidence that she’s called at this exact moment, I know, but it’s enough to make me rethink my statement about not being superstitious. This could be an opportunity for my wish to come true, my mothers’ wishes to come true. I should carefully choose my words, but after thanking Michelle for returning my call, I can’t keep myself from saying that I feel horrible about what has happened with Cherish. I’ve confessed my actions to Dub. Liz. Mom. I’m not exactly obligated to tell Michelle anything, but it’s the right thing to do. “I want you to know I’m mostly responsible. Cherish made me so mad at times, and I . . .”
“I’m sure it’s been emotional. Cherish explained the
entire situation right up to wrongfully accusing you of stealing the jewelry. She admitted she’d been trying to start fights with you.”
I almost drop the phone. Did Michelle get the facts wrong? I doubt it—she’s not the type to get confused. Why did Cherish say that? I really need to talk to her, and I ask Michelle if this is possible.
“Only by mail.” Michelle explains how minors aren’t allowed to visit the detention center. It might even be complicated for Mom and Liz to visit her because the judge has to approve it. Michelle gives me a URL so I can look up the mailing address, and I clumsily clack the keyboard to find it while we’re speaking.
“I really appreciate the information, Michelle. One last thing. Is it possible for my moms to change their minds about taking Lemond in? It’s something they’re seriously considering.”
I expect her to sound hesitant or enthusiastic or appalled, but her voice sounds just as even when she says, “I’d have talk to them of course, as well as to others at the agency. I should be by your house soon to collect Cherish’s things and could talk to them then.”
“Thanks, Michelle. I’ll let my moms know.”
When I get off the phone I read the juvenile justice center’s mail rules. I can’t send anything else with my letter like stickers, food, or drugs. My letter might be searched or confiscated. Okay then.
I find an envelope and scrawl out the address. I haven’t written an official letter to anyone since my grandmother died, and the only person other than her I’ve ever written to was my father. I’d always hoped he would answer my
letters and we could be pen pals if nothing else. A lot has changed since those days.
I stare out my window while I think about what to write. Two squirrels race each other across the neighbor’s yard and up into a tree until I can’t see them anymore, but just a few moving branches.
Do I ask Cherish why she told Michelle what she’d done? Ask her how she’s doing even though I know she must be miserable? It takes awhile for the words to come to me.
Dear Cherish,
I’m not sure what to say other than I wish things hadn’t happened like they did.
But things did happen like they did, and I’m sorry for not being a better person. I’m trying to be a better person now, and I owe you a lot for that. I regret not treating you better, and I forgive you for what you did.
Your necklace should be safe with Michelle.
I’m okay and hope you are too.
I sign my name and draw a flower over the “i.” Before I overthink sending the letter, I search for a stamp and head out to mail
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