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It came in a letter. In this day and age, with all the technology available, it came in a letter. The biggest news I've ever received came in a letter.
I was sitting in the dining room. Light was streaming in through the window, refracting through the stained glass decorations my mom had put up to create dancing rainbows on the wall.
I stared at the table, monotonously putting bites of cereal in my mouth, paying no attention whatsoever to anything around me. There was nothing about the day that had suggested it would be special: I was awoken rudely by the sun; I came down to my dad reading the newspaper and my mom reading a science magazine; I poured myself a bowl of cereal, barely saying anything.
"This is utter bull," Mom huffed, slapping her magazine closed with a crisp snap. "I can't believe the editors these days."
"Calm down Amelia," Dad said without looking up. I glanced, bleary-eyed, from one to the other, then back down.
Mom huffed, standing up. I took no notice. The table was quite interesting.
I was still lost in my thoughts minutes later when Mom called my name.
"Lailah. There's a letter for you."
That got my attention. I never get letters. Like, ever. I had an email, a phone, and numerous social media accounts. If anyone wanted to talk to me, there were easy ways to do so.
"Huh."
I stared at the piece of paper that Mom had placed in front of me. The letters were printed, crisp and small and perfect. And there was no return address.
With a raised eyebrow and a healthy dose of skepticism, I pulled at the edge, trying to be careful until it ripped a little too much, and then, throwing caution to the wind, I tore it open.
The first line caught my attention.
Please do not, under any circumstances, show this to anyone.
That caught my attention.
It's a miracle Mom and Dad couldn't hear my beating heart as I scanned the letter, stifling a gasp.
"What's it say?" Mom asked.
I shrugged, trying to stay casual. "It's from Angie." Angelina Lewis, my best friend. I have to tell her. "It's a stupid chainmail thing." This isn't happening.
Mom gave me a strange look. "There wasn't any return address."
"Yeah. She dropped it off in the mailbox." I shrugged again, feeling my heart beat faster. Don't call me out on it, please, please, please.
"Hmm." Mom looked back at the letter she was sorting through. I let out my breath slowly, feeling my stomach churn. It didn't matter that she wasn't paying enough attention to notice that there was a stamp, or that it was addressed to Delilah, not Lailah.
