Eighteen Letters To Juan Karlos •COMPLETED•

The Twelfth Letter

"What's that?" Darlene asked, collapsing onto the sofa beside Juan Karlos. JK flinched. He fought the urge to close the laptop, opting for clenching his fingers together.

"Just trying to find the address of a fan," he simply said. "Oh, okay." Darlene smiled, and left.

Pulling out another letter, he rubbed a hand across his forehead and tried to forget about frustration, because maybe he might find out more, find an address, if he read more.

Dear Juan Karlos,

School's started again.

I'd forgotten how much I hate it.

I'm Grade 8 now, but nothing's changed. It's still all the same old teachers slamming books on tables, same old people whispering behind their friends' backs and everything just seems to blend together in a constant stream of miserableness. It's like everyone's following the same set of rules, don't do this, don't do that, and it's been so long since they were made that no one knows if they make any sense anymore, but they're all set it stone now and if you try, just try, to make a difference, that's it. You're no longer one of us. You're an outsider.

I say us, but sometimes I think I'm an outsider, too. Apart from Lisa, no one likes me. Not really. There might be a few people that look on and feel sorry for me, but they won't do anything, because they don't want to be like me.

That's the way it will always be, I suppose.

Sometimes Lisa gets angry about it, the social levels in high school, the laws of the jungle. The top and the bottom of the pile. You've go to be perfect, plastic, and pretty, to be popular.