Be My Pal

Chapter Three

  Alice's POV
I sent my letter 5 days ago. I've been waiting since then for a response. Mrs. Harley told us 2 days ago that the Floridians got our letters. I'm kind of nervous, but it's more excitement.
I've been considering sending them my poem. Yes, I know nothing about them. But I've read into it, and most pen pals develop an unbreakable bond very fast, and without even a response back, I feel like I can trust them. Weird right?
My poems are very secretive. Not even my friends know I'm a writer. I use writing as a tool to vent, and I have a feeling sending her the one I just finished would be perfect. I could finally communicate with someone about poems.
I get home and mother announces dinner is almost ready. I wash my hands and gran mine and Father's plate. My father is already sitting. I set his plate down in front of him.
My mother has long, straight, dirty blonde hair, and my dad has short brown hair. They are both lawyers. Which they want me to be one as well.
I would die before defending a stranger in court.
I have always found their job rather boring. Yes, sometimes the clients make for excellent writing material, but what is so enthralling about sitting in front of a judge talking about why some one shouldn't be convicted of a murder? And most of the stories aren't even about something interesting. It's usually about someone not going the speed limit or trespassing.
They have enrolled me in speech and debate classes before, but the teacher refused to teach me once realizing I wasn't really paying attention. Pretty harsh on an 8 year old, huh?
I sit down in my seat, followed by my mother. "How was school?" My mom inquires. I answer "well." She then starts the nightly interrogation. "Do you have homework? How are your grades? When do you have a test?" Et cetera. I answer what pleases her. After dinner, I immediately head up to my room and play the batboy soundtrack. I eventually fall asleep.
I wake up, and see the clock. I'm going to be late. I quickly brush my teeth, comb my hair,and throw on some clothes. I grab my backpack and practically sprint to school. I make it just before the bell rings.
In 3rd period, I had heard from Joey Walker that we were getting letters back today. I could hardly sit still. The second the bell rang, I was the first one out of the door.
I get into 4th period and the board says "Pen pals." I whip out a pencil, and there's already a slip of paper on my desk. I excitedly wait for the bell to ring. Then it does.
Some kids don't care. They see it just as another assignment. They're chattering away as the teacher organizes the letters I just watch her take out of a small box. She starts passing the letters out.
I open mine up. The letter is freaking adorable. The use of words. The handwriting. The awkward "haha". I immediately grab my poem and stuff it in the letter. I had copied the poem at home, so I don't mind her having it.

Dear Sophia D.,
Hello! I am not surprised that you don't know Batboy and Very Potter, but how do you not know what the infamous Be More Chill is? Anyway, New York can be described in 3 words. Full of life. It's always loud at night, and I have to walk everywhere. There are parties every Friday. Is it like that at your school too? And yes, you may call me Ally, but only if I can call you Dia. The paper attached is a poem I wrote. My poems mean a lot to me, and I don't ever exactly show anyone. I need some advice from someone on if they are enough. I know that might seem weird, but art really isn't encouraged in my house so I'm scared to show a friend. Haha. And Muse? I LOVE Muse. Most of my friends don't know Muse either. Also, what's florida like? Umm... any... boys of interest? I don't know. Talk to you soon!
Xoxo,
Ally.
  Before I can change my mind about sending her the poem, I seal the envelope. Now, we wait.

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