Be My Pal

Chapter Five

Alice's POV
I don't think we ever appreciate the things set right in front of us. Most New Yorkers just surpass the fact of some of the city's secret beauties and talk about how under managed the grass and things can be at times.
It's 7 o'clock. My curfew is 10 on school nights. I got my report card today. And my parents are going to freak out. There's a C. Bound to go great.
Once I get home after the screams and belittling, I go up to my room to call Mella, sometimes the only decent person in my life.
  I met her at a camp I was sent to in my parents desperate attempts for a straight child. Bible camp. Mella was Asexual, and her parents were not happy. We exchanged phone numbers and have been best friends ever since. She even goes to the same school as me.
  I tell her about the shouting, the "disappointment of a child" I am, and the yelling for cutting curfew close at 9:30 (not that close if you ask me.)
   She laughs along with me and we eventually fall asleep together over the phone. I wake up at the right time this morning and decide to walk by Mella place so we can meet up.
  We walk to school as she starts telling me about her pen pal. I tell her what she's like, but not what she said. Those words were meant for me only.
  I know since we get letters approximately every six days, we get a letter today. I don't hesitate to take out my pen and a poem as I sit down. Once everyone has sat down, she starts passing them around. I rip mine open like a child with presents on Christmas. I read the note with care, kind of shocked.
  From the data I've collected, she's popular. She hangs around that crowd, the jock likes her, and clearly the sporty girls are the wanted in Florida. Yet she seems so real.
Dear Dia,
I understand how you feel with the whole gay thing. I'm bisexual, and my parents had even sent me to a camp to try to change that. That's where I met my best friend. Up here my peers don't care, so I haven't faced that much prejudice, but of course there have been some homophobics like my parents every now and then. The attached paper is a poem that I did show to a friend before. Its a poem on freedom to be yourself. I wrote it for a protest she was doing two years ago.
My number is on the back. I'm glad I made a good friend like you.
Love,
Ally.
I'm not saying I love her. But she's a friend now. And you always put love at the end of letters, really. She won't even notice either.
When I get home, I text her really quick before disappearing into my room.
Hey Dia! It's Ally

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