Fic: Letters to You, Chapter 1
Title: Letters to You, Chapter 1 // Master Post
Word Count: 2831
Pairing: Pinto AU
Rating: PG
Summary: Chris and Zach get paired up as pen pals in the third grade, but unlike most pen pals, they actually stay in touch.
Warnings: Kidfic, mild angst, fluff
Disclaimer: All made up.
A/N: It was easier to make them the same age so assume they were both born in the late 70’s(ish).
A/N2: I’m aiming to have the second part up by next week, but let's be real, Beedle’s Pornathon is coming up, so we're going to have plenty to read and you won't care if I don't post the rest of this anytime soon.
“Chris P.”
Chris pushes his chair back and stands up, adjusting his new glasses before walking up to Mrs. Miller’s desk. His third grade teacher smiles as she hands him an envelope that has his name, written in cursive with pencil, across the front.
Once he returns to his seat, he eagerly tears at the envelope. His small hand pulls the neatly folded wide-ruled loose-leaf sheet out and unfolds it. Chris flattens the letter on his desk and, despite his barely contained excitement, reads it slowly, savoring it like he does when unwrapping Christmas and birthday presents.
Dear Chris,
How are you? We have five more weeks of school before summer starts. My birthday is in two weeks. I really want the deluxe Megatron for my birthday. I hope my mom can get it for me. When is your birthday?. . .
Faintly, he hears Mrs. Miller repeating their homework assignment and Chris glances up for a quick second before hunching over and trying to block out everything else in the room as he continues reading the letter. There’s bustling and movement around him as everyone retrieves their backpacks from the coat closet in the back of the classroom and begins packing up their books and folders for the day.
. . . Mrs. Valley says that this is the last letter we will send because we don’t do pen pals in fourth grade next year. It makes me sad that we won’t be pen pals anymore. I wish we could stay pen pals. You seem cool and I like reading your letters. You have nice handwriting too. We’re learning how to write in pen. I like it. I write with my left hand and pencil smudges when I move my hand over the page. Pen doesn’t smudge. . .
“Chris,” Mrs. Miller says softly.
He looks up with sad eyes. Maybe if he’d been paying more attention to the things Mrs. Miller said during class, he would’ve realized that this was the last he’d hear from his pen pal. His teacher places a gentle hand over one of his and bends lower to speak quietly to him.
“You really enjoy these letters, don’t you?”
Chris nods in response, giving his glasses another nudge up his tiny nose as his eyes wander back to the words on the page.
“Well, your pen pal does, too, and he told his teacher, Mrs. Valley, that he was very upset when he learned this was the last letter he would be sending. He asked if he could continue writing to you over the summer. What do you think about that?”
“I like that idea,” Chris says in a small voice and gives Mrs. Miller a huge grin.
His teacher laughs lightly in response. “I’m glad to hear that.” From behind her back, he gives him a small, yellow envelope. “This is a note for your mom from your pen pal’s mom. It’s just to say hello and it has their home address so you can send letters to each other instead of through Mrs. Valley and me. Can you make sure you mom reads it?”
Chris takes the envelope from her. “No problem Mrs. M.”
Giving his shoulder a squeeze, she nods approvingly and straightens up. “I’m very happy you were able to make a friend, Chris,” she adds before walking to the front of the classroom to see everyone out.
Chris folds up the letter from his pen pal and places it and the note for his mom in his Transformers Trapper Keeper. Gathering up the books he needs, he packs his backpack and leaves the classroom with a bounce in his step.
As soon as Chris arrives home, he tosses his backpack onto to the kitchen table and unzips it. He pulls out his binder and hands the yellow envelope to his mom as she readies an afternoon snack for him. Sitting at the table, he unfolds the letter from his pen pal again and rereads it, his index finger following along each word.
His mother sits down next to him and ruffles his hair, asking about his day while she opens the envelope. She holds the sheet of yellow and pink stationary in her hand, reading it with a small frown.
“Mom! Mom, Mom, Mom!” Chris grabs her wrist and shakes it to get her attention. “So I can write him another letter, right? Mrs. Miller said I could.”
There’s a buzz from the laundry room and she glances over her shoulder.
“If that makes you happy, then of course. I’ll help you address it and send it when you’re ready.” She leaves the note on the kitchen table as she stands to check on the clothes in the dryer.
Chris bites his lip. He knows he shouldn’t read it, but his curiosity gets the best of him.
. . . after his father passed away a year ago. He’s always been outgoing and has many friends, but lately it’s rare that I see him truly happy. There’s nothing like the joy on his face when he comes home with a letter from Chris. Surely, you must understand why I hope our boys can keep writing to one another, at least for a little while longer. . .
The sounds of his mother’s returning footsteps startle him, and Chris quickly drops the note and busies himself, pulling out a sheet of paper from his Trapper Keeper and rummaging through his backpack for his favorite blue pen. He tries to ignore what he’s just read and taps his nose with his pen twice while he thinks of what to write.
Dear Zach,
Guess what? I graduated to using pen! I think you’re cool too and now that I have your address we can keep writing over the summer. My birthday is in August. I wish my birthday was during the normal year. I’m never in school for my birthday and I don’t get to bring in cookies and my class doesn’t sing happy birthday to me. . .
***
The front door slams shut as Katie stomps back inside with the mail, sorting through everything in a huff until she sees something that makes her eyes go wide.
“Yes!” Katie jumps in place and tears open the large envelope. With an excited shriek, she drops the rest of the mail as she runs to the kitchen to gush to their mom about the college acceptance she just received.
Chris looks over his shoulder from where he’s sprawled on his stomach in front of the TV, his Nintendo controller in his hands, and eyes the scattered pieces of mail on the living room floor. He pulls himself to his feet and picks everything up, brightening when he finds a letter addressed to him in Zach’s handwriting, which has become as familiar as his own over the last two and a half years.
His videogame is forgotten as he slips his finger under the flap of the envelope, his tongue trapped between his lips in concentration as he unfolds the two pages Zach’s sent him. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he begins to read.
Hi Chris,
How’s it going? Spring is here and I’m seeing green buds on the trees. I’m so excited for the weather to be warmer. It must be nice to live somewhere that doesn’t get really cold. Do you even own a winter coat? Haha! I think I’d like to visit L.A. and the west coast someday.
Joe is leaving in the fall for college too. He’s going to a school nearby so he can visit us on the weekends. My mom and I don’t like the idea of him being far away. Does Katie know where she’s going yet?
I almost forgot! I have really cool news! I got that part in that play I was telling you about! It’s a small part and I don’t have many lines but I’m still excited. . .
Chris smiles at Zach’s enthusiasm and runs up to his bedroom after he reads the letter twice. He sits at his desk and sets up his pen and paper.
Hey Zach,
You should come visit! I’ll show you around. We can go to Disney World and Universal Studios! People say the ones in Orlando are better but I still love to go on all the rides. It’ll be so much fun. You don’t get pukey on rides, do you? We’ll go the beach, too, and maybe see some dolphins. I’ll show you a real palm tree. I bet you’ve never seen one of those around where you live.
Congratulations on getting that part! I wish I could come see your play. Maybe I could come visit you too someday. Maybe during the winter so it’ll snow and we can go sledding.
For a moment, he tries to picture himself bundled up in winter gear. A puffy winter coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. Then he tries to picture what Zach would look like if Chris were to throw a snowball at him. And that’s when he realizes that he doesn’t know what Zach looks like. All he knows is that Zach has brown hair and brown eyes.
Chris pulls open his desk drawer and finds his most recent school photos. Carefully, he cuts out one of the small, rectangular photos with pair of blue plastic safety scissors.
Now you’ll know what I look like. I don’t have my glasses on in this picture so you’ll have to imagine them.
By the time his mother calls him down for dinner, he’s copying Zach’s address from where he has it taped to the wall above his desk onto the front of the envelope. He folds the two sheets of lined paper and drops his school photo in before sealing it.
Two weeks later, Zach’s written back. When Chris tips the folded sheets out of the envelope and into his hand, something flutters to the floor. He picks it up and grins when he realizes that it’s a photo of Zach. Clamoring onto his desk, he tapes it to his wall, next to Zach’s address. He sits and stares at it for a while, smiling the whole time, happy to finally know the face of the boy living thousands of miles away in Pennsylvania.
***
Chris never had to wait more than a month to receive one of Zach’s letters. When Halloween passes, then Thanksgiving and the holidays, and Chris tells himself that Zach must be busy with his play and hasn’t had the time to write him. January comes and goes, and he gets a secret admirer Valentine in his locker, but it isn’t until early March that he finally hears back from Zach.
As much as it’s a relief, he also worries that Zach might be growing tired of him. It seems that maintaining a pen pal for so long, five years now, is something uncommon and he’s afraid that maybe all his friends are right about it eventually having to end. Some of them tease Chris, mocking his general aloofness toward school by telling him that he’d already passed the third grade; there was no need to continue doing this assignment.
But to Chris, Zach is more than a pen pal or some experiment to see how long they can keep this going. Zach is his friend. They had both acknowledged that in previous letters, and the idea of their friendship dwindling leaves an unsettling feeling in the pit of Chris’ stomach.
Hi Chris,
I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to write back. Things got really busy with the play I was in. The rehearsals went on until super late and I didn’t finish my homework some nights. My mom got upset about that. But it was all worth it because it was so much fun. I really enjoy it. I love going to rehearsals and standing right off stage and waiting for my cue. I think I’d really like to do something like this when I’m grown up. Maybe I’ll be like your dad someday!
How were your holidays? What did you get for Christmas? Fake snow? Just kidding.
I wasn’t sure if I should tell you this because I’m not supposed to talk about it. I don’t care, though, because my mom will never see this and it’s not like you’re going to spread rumors about me. You’re a good friend, Chris, and I think even if you lived here near me, you wouldn’t say anything mean about me. I got into some trouble in school three weeks ago. I punched a kid. He was calling me names. I don’t know what happened, but something snapped and it made me so angry. I didn’t get hurt too badly, but it was enough to make my mom want to send me to this private all-boys school for high school next year.
But that’s enough about me. Did you end up doing that essay contest? I hope you did. I think you’d win. . .
Chris notices that his fist is clenched. He knows what it’s like to be picked on, pushed around, bullied for being small and wearing dorky glasses, but it’s never gotten to the point where Chris had to physically defend himself. He finds that he’s boiling with anger on Zach’s behalf. Zach seems so thoughtful. He’s funny and smart, and really artistic, just like his distinctive handwriting, which has morphed into a mix of cursive and sophisticated print. How could anyone be mean to Zach?
It bothers him for the rest of the afternoon until he comes up with an idea. Chris runs downstairs and into the basement where his mom keeps her collection of gift bags, wrapping paper, shipping supplies, and other odds and ends. The smallest box he finds is still too big so he grabs some newspaper from the recycling bin and heads back up to his room.
Later that night, after everything’s finished and he’s written his letter to Zach, he asks his mom if she could take him to the post office the next day.
“Shouldn’t you have checked with me before you put that package together?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. “What are you sending Zach, anyway?”
Chris blushes, though he doesn’t really know why. “It’s just a gift,” he says in a small voice, “to make him feel better. He’s been going through a rough time.”
“It better not be dirty magazines.”
Chris covers his bright red face. “Oh my god, Mom. No, it’s... can we not, oh my god, I can’t, will you just drive me to the post office tomorrow? Please?” he whines.
“Alright. But next time, check with me beforehand.”
The following week, Chris is laying on his bed reading one afternoon when his mom knocks on his door.
“Something came for you, sweetie.” She places the package on his desk and gives him a smile before leaving and closing the door behind her.
Sitting up, Chris bolts off his bed and crosses the room in three huge strides. He grabs a pen and rips through the tape holding the flaps of the box together. There’s an envelope inside with his name on it. He can feel his heart banging behind his sternum in anticipation. Chris picks up the envelope and licks his lip. For a moment, he’s torn between wanting to read the letter and looking through the rest of the box. With a shake of his head, he quickly decides that he should see what Zach wrote first, and flips the envelope over in his hand to find that it’s not sealed.
Hi Chris,
I’m not sure the words THANK YOU are enough to say what I wish to tell you. I was in such a horrible mood before I got your package but I haven’t been able to stop smiling since I opened it. I haven’t been able to stop listening to your mixtapes, either. I think I’m beginning to really like Tom Petty. It’s your fault! Next thing I’ll be taking up the guitar, too!
I made three tapes for you. I’m not sure if you’ll like them all, but it’s what I’ve been listening to a lot lately. Besides Tom Petty, of course. . .
After dinner, Chris finishes up his homework while listening to Zach’s tapes. He was right: Chris didn’t like all of it, but he did like that it made him feel as though he was somehow closer to Zach. Chris pops one of the tapes (the one with the least amount of showtunes) in his walkman, puts on his headphones, and settles into bed.
By some miracle, he’s still able to hear his alarm clock through his headphones in the morning. The tape’s run to the end of that side, so he flips it over and listens to two songs before he reluctantly gets up to brush his teeth. On his way to the bathroom, he hums the last song he listened to and pushes his glasses up his nose as he smiles to himself.
Chapter 2
Word Count: 2831
Pairing: Pinto AU
Rating: PG
Summary: Chris and Zach get paired up as pen pals in the third grade, but unlike most pen pals, they actually stay in touch.
Warnings: Kidfic, mild angst, fluff
Disclaimer: All made up.
A/N: It was easier to make them the same age so assume they were both born in the late 70’s(ish).
A/N2: I’m aiming to have the second part up by next week, but let's be real, Beedle’s Pornathon is coming up, so we're going to have plenty to read and you won't care if I don't post the rest of this anytime soon.
“Chris P.”
Chris pushes his chair back and stands up, adjusting his new glasses before walking up to Mrs. Miller’s desk. His third grade teacher smiles as she hands him an envelope that has his name, written in cursive with pencil, across the front.
Once he returns to his seat, he eagerly tears at the envelope. His small hand pulls the neatly folded wide-ruled loose-leaf sheet out and unfolds it. Chris flattens the letter on his desk and, despite his barely contained excitement, reads it slowly, savoring it like he does when unwrapping Christmas and birthday presents.
Dear Chris,
How are you? We have five more weeks of school before summer starts. My birthday is in two weeks. I really want the deluxe Megatron for my birthday. I hope my mom can get it for me. When is your birthday?. . .
Faintly, he hears Mrs. Miller repeating their homework assignment and Chris glances up for a quick second before hunching over and trying to block out everything else in the room as he continues reading the letter. There’s bustling and movement around him as everyone retrieves their backpacks from the coat closet in the back of the classroom and begins packing up their books and folders for the day.
. . . Mrs. Valley says that this is the last letter we will send because we don’t do pen pals in fourth grade next year. It makes me sad that we won’t be pen pals anymore. I wish we could stay pen pals. You seem cool and I like reading your letters. You have nice handwriting too. We’re learning how to write in pen. I like it. I write with my left hand and pencil smudges when I move my hand over the page. Pen doesn’t smudge. . .
“Chris,” Mrs. Miller says softly.
He looks up with sad eyes. Maybe if he’d been paying more attention to the things Mrs. Miller said during class, he would’ve realized that this was the last he’d hear from his pen pal. His teacher places a gentle hand over one of his and bends lower to speak quietly to him.
“You really enjoy these letters, don’t you?”
Chris nods in response, giving his glasses another nudge up his tiny nose as his eyes wander back to the words on the page.
“Well, your pen pal does, too, and he told his teacher, Mrs. Valley, that he was very upset when he learned this was the last letter he would be sending. He asked if he could continue writing to you over the summer. What do you think about that?”
“I like that idea,” Chris says in a small voice and gives Mrs. Miller a huge grin.
His teacher laughs lightly in response. “I’m glad to hear that.” From behind her back, he gives him a small, yellow envelope. “This is a note for your mom from your pen pal’s mom. It’s just to say hello and it has their home address so you can send letters to each other instead of through Mrs. Valley and me. Can you make sure you mom reads it?”
Chris takes the envelope from her. “No problem Mrs. M.”
Giving his shoulder a squeeze, she nods approvingly and straightens up. “I’m very happy you were able to make a friend, Chris,” she adds before walking to the front of the classroom to see everyone out.
Chris folds up the letter from his pen pal and places it and the note for his mom in his Transformers Trapper Keeper. Gathering up the books he needs, he packs his backpack and leaves the classroom with a bounce in his step.
As soon as Chris arrives home, he tosses his backpack onto to the kitchen table and unzips it. He pulls out his binder and hands the yellow envelope to his mom as she readies an afternoon snack for him. Sitting at the table, he unfolds the letter from his pen pal again and rereads it, his index finger following along each word.
His mother sits down next to him and ruffles his hair, asking about his day while she opens the envelope. She holds the sheet of yellow and pink stationary in her hand, reading it with a small frown.
“Mom! Mom, Mom, Mom!” Chris grabs her wrist and shakes it to get her attention. “So I can write him another letter, right? Mrs. Miller said I could.”
There’s a buzz from the laundry room and she glances over her shoulder.
“If that makes you happy, then of course. I’ll help you address it and send it when you’re ready.” She leaves the note on the kitchen table as she stands to check on the clothes in the dryer.
Chris bites his lip. He knows he shouldn’t read it, but his curiosity gets the best of him.
. . . after his father passed away a year ago. He’s always been outgoing and has many friends, but lately it’s rare that I see him truly happy. There’s nothing like the joy on his face when he comes home with a letter from Chris. Surely, you must understand why I hope our boys can keep writing to one another, at least for a little while longer. . .
The sounds of his mother’s returning footsteps startle him, and Chris quickly drops the note and busies himself, pulling out a sheet of paper from his Trapper Keeper and rummaging through his backpack for his favorite blue pen. He tries to ignore what he’s just read and taps his nose with his pen twice while he thinks of what to write.
Dear Zach,
Guess what? I graduated to using pen! I think you’re cool too and now that I have your address we can keep writing over the summer. My birthday is in August. I wish my birthday was during the normal year. I’m never in school for my birthday and I don’t get to bring in cookies and my class doesn’t sing happy birthday to me. . .
***
The front door slams shut as Katie stomps back inside with the mail, sorting through everything in a huff until she sees something that makes her eyes go wide.
“Yes!” Katie jumps in place and tears open the large envelope. With an excited shriek, she drops the rest of the mail as she runs to the kitchen to gush to their mom about the college acceptance she just received.
Chris looks over his shoulder from where he’s sprawled on his stomach in front of the TV, his Nintendo controller in his hands, and eyes the scattered pieces of mail on the living room floor. He pulls himself to his feet and picks everything up, brightening when he finds a letter addressed to him in Zach’s handwriting, which has become as familiar as his own over the last two and a half years.
His videogame is forgotten as he slips his finger under the flap of the envelope, his tongue trapped between his lips in concentration as he unfolds the two pages Zach’s sent him. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he begins to read.
Hi Chris,
How’s it going? Spring is here and I’m seeing green buds on the trees. I’m so excited for the weather to be warmer. It must be nice to live somewhere that doesn’t get really cold. Do you even own a winter coat? Haha! I think I’d like to visit L.A. and the west coast someday.
Joe is leaving in the fall for college too. He’s going to a school nearby so he can visit us on the weekends. My mom and I don’t like the idea of him being far away. Does Katie know where she’s going yet?
I almost forgot! I have really cool news! I got that part in that play I was telling you about! It’s a small part and I don’t have many lines but I’m still excited. . .
Chris smiles at Zach’s enthusiasm and runs up to his bedroom after he reads the letter twice. He sits at his desk and sets up his pen and paper.
Hey Zach,
You should come visit! I’ll show you around. We can go to Disney World and Universal Studios! People say the ones in Orlando are better but I still love to go on all the rides. It’ll be so much fun. You don’t get pukey on rides, do you? We’ll go the beach, too, and maybe see some dolphins. I’ll show you a real palm tree. I bet you’ve never seen one of those around where you live.
Congratulations on getting that part! I wish I could come see your play. Maybe I could come visit you too someday. Maybe during the winter so it’ll snow and we can go sledding.
For a moment, he tries to picture himself bundled up in winter gear. A puffy winter coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. Then he tries to picture what Zach would look like if Chris were to throw a snowball at him. And that’s when he realizes that he doesn’t know what Zach looks like. All he knows is that Zach has brown hair and brown eyes.
Chris pulls open his desk drawer and finds his most recent school photos. Carefully, he cuts out one of the small, rectangular photos with pair of blue plastic safety scissors.
Now you’ll know what I look like. I don’t have my glasses on in this picture so you’ll have to imagine them.
By the time his mother calls him down for dinner, he’s copying Zach’s address from where he has it taped to the wall above his desk onto the front of the envelope. He folds the two sheets of lined paper and drops his school photo in before sealing it.
Two weeks later, Zach’s written back. When Chris tips the folded sheets out of the envelope and into his hand, something flutters to the floor. He picks it up and grins when he realizes that it’s a photo of Zach. Clamoring onto his desk, he tapes it to his wall, next to Zach’s address. He sits and stares at it for a while, smiling the whole time, happy to finally know the face of the boy living thousands of miles away in Pennsylvania.
***
Chris never had to wait more than a month to receive one of Zach’s letters. When Halloween passes, then Thanksgiving and the holidays, and Chris tells himself that Zach must be busy with his play and hasn’t had the time to write him. January comes and goes, and he gets a secret admirer Valentine in his locker, but it isn’t until early March that he finally hears back from Zach.
As much as it’s a relief, he also worries that Zach might be growing tired of him. It seems that maintaining a pen pal for so long, five years now, is something uncommon and he’s afraid that maybe all his friends are right about it eventually having to end. Some of them tease Chris, mocking his general aloofness toward school by telling him that he’d already passed the third grade; there was no need to continue doing this assignment.
But to Chris, Zach is more than a pen pal or some experiment to see how long they can keep this going. Zach is his friend. They had both acknowledged that in previous letters, and the idea of their friendship dwindling leaves an unsettling feeling in the pit of Chris’ stomach.
Hi Chris,
I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to write back. Things got really busy with the play I was in. The rehearsals went on until super late and I didn’t finish my homework some nights. My mom got upset about that. But it was all worth it because it was so much fun. I really enjoy it. I love going to rehearsals and standing right off stage and waiting for my cue. I think I’d really like to do something like this when I’m grown up. Maybe I’ll be like your dad someday!
How were your holidays? What did you get for Christmas? Fake snow? Just kidding.
I wasn’t sure if I should tell you this because I’m not supposed to talk about it. I don’t care, though, because my mom will never see this and it’s not like you’re going to spread rumors about me. You’re a good friend, Chris, and I think even if you lived here near me, you wouldn’t say anything mean about me. I got into some trouble in school three weeks ago. I punched a kid. He was calling me names. I don’t know what happened, but something snapped and it made me so angry. I didn’t get hurt too badly, but it was enough to make my mom want to send me to this private all-boys school for high school next year.
But that’s enough about me. Did you end up doing that essay contest? I hope you did. I think you’d win. . .
Chris notices that his fist is clenched. He knows what it’s like to be picked on, pushed around, bullied for being small and wearing dorky glasses, but it’s never gotten to the point where Chris had to physically defend himself. He finds that he’s boiling with anger on Zach’s behalf. Zach seems so thoughtful. He’s funny and smart, and really artistic, just like his distinctive handwriting, which has morphed into a mix of cursive and sophisticated print. How could anyone be mean to Zach?
It bothers him for the rest of the afternoon until he comes up with an idea. Chris runs downstairs and into the basement where his mom keeps her collection of gift bags, wrapping paper, shipping supplies, and other odds and ends. The smallest box he finds is still too big so he grabs some newspaper from the recycling bin and heads back up to his room.
Later that night, after everything’s finished and he’s written his letter to Zach, he asks his mom if she could take him to the post office the next day.
“Shouldn’t you have checked with me before you put that package together?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. “What are you sending Zach, anyway?”
Chris blushes, though he doesn’t really know why. “It’s just a gift,” he says in a small voice, “to make him feel better. He’s been going through a rough time.”
“It better not be dirty magazines.”
Chris covers his bright red face. “Oh my god, Mom. No, it’s... can we not, oh my god, I can’t, will you just drive me to the post office tomorrow? Please?” he whines.
“Alright. But next time, check with me beforehand.”
The following week, Chris is laying on his bed reading one afternoon when his mom knocks on his door.
“Something came for you, sweetie.” She places the package on his desk and gives him a smile before leaving and closing the door behind her.
Sitting up, Chris bolts off his bed and crosses the room in three huge strides. He grabs a pen and rips through the tape holding the flaps of the box together. There’s an envelope inside with his name on it. He can feel his heart banging behind his sternum in anticipation. Chris picks up the envelope and licks his lip. For a moment, he’s torn between wanting to read the letter and looking through the rest of the box. With a shake of his head, he quickly decides that he should see what Zach wrote first, and flips the envelope over in his hand to find that it’s not sealed.
Hi Chris,
I’m not sure the words THANK YOU are enough to say what I wish to tell you. I was in such a horrible mood before I got your package but I haven’t been able to stop smiling since I opened it. I haven’t been able to stop listening to your mixtapes, either. I think I’m beginning to really like Tom Petty. It’s your fault! Next thing I’ll be taking up the guitar, too!
I made three tapes for you. I’m not sure if you’ll like them all, but it’s what I’ve been listening to a lot lately. Besides Tom Petty, of course. . .
After dinner, Chris finishes up his homework while listening to Zach’s tapes. He was right: Chris didn’t like all of it, but he did like that it made him feel as though he was somehow closer to Zach. Chris pops one of the tapes (the one with the least amount of showtunes) in his walkman, puts on his headphones, and settles into bed.
By some miracle, he’s still able to hear his alarm clock through his headphones in the morning. The tape’s run to the end of that side, so he flips it over and listens to two songs before he reluctantly gets up to brush his teeth. On his way to the bathroom, he hums the last song he listened to and pushes his glasses up his nose as he smiles to himself.
Chapter 2