**Once-in-a-lifetime. Needs hyphens. My eyes are burning.
* * *
So what if I called u an asshole?
**For fuck’s sake. U? Really? Two more letters. How hard was it to add TWO LETTERS?
* * *
It’s not like anyone is ever going to read this anyway.
**Well, this is awkward…
* * *
Sincerely,
From the bottom of my heart,
Go fuck yourself
- L
**L, huh? I wonder what your real name is. Oh, I know! L…earn how to fucking spell? :D
And now he’s mocking my “name.”
I shouldn’t have signed the letter in the first place. I only did it out of habit. Chose L, short for Love, off the top of my head. I guess you could say the nickname “Love” has sentimental value for me, which is something this dickwad couldn’t even begin to understand.
Did he not see the part where I clarify I wouldn’t correct my mistakes? No, screw that, did he not see how vulnerable I was in that letter? I’d had enough that day, so naturally this butthead thought to himself, “Huh, I should roast the hell out of this stranger.”
Just when I think I’ve seen it all, I flip the page and find a note in the same handwriting.
That was fun. Piece of advice: drop the victim act. Nobody likes a crybaby. I’d also stop with the hate letters, angry chick. Imagine if your teacher found it. You wouldn’t want to give her a stroke from laughing too hard at your grammar.
What the fuck did I just read?
Who could be such a gigantic asshole?
Mr. Tate?
He did borrow the book, after all. No way. The man wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone bulldoze someone’s self-esteem, and this handwriting is somewhat understandable. Mr. Tate’s was always a killer headache to read on my science tests.
This is someone else.
Fuming, I dump the poetry book on the nearest table, rip the letter into a thousand pieces, and toss it deep into the trash. Then I go grab a pen and paper from the front desk.
I’m well aware that slipping another letter inside the book is a royal waste of time. There’s little to no chance my answer will ever make it back to the original bully, but I couldn’t care less right now.
You think you saw me angry,troll?
Just wait.
* * *
I begin concocting an escape route from the moment I unlock the front door to my house. Just get to the stairs before she sees you. You can do it. My mom is in the kitchen, on the phone with someone.
“Absolutely not. What part isn’t registering? We’ve been over this. My daughter will be free to leave town when and only when she’s graduated. Not a day before!”