ii. Mail Day

An empty house. Again. Dad didn't leave a note or even cook breakfast for me! I didn't really care if I was being selfish, but I just didn't want to burn the house down. Our house insurance didn't cover fires.

I groaned as I glanced at the neon blue digital clock on the kitchen desk. 7:15. I only had fifteen more minutes to get ready for school. My stomach was rumbling, I didn't know how to cook and I was still in my purple paw print pajamas. Great. Just great.

And…I had to be this stressed this early in the morning when it was Mail Day. I wonder if Mom actually replied…

I dashed as quickly as I could to our mailbox, ignoring the odd stares our boisterous, egoistic neighbors shot at me. I peeked inside…and there was a letter! I grabbed it, wanting to read Mom's reply…

TO: William Barfee

The Science Club's Newsletter

FROM: Jack Jillsonn, head of TSC.

A sigh escaped my lips. It was just Dad's stupid newsletter thing. Of course Mom wouldn't reply; she never did. I guess I was a fool for thinking today was different.

I walked back to the house, sullen and depressed, and threw on whatever garb I could find before running like hell to school.


Dear Mom,

Do you know what today is? Mail Day. That's right. And guess what? No reply from you. I hope you have a conscience so that you could feel all this pain I'm going through.

Because of you, I was late for school again. Why do you keep giving me false hopes on Mail Day!?

"Ms. Barfee. Late, again," said this scary monster before me in his 'frighten the children' voice. The teacher in charge, the stern Mr. Ubernesser, handed me a tardy slip before pushing me towards my seat quite forcefully. He then resumed to talking about Algebra. X this, multiply x that, equals x blah.

Classes were often like that—me hiding from the teacher's death glare while other students snickered at me. The only class I truly enjoyed was English. Though our teacher – Mrs. Applemann – hated me like Voldemort hating Harry Potter, I didn't mind. English was the only class I could be myself in, without those stupid classmates mocking me.

And besides, Luke Wilson was my seatmate. Well, it wasn't like he chose to sit there; it was sort of a dare from his cronies. He had too much man pride to back down, so he had to sit beside St. Pierre Academy's resident loser for the rest of the school year.

…Wait. Did I ever tell you about Luke? He is, like, the god of St. Pierre! Cough. I mean, that's how other students describe him. I just think he is a regular Mr. Darcy who is searching for his Elizabeth. Cough, cough. I wonder who that could be...Cough, cough.

Moving on, Dad's gone again. He didn't leave me a note this time. Hm. I wish he'd buy me some take-out 'cause I don't know how to cook. Well, whatever. I think some burnt bread would taste good.

Yeah…Okay. So, happy Mail Day mom. I hope next Tuesday you'll actually reply.

Happy Mail Day,

Alessa Barfee.