Jody’s crafty. I know how you like crafty boys, Lotte. Yesterday he was chopping up a tire with a machete. Why, you might ask? I might ask you back, why not? Chopping up a tire makes about as much sense as twirling around gymnastic bars. He kept cutting himself, but I thought the blood looked good. Jody’s short, and blood makes short guys look manlier. When boys get in fist fights at PS 220 I always try to get a front row seat. That’s why I like public school. There’s heroes here, whereas all Our Lady of Heavenly Blessing had were a bunch of girls who were bad in all the same boring ways. No wonder you went bonkers.

I hope you don’t think I like-like Jody. I don’t. When he smiles, his lip curls up and you can see a tooth that’s turned orange. Whenever I think about kissing him, I imagine that tooth tastes like Cheez Curls.

I don’t like-like Robbie either. Robbie’s a guy who lets me, Jody, and Jody’s foster sister Midge congregate at his house. I might as well tell you he’s a full-grown man. The sweet, innocent brains of our parents would shoot out their ears if they knew, ha ha ha. Trust me, Robbie has no dishonorable intentions. Unlike Mr. Homewood the gymnastics coach. Or Mr. Cartwright who I had for Home Room.

Robbie gets it. When he was in high school, he was some sort of big shot. Now he’s just a guy with no job. What’s great is Robbie’s the polar opposite of Mama and Papa and lets me and Jody do anything we want. I might as well tell you everything at this point, sister! Robbie gives us tips on stealing things from stores and gives us beer, cigarettes, sometimes even stronger things when we’re feeling low.

None of this is any worse than the things you did on Yellow Street. And Brown Street. And White Street. Yes, Lotte, I know all about it. Just because Mama and Papa treat the topic like the Bubonic Plague doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty of people on Yellow Street eager to talk about it. Maybe you should be grateful they do. If they didn’t, would you still exist? I’m not convinced you would. You keep repeating the same things in your letters, and not just your fish. Your brain’s the opposite of my cup size. It’s not developing. It’s atrophying.