I chuckle. “I hate to break it to you, but they’re probably not going to get there in time for Christmas this year.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harper says. “People don’t write letters anymore and they should.”

“I’ve written letters,” Brecken says softly.

Stunned silence descends, and Brecken’s face shutters, his shoulders going back like he’s been caught admitting to collecting doilies. “What? Hasn’t everyone?”

Josh holds up his hands. “Sure, I mean, a few.”

“Because girls like them, right?” Brecken asks. He looks at me and Harper and even Kayla, who’s either asleep again or still ignoring us. “Am I wrong?”

Harper’s smile is small but genuine. “You’re not wrong.”

“It’s overrated,” Kayla says, her voice unexpected. She’s got her thin arms crossed over her chest, and it makes me wonder how long she’s been listening.

“Mine weren’t too successful,” Josh says, scratching the back of his neck. “But I’ll take it you had a different response?”

Brecken’s face goes red. He pushes a hand through his hair. “I didn’t say they worked. I said I think girls like them.”

Kayla shifts in her seat. I don’t turn, but I imagine her burrowing her head against the window again. “I just think most people don’t mean it. I think if you write a letter like that, you should mean it.”

“I meant every word of mine,” Brecken says seriously.

“Me too,” Harper says.

“Well, yeah,” Josh says. “That’s the point, right?”

“So what’s your verdict on letters, Mira?” Brecken asks, bumping his chin at me. “Overrated or extra special?”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t really know. I mean, unless you count cards from my parents, I’ve never gotten one.”

There’s a lengthy pause in the car, a silence that makes my neck go hot. This time I can feel everyone’s eyes on me because they are on me.

“Never?” Josh asks softly.

“Not that I can remember,” I say. “And it seems like something I would remember.”

“You would,” Harper says, reaching to stroke my arm. She looks stricken. “The right letter can stay with you for a long time.”

“Maybe you’ll get one this Christmas,” Brecken says with a smirk. “If we ever manage to get home to a mailbox.”

“Maybe,” I agree, though it doesn’t seem likely.

Still, the idea of it sounds a little bit wonderful. I try to imagine someone writing a letter on thick, white paper. Folding it up and sliding it into an envelope like the words mean something. What would I say in a letter like that?