She’d been tormenting Camilla every bit as much as Camilla had been tormenting her.

She was living in Camilla’s house, kissing Camilla’s boyfriend, eating breakfast with Camilla’s dad. Camilla had every reason in the world to hate her. And the realization that she could inspire a passionate emotion in Camilla, even if it was negative, was beyond thrilling to her. It meant they were on intimate terms. As intimate as sworn enemies. As intimate as people in love. As intimate as family. More intimate than family. The truth was, she felt closer to Camilla than she did to anybody else these days, her mother and sister included.

When Alice calmed down enough for her eyes to focus, she began to read:

Dear Alice,

This probably seems bizarre to you, a girl you don’t know writing you a letter out of the blue telling you we need to talk, but we do. There’s something I need to tell you about. Warn you about might be a better way of putting it. It concerns our parents. I’d prefer to have the conversation in person. I know that you live in the Boston area and I go to school in Connecticut, the part that’s closer to New York than Massachusetts. There’s an Amtrak station near me. Maybe we could meet at a halfway point? New London or Westerly? The sooner the better.

Sorry to be so mysterious. But you’ll understand why it was necessary after we get together, which by the way I’m really looking forward to in spite of the cloak-and-dagger circumstances. Oh, and I Googled you yesterday. Saw that you’d won some big art prize. Congratulations. There was a picture of you. The jeans you were wearing, I have a pair just like them. Crazy world.

Here’s my cell phone number: (203) 655-2701. Call anytime.

Sincerely Warmly,

Camilla Flood

P.S. Oh, and you should probably trash this letter after you read it. (Just so you know, I do realize how paranoid weirdo this sounds. Still, you probably should.)