Judson’s response arrives after ten long days. It finds me in bed with a splitting headache that seems determined to stick around no matter what I do. It’s Friday and I’ve skipped my lectures.

At eleven, the doorbell rings. I wince as the harsh sound bounces off the walls of my already tortured head. It’s the pizza delivery guy. Instead of letting him in downstairs and allowing him to come up to my room, I throw one of Chelsea’s trench coats over my pajamas, stuff money into the pockets, and drag myself to the elevator instead of the stairs—my only daily exercise. I keep my fingertips pressed to my temples on the ride down.

I open the front door and accept the warm pizza box. The aromas of dough, onion, and pepperoni make my mouth water. “Thanks.”

The delivery boy’s china-blue eyes—he’s only fourteen or fifteen—glint when our eyes meet. He pushes back the strawberry blond hair hanging over his forehead and stares at me without blinking.

Even though he doesn’t say a word, I know he recognizes me. I ignore the unspoken questions in his eyes.

“How much do I owe you?” I ask him, as he seems to have lost the ability to speak.

He shakes his head and mutters the amount with a slight lisp.

I press the cash into his hand. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, ma’am.” He stumbles off, glancing behind him every few steps, until he reaches his blue bike. He rides off with a quick, unsure wave.

Inside the front hall, I check our mailbox. I’m surprised to find a single letter addressed to me.

The headache melts away and my heart starts to gallop. I wrote Judson three weeks ago, and I’ve been worried sick that he ignored my pleas. I’ve been unable to forget him, the words he wrote to Jennifer, the image of his emerald eyes from spinning through my mind. I slam the door of the mailbox shut and lock it with my key.

Back inside the room, my heart lodges itself at the base of my throat, making it hard to breathe. I place the greasy pizza box on the coffee table, forgetting about it as anxiety and anticipation move in to replace my appetite. I rip open the envelope. It’s not an actual letter, not really… more of a note.

Dear Ivy,

Who are you and what gives you the right to read someone else’s personal letters?

Judson Devereux

The words hammer in my already pounding head. The same words also bring along a fury that’s bitter at the back of my throat. I can’t let him talk to me like that. He doesn’t even deserve a new sheet of paper. Since he wrote in blue, I pick up a black ballpoint pen from my pen cup, and below his note, I write mine.

Those so-called personal letters were left in MY personal space. If you are looking to be mad at someone, be mad at the person who left them behind. My only mistake was telling you not to commit suicide. Sorry about that.

Goodbye.

Ivy

I fold up the paper, get dressed, and storm out of the room. I send off the letter before I change my mind.

My anger only lasts as long as my headache. As soon as I can think again without agony, I feel horrible. I sent an angry letter to a man who is struggling with not only a failed relationship, but enough pain to consider the escape that is suicide.

He’s lashing out at me because Jennifer isn’t there. And he’s right. Much as I thought I was doing the right thing, I shouldn’t have meddled. It was none of my business in the first place. I should have swallowed my anger and ignored his arrogant note.

When my eyes drift shut for the night, I pray my words haven’t added another layer of darkness to his heart.

Three days later, Judson surprises me with a response. His words are scribbled on the back of the same sheet of paper as our previous correspondence.

Dear Ivy,

My behavior was uncalled for. I’m disgusted with myself. You’re right, I directed my rage at the wrong person. Consider this my apology. Please accept it. If I may ask, do you know where Jennifer is? I really need to talk to her.

Judson

P.S. Keep your response on the same page. Great way to save the trees.

Relieved to get proof of life, and seeing no reason as to why I shouldn’t accept his apology, I write back.

Judson,

Jennifer left Oaklow University a while ago. She might have transferred to another university. Sorry, I can’t give you more information on her whereabouts. I have no idea where she is.

Take care.

Ivy