Dear Christopher,
My mother married a German count, which is exactly as pretentious as it sounds. We’re moving to Frankfurt and that means a boarding school with new rules and lesson plans where I’m already going to be behind. I hope you don’t mind that I’m writing you, because I know we’re not technically related anymore.
PS. Who’s going to dive in and rescue me on spring break?
Dear Harper,
Thank you for writing to me, even if we aren’t related anymore. If it’s any consolation, you feel as much a sister to me as you did before. Which is to say, not much. I’m sorry to hear about the new boarding school. I hope they have lots of paint.
PS. Don’t sit on the rail at midnight, and whatever you do, don’t die.
Dear Christopher,
Germany is cold and guess what? They speak German. It’s hard to make friends when the only things I know how to say are “Yes, ma’am” and “Which way is the bathroom?” I’m super popular.
You will be pleased to know that while I did smoke a joint on the railing, I had my phone in my pocket in a waterproof case. So even if I had fallen in, which I didn’t, I could have called the yacht’s concierge line and gotten rescued. Three cheers for technology.
PS. My new stepbrother wears twenty pounds of cologne and has a goatee.
Dear Harper,
It’s kind of strange how different the second year is from the first. In the freshman classes they kept talking about weeding people out (which doesn’t mean what you think it does) and how hard it would be, but I felt like I had a handle on things. Now they’re acting like it’s straightforward and I’m staying up late every night banging my head against these textbooks.
I feel like I’m drowning here.
PS. If I had written this textbook, I deserve to be shot. With a silver bullet.
Dear Christopher,
You have an amazing brain, which is something I can state without any hesitation because you said I was smart–so obviously you have a clear and accurate understanding of the world. Plus, Daddy keeps talking about how you’re going to do great things.
And I’m not just saying that because you’re a vampire who wrote a shitty textbook.
PS. For the love of God, don’t die.
Dear Harper,
Finals damn near killed me, but I kept your letter on my desk. I figured as long as you had ordered me not to die, I had no choice but to listen. That’s how saving your life works, right? I never took etiquette class, so I’m just guessing here.
Your dad gave a speech at commencement and took me out to dinner. He said you were doing some kind of big art exhibit in New York City. That’s incredible.
PS. Why didn’t you tell me about it?
Dear Christopher,
That’s exactly how saving my life works, and congratulations on graduating!!! The only reason I applied to Smith College is my art professor. Her work is amazing. In my admissions essay I wrote about the Medusa painting. I thought they only made interns read those things, but Professor Mills found out and asked me to do an exhibit.
I thought about vandalizing the school and tearing out the wall of the gym, but shipping rates are ridiculous. So instead I’m doing a series of canvas paintings about the myth.
PS. I’m enclosing an invitation to the exhibit in case you can make it.