November 21st 1997
Tears stream down my face and the hand holding my pen jolts causing a line to appear across my page. I scrumple the paper into a ball and throw it onto the growing pile overflowing the wastebasket and littering the floor of my empty room. I cover my face with my hands as silent streams of water slide over my face. This is it, I'm leaving Scotland. I'm moving to America, and I still haven't told Jack. I sniffle and brush the moisture off my cheeks and start again. My shaking palms cause my handwriting to look more like a 5 year olds than a 15. I groan in frustration and ball my hands into fists. I need to do this. I manage a few scrawled sentences and quickly slide it into an envelope. "Elsa!" Mum shouts, "We're leaving!" I grab my backpack from my bed and glance around my empty room. I look up at the dent in the ceiling when Jack threw his ball too high, the burn in the carpet when we tried to iron my dress on the floor, and the squiggly lines on the doorframe, marking that Jack was always an inch taller. Although another tear drips down my face, I smile at the happy memories and gently tug the door shut behind me.
I stroll towards the oak tree, anticipating Elsa's arrival. We always meet here at 9 o'clock on a Saturday morning. It doesn't matter where we're going, or what we're doing, we do it together. When I reach the tree, I notice a ice white envelope nestled on a branch. As I get closer, I immediately recognise the cursive handwriting as Elsa's, even if it is a little messier than usual. I snatch the letter from the tree and rip it open. My eyes pour over the words and slowly my heart breaks in two. I slump against the tree and knuckle my watering eyes. I don't understand.. Elsa.. she's gone.