Tami had both dreaded and welcomed starting at a new school. She feared not fitting in, but she was also glad to have a chance to start over where nobody knew her, where rumors weren't circulating that she was the "easy" girl who had given it up to an older guy at a party.

Tami didn't dislike living with Aunt Bonnie nearly as much as she had hated living with her strict but ever-busy mother. When their father took off over two years ago, Mama had become bitter and angry, and sometimes Tami thought she took that anger out on her. She wasn't abusive, not physically, but she could be downright mean. There were times Tami had thought of saying, "I can see why Dad left you," but then she bit her tongue. Because of course Dad hadn't just left Mama. He'd left Shelley and Tami, too. He'd never been a very present father, but now Tami didn't even know where he lived. She felt orphaned. Aunt Bonnie took an interest in her – and annoying level of interest – but an interest nonetheless.

Aunt Bonnie's frankness and insistence on discussing everything openly made her uncomfortable at times – in fact, it could be downright mortifying – but it also made her think, and, on some subconscious level, it reassured her that she was not alone. She could try to hide, of course, but Aunt Bonnie would barrel down her defenses.

So when she walked in the kitchen door today at 5:30 p.m., following an after-school rehearsal for the musical, and Aunt Bonnie pulled a lasagna out of the oven and asked, "Who was that boy who just dropped you off?" Tami ignored her instinct to reply, "None of your business."

Instead, she dropped her backpack on the kitchen floor in the area designated for shoes and coats and said, "Mo McArnold. He's a junior. He's in my choir class." Bowie High required a fine arts elective. She couldn't play an instrument and didn't like to draw, so choir it was. The Intermediate Choir class contained a mix of sophomore and juniors, and one very good freshman. "And he's in the musical, so he just gave me a ride home after practice."

Normally she walked, but Mo had volunteered to drive her, claiming that "it looks like rain," even though the sky was as clear as a crystal ball. Though Tami could guess his motives were not entirely innocent and helpful, she had agreed. He'd shown her around school the first day and encouraged her to audition for the musical. He had a nice, pure signing voice. He talked a little too much, and a little too fast, and he seemed to have trouble staying still – something on his body was always bouncing - usually a knee - but he was cute.

"And he's also the quarterback of the Bowie Boars?" Aunt Bonnie asked with a raised eyebrow. "That's what Coach Taylor told me."

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with Coach Taylor lately." Tami thought that would deflect the conversation from Mo. If she didn't deflect it, Aunt Bonnie was going to pry, and then she'd have to tell her aunt that Mo had invited her to the winter dance, and she'd said, "You don't even know me really" and he'd said, "Well, I want to get to know you" and she'd said, "I'll think about it." She liked Mo, but after being shrugged off by the older boy to whom she'd tossed away her virginity, she wasn't sure she trusted herself around boys. But she did want to go to the dance. Still, thinking about dating Mo had made her think about what she'd thrown away, and that had made her feel a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach. She still felt it.

"Well, we're friends," answered Bonnie as she retrieved a spatula.

"Friends, huh? Is that why he was throwing that empty bottle of wine in the recycling the morning after he had you over for dinner? Because you shared a friendly bottle of wine?"

"Yes, precisely."

Tami leaned her elbows on the counter and smirked. "And is that why he keeps bringing you records to listen to? Because he wants to be your friend?"

"That's exactly why he keeps bringing me records to listen to!"

"Auntie, I'm way younger than you, but even I'm not that naïve."

"There's really nothing going on between us," she insisted.

"So he's never tried to kiss you?"

"Not yet." Bonnie flushed. "I mean, no! He's not going to. We're just friends!"

Tami chuckled and said, "I'll set the table."

As Bonnie cut the lasagna with a spatula, she told her, "There's a letter for you on the coffee table from Second Chances Ranch in Weslaco. I'm betting it's your penpal."

After dinner, Tami settled into the corner of the couch to read her letter. She opened it expecting to find a forced, cursory reply that he'd been made to write by his father or grandfather. Instead, she found two handwritten pages covered front and back with a clear, crisp, black-ink cursive.

January 14, 1983

Dear Tami Hayes,

Why did I get sent to the ranch? Well it's an interesting story that involves the corruption of local authorities, a one-eyed man who walks with a limp, and the world's third most valuable emerald. I don't think I can trust you with the details just yet.

Tami burst out laughing and then covered her mouth, because she didn't want her aunt to overhear and ask her what was so funny. She read the first paragraph again and then continued the letter:

Sorry your dad took off on you. What an asshole. My mom died last year, but she didn't do it on purpose. She died a couple of weeks before Christmas. I'd already bought her a gift, just the day before. A pair of earrings. It's still sitting in my bottom desk drawer. I don't know why I kept it like that.

It was such a weird swing, to go from laughing to feeling her eyes moisten in an instant.

You said to write something interesting because you're bored. You think you're bored? Try living on a ranch in the middle of Nowhere, Texas with nothing but a bunch of misfit guys. No school, no Friday night lights, and not a girl in sight. And get this – NO TELEVISION.

My grandpa makes us work until we want to collapse. It's not that it's that many hours of work, it's just that it's physical, you know? At least our only school work is twenty minutes of math practice a day and reading one book a week. That's a lot of books. But I actually have a lot more free time than I expected, and it can get real boring real fast.

So I find ways to kill the time. I got a regular football thing going. We've got assigned teams and a game schedule and stats and everything now. My grandpa is the ref. I'm the captain of my team. And the quarterback. And the safety. And the punter. I play cards with the guys. I'm getting real good at Texas Hold 'Em. We bet with pebbles because grandpa won't allow us to gamble with money. Not that we have any money here. He buys all one movie ticket a week and two large popcorns to share. No soda, though. Just water out of the fountain. We go swimming at indoor pool on Sundays. I sleep more than I used to, and I read more than I used to. And now I'm even writing to some girl I've never even met. That's how BORED I am.

I'm going to trust you when you say no one actually sees these letters. Because if this letter ends up circulating around school, I'll have no choice but to – I'm going to quote you here – "end you."

No, I don't have any other siblings. Not that got born anyway. Buy my mom named every single one of her miscarriages – Emma, Aaron, and Dallas. Wish I'd gotten Dallas. That's way cooler than Eric.

No, yours is not the dumbest English project I've ever heard of. Last semester, we had to break in small groups and edit a Shakespeare play down to 35 minutes and then perform it. Do you know how hard it is to cut a play down to 35 minutes? Me and my group felt like the teacher was just asking for it at that point, so we cut out lines in Hamlet in a way that made everything sound really sexually suggestive. The students were laughing from the first minute, but it took her awhile to catch on. Then she started turning red and looking mad but we kept going. She finally cut off our performance fifteen minutes in and sent my whole group to the principal's office.

Tami chuckled.

It wasn't my finest moment, but, in a way, it was. It took a lot of work to make sense of that play enough to cut it to make it sound so lewd. I now know Hamlet forward and backward.

I'd answer all your questions, but you'll probably have been in school two weeks by the time you get this. You already know which of your teachers suck and which don't. As for the cool kids – just ask who used to hang with Eric Taylor and you'll know who's cool.

Actually, don't. I was hanging with some real assholes my last semester in Euless. You know, only one guy from my team has called me since I got sent here? Mo McAronold. And that was to ask me questions about a couple of plays I used to run. I guess I wasn't as popular as I thought I was. Out of sight, out of mind. Not that guys are exactly chatty phone types to begin with. I just thought…I don't know what I thought.

As for hang outs – obviously the football games and football parties, but it's winter now so that's over. The basketball team has parties but I hear those are kind of lame. DQ is the place to go after school to hang but you have to buy something – at least a small Coke or something – or the manager will chase you off. There's a big winter dance almost everyone goes to. It's no Homecoming, but it's still kind of a thing. Then there's the Sadie Hawkins dance in March and prom in late April. We only have a senior prom, but sometimes seniors take juniors or sophomores.

Do I look like my dad? I don't know. People say I'm built like my dad, but I have my mom's eyes, nose, and smile.

So I think I answered all your questions. Now I've got one for you - how many times has my dad taken your aunt out now? What do they do? What does your aunt look like? Is she pretty? How young is she?

Got to jet –

Eric A. Taylor

Maybe this ridiculous pen pal project was going to be more interesting than Tami had anticipated. She went to her room, grabbed a piece of notebook paper from her backpack, and began writing.