When the first letter arrived, Miles clutched it in both hands, bit his lip hard to try and stop the tears welling up, or at least have an excuse for them. Phoenix's handwriting was so familiar, and yet it felt like years since he'd seen it – long, dark, miserable and lonely years.

He snuck upstairs to read it in the privacy of his bedroom, locking the door behind him and wrapping himself up in the thick blankets on his large, luxurious bed. Already, just holding the letter was bringing him back; he could almost hear Larry's comments on how snazzy his new house was, the less-than-subtle questioning about his allowance and nearby arcades. He could picture Phoenix standing on the Persian rug in the middle of the room, looking around with wide eyes, before finally saying something like, "is this a house or a museum?"

Miles missed them so much.

He tore the letter open carefully, and removed the paper inside with shaky fingers.

Miles, it read,

I finally found out where to write you! No one would tell me what was going on for ages, just that something happened and you had to go live somewhere else for a while. They still won't tell, but at least I can write to you now. I hope you and your dad are okay.

Everything is the same back here, except I'm already getting detention a lot more, thanks to not having you to say no to Larry. I finally finished that Terabithia book, but I have no idea why you wanted me to read it. It's so sad! Good, I guess, but I couldn't stop crying for hours. I'm going to find a movie that will make you cry and make you watch it with me next time I see you. Just wait.

I hope I see you soon. I'm sorry this is short, I promise I'll write more next time. But mostly I wanted to let you know I'm thinking about you. Larry's great, but you're my best friend and I really miss you (don't tell him I said that).

Love, Phoenix.

Miles stared at the letter for a long time. He felt numb, some kind of dry-eyed shock overtaking his body. His eyes darted around, rereading different lines, trying to figure out how he felt.

He thought about Phoenix reading Bridge to Terabithia and crying, and wished he'd been there. He stared at the lines calling him Phoenix's best friend, the miss you, the love, and his heart felt swollen in a painful sort of way: bruised, aching. He pictured his friends in detention, and remembered their trip to the principal's office only a few months ago, and he wanted more than anything to be back there again, when the scariest thing he could imagine was rendered bearable just by holding Phoenix's hand.

He looked back at the top of the letter and thought about writing back, how he would have to be the one to tell Phoenix his dad wasn't okay. His dad was dead, because Miles had killed him. Everything was the same back home – but he wasn't home anymore, and he couldn't be ever again, and he didn't want to ever tell that to Phoenix, didn't want to put that on him. He didn't want Phoenix to know how messed up he really was. He didn't want Phoenix to stop loving him, to realize he wasn't worth it anymore.

Miles saved the letter in a locked box. Shutting the lid felt like dousing the sun.

He didn't read any of the ones that came after.

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