Dear Paul Two,

Well, another day another complication. I'm sure at some point I'll get so used to my unusual life that it'll become usual to me, but today was definitely not that day. I've been looking forward to my next big English project ever since I heard the subject would be poetry. I even picked my poet in advance: Emily Barrett Browning. I mean, a romantic, disabled, abolitionist, female Victorian poet who wooed her husband with her poetry and inspired not only Edgar Alan Poe but also Emily Dickinson? She's irresistible as a topic. I've had handfuls of her poems memorized since I was in grade school.

In preparation of this project, I even began sliding some of her poems into Emily's locker so that she could start studying early too. Of course, I was promptly accused to pranking her when she mentioned them and I confessed that it was me instead of the secret admirer she thought it might be. But how was I to know she'd take it like that? She says I need to work on understanding other people, and as my best friend I suppose I ought to take her advice seriously.

"I can't believe you wouldn't think about that," she said, obviously annoyed. "I mean, if you started getting Victorian love poems in your locker, what would you think?"

I simpered. "That someone was a big fan of Emily Barrett Browning and thought you'd enjoy some of her sonnets so we could do the best project ever for English class?"

She bopped me on the head with her notebook and sighed. "I doubt that. I'm only just as boy obsessed as you are. I really thought someone liked me."

"I'm sorry! I just guess I wasn't thinking. And if it makes any difference," I add with a wide grin, "I do like you!"

"Yeah, as a friend! That doesn't mean I'll be getting any smooch sessions any time soon. I mean, feel free to offer, but you know I'm more into the bad boy type." We laughed, and I pretended not to notice her gaze glide over to Derek's locker. I've known about her crush on him since we've met, so I was used to her pining. I just wished it could see how much better she was then him.

"You should set your sights higher, you know. No ordinary 'bad boy' is good enough for Emily Davis. You need someone smart, sexy, college bound. Successful!"

"Sounds like you're picking out guys for yourself, Casey. I mean, we can go shopping for college boys if you want, but I never really pegged you for a college party girl. And with our reps, I'm not sure we'd get invited."

I shook my head. "I'm not shopping for anything. I just want to get good grades and early admit into a fantastic school and get everything I want in life, ever. Not much to ask for. Although, a new purse make be nice too. Mall after school?"

"A girl after my own heart," Emily cooed, holding the poems to her heart. "Maybe I'm not really into bad boys! Maybe it's dorky, keener girls I was in love with all along! Quick, read me some poetry as we shop!" I play-shrieked and she chased me down the halls. And my family thinks I don't have fun.

After our silly scene, though, there was a quick change in plans. I'm not as versed in popular people as Emily is, but a girl named Kendra who I am adamantly assured is the single most popular girl in school asked to be my partner, and Emily insisted I say yes. She walked away without having actually known my name.

"Em, do I really have to work with her?" I whined. Of course, I knew it was no use when I saw that gleam in her brown eyes. When Emily wants something, she tends to make it happen.

"Remember those college parties we wanted to go to?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "I just found our in."

So that was the plan. I do my project with Kendra, and we work our way into the cool crowd. It was a simple two-step plan to popularity. Nice, easy, organized. We really had a chance. And then lunch happened.

Now, when Derek says I ought to watch my back, you really think I'd learn. Maybe I just assume that someday he'll actually be mature for once. Someday he'll lay down his super-sudser and admit that he's just obnoxious because he loves the attention. Today was not that day.

I was doing fine explaining Emily Bennet Browning to Kendra and her friends when suddenly I bit down into a worm. I stood and spit and maybe might have caused a bit of a scene, but can anyone really blame me? My jerkoff step-brother just put a worm in my sandwich! Of course, it did turn out to be a gummy worm, proven by the fact that Derek came a bit off a bite for himself afterwards (on the end that was in my mouth no less!). In any case, I couldn't have looked more like a fool. And of course Kendra just had to look at him and he had to look at her and they had to have a flirty little thing going. Insult to injury, much?

After lunch, Emily was not so pleased with her decision to convince me to work with Kendra. It was too late by that point, so I just kindly sought to remind her of some basic ideas.

"Emily, sweetheart," I replied, grabbing her shoulders. "You are awesome. You are strong, smart, and independent. I might go so far as calling you badass. You are better than Derek—you are better than this whole school! And we're going to prove it when we get into an honest-to-god college party and grab you the hottest, smartest college boy we find, saving his slightly less hot but equal hot brother for me. This was your plan, girl. Believe in it."

She sighed in response. "I still don't like you working with her. I know you always say 'no girl hate' and everything, because of—"

"Because of the patriarchy that demeans us all the turns women against each other, yes—"

"But I like, really hate her right now, so be careful, okay?" I nodded to her concerns. She smiled a bit wistfully. "You really think I could date a cute college guy?"

"I think you'll have trouble sticking to just one. But you will, because you're respectful like that." She laughed at my response, and we headed to class.

Meanwhile, at home, our search for the mice hasn't gotten too far—they seem to be everywhere at once. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, since that means we're treating to the boys hopping around in horror whenever one of our little friends make a guest appearance. I got home after a couple of hours at the mall, with a brand new clutch purse as my prize for being patient while looking for deals, and found Derek standing on his favorite chair.

"You know, you're going to ruin your butt-print with your foot prints if you don't stop standing there. It's a chair. You're supposed to sit in it." I laughed at my own joke, but he was still skirting his widened eyes around in the floor.

"Those mice are around here somewhere. I swear the little white one just ran by!" he replied, ignoring my wit.

"Yes, and I'm sure it is just adorable, but since you seem preoccupied, I'll just take the clicker here and watch over the tv for you. I hear there's a fantastic dance competition on."

He pointed at me, making direct eye contact and furrowing his brows. "Don't you dare! I'm watching the recap of last night's game, since someone threw a fit last night and didn't let me hear the whole thing."

"Too bad—ooh, is that your friend?" I shouted, pointing. He jumped and began to lose balance.

"Where?" he cried out.

I shrugged. "Must've been another dust bunny." I took my place on the couch, clicker in hand, and reveled in my small victory. He lowered himself from his chair.

"You're enjoying this too much. Don't make me get you back again. I absolutely will."

"No doubt," I replied as drily as possible. When I was in a good mood, I liked to believe it was impossible for him to get under my skin.

"Hey, who was that girl you were with at lunch?" he asked.

My skin crawled. He was already under. "No one of import for you, Der-ek. Just stay out of my business." I tossed the clicker at his head and, disappointed at his fast reflexes and ability to catch a remote control while barely looking, ascended the stairs to my room to write.

So here we are, Paul Two. I've got a popular girl coming over after dinner to study, an apparent death wish for Derek prankage, and a dream of college parties I never thought I would have (but think of the intellectual stimulation!). Hopefully the quest for mice will finish soon and I could use those little things at my disposal for revenge. Until then, I'll keep you updated. Maybe I'll even write again tonight—this really has been rather therapeutic!

Yours Truly,

Casey