I get home, and grab a bowl of pretzels to take up to my room. I unzip my backpack, to find another letter.

I read it, and then call Charlie for advice again.

PHONE CONVERSATION:

Charlie: Wassup
Me: Another letter
Charlie: What?
Me: Yup. This is it:
*I READ LETTER TO CHARLIE*
Charlie: Weird
Me: I know, right.
Charlie: Maybe you should reply to it, like the first one said. Locker 679 or something.
Me: *After consulting first letter* 735.
Charlie: Yeah, you should do that.
Me: 'Kay. Thanks, Carl.
Charlie: Anytime, for my bae.
Me: Aww, thanks.
Charlie: Bai

END OF PHONE CONVERSATION

I needed a place to put both letters, so I scoured my brain to remember something special. Then it dawned on me. My music box. It was my mothers. It is shaped like a clichéd pirate's treasure chest. It is painted silver, with flowers and butterflies on the outside, and has pink felt on the inside. She had owned it since her aunt had given it to her on her fifth birthday. I opened the cabinet I kept it in, and opened it. I wound it up, and got carried away in the slightly out of tune but still beautiful melody. I folded up both letters, and put them into the box. I closed it up, and put it away.

It was a Friday, and I wanted to hang with Charlie. I texted her.

want 2 ride r bikes 2 park & mayb get ice crm?

Since the sun had come out and it had stopped raining, I changed out of my slop clothes [Divergentwizards_ knows what I mean lol] and into a striped gray and black a-line skirt that went down to my knees, black cropped leggings, a purple blouse, and a denim jacket over brown lace up boots. I was checking my reflection in the mirror when my phone went off.

ya. pick me up whenev.

I put my debit card, house key, and phone in my jacket pocket, and decided against wearing a bike helmet. I mean, when you're fifteen and you're just riding around town, you don't wear a helmet. I went downstairs and outside. My bike was out back, so I went through the gate and got it. I locked the front door, and mounted my bike. Three minutes later, I reached Charlie's house. She was wearing black leggings and a red plaid button down with the sleeves rolled up.

"You look cute, Carl," I say.

"Tank oo, you too," she responds, and we mount our bikes.

We ride down Lincoln Blvd, the main street in our town. We reach our favorite ice cream parlour, Any Given Fantasy. I get a cherry vanilla cup, and she gets a chocolate coconut. We sit on the curb, looking into the parking lot, as we scoop (or should I say shovel) our ice cream into our mouths. Once we are halfway done, we swap.

"Mmmm," Charlie says, clearly satisfied.

"I know, right," I say. "This place beats all."
"So, how's your life?" Charlie asks me.

"Fabu," I reply. "What about you?"

"Great," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "The triplets are driving me crazy! It's like one minute they're there, the next they're there, it's like there's three of them or something!"

We clutch our stomachs from laughing. She made 'poof' gestures with her hand like her thirteen year old identical triplet sisters materializing and disappearing everywhere.

I stand up, brushing off my butt, which has some dirt on it. "Now let's work off all that ice cream."

"Agreed."

And we mount our bikes and ride around town.