Shrinking Violet

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Maybe she’d taken one look at my photograph and thought, “Puke! Purlease!”

Maybe I was doomed to just never have a real proper friend ever, and that was all there was to it.

And then I got home on Wednesday, and there it was, waiting for me … my letter!

Lily said, “Who does she know that writes letters?”

“None of your business,” I said.

“Who’s it from?”

“Not telling!”

I turned the envelope over in my hands. It was pink and smelled of fruit and had two little furry cat stickers in one corner.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” said Lily.

“Not right now,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to!”

“So w —”

“Lily, just leave Violet alone,” said Mum. “Letters are personal! How would you like it if she pried into yours?”

Lily tossed her head. “Wouldn’t ever have one! Don’t know anyone who still writes them!”

She can say what she likes. I enjoy having letters! I like seeing my name on the front of the envelope and I like looking at the stamps and studying the postmark and trying to guess who could have sent it. (Though I have so few that I almost always know!) I could guess that this was from Katie by the little cat stickers; and anyway, who else would be writing to me?

I waited till we’d finished tea then I rushed upstairs to my room and tore open the envelope. I’d gone all trembly because I had this fear she might be going to say, “Thank you for writing to me but I’m afraid I have found someone else to be my pen pal.” Someone who sounded like more fun!