From the Desk of Zoe Washington - Janae Marks Page 0,1

with Marcus’s letter taking up so much space in my brain.

“This today’s mail?” Mom stared at the foyer table, where I’d left the rest of it.

“Yup. I grabbed it from the mailbox.”

“Thanks.” But then her eyebrows scrunched together, and her shoulders did what they did when she was stressed—they lifted up toward her ears. She smiled at me, but it was a forced smile, like she wasn’t actually happy. She picked up the pile of mail, and as she flipped through it, her shoulders slowly returned to their normal position.

“I thought Auntie Lillian’s card might’ve come, but I didn’t see it.” I swallowed hard, thinking of the letter that had come. I wondered if I should tell Mom about it. But what if it made her mad or upset? She didn’t like to talk about Marcus.

Mom smiled at me for real. “It’ll come. Anyway, there’s one more birthday surprise for you. We’re going to order Hawaiian-ish pizza for dinner.”

I forced myself to smile. “Hawaiian-ish” was the name I’d given my favorite pizza combo—pineapple and pepperoni instead of ham. Since my mom and stepdad thought it was gross, we usually only got those toppings on half a pie.

“Sounds great.” I cleared my throat. “I’m gonna go to my room, and, um . . . put my gifts away.”

It was a total lie, but that’s not what Mom noticed. “You’re not going to take your jacket off?” she asked.

Marcus’s envelope was still in my pocket, right over my heart, which was beating fast.

“I’ll take it off in my room.” I walked away before Mom could say anything else.

What could Marcus have to say to me?

I had to know.

Chapter Two

I shut my bedroom door and opened the envelope. The paper inside was a piece of loose-leaf, like what Mom would buy to put into my school binders. The words filling the page were written in the same blue handwriting from the front of the envelope, except the print wasn’t as neat. I stood in the middle of my bedroom and read the letter from start to finish. And then I read it again. Everything was quiet except for my heartbeat echoing in my eardrums.

To my Little Tomato,

Happy Birthday. I can’t believe you’re twelve years old. Wow. Do I sound like a broken record when I say that you’re growing up so fast? Do you even know what a broken record is? Everybody used to listen to CDs when I was growing up, but my dad—your grandpa—kept a record player in the corner of the living room. He always says that music sounds better coming from a record player. He might be right. His favorite singer is Stevie Wonder. Have you ever heard any of his songs? He has a pretty great voice. There’s this one song called “Isn’t She Lovely.” You should look it up sometime. Stevie’s saying exactly how I feel about you, my baby girl. Well, you’re not a baby anymore, but I know you’ve gotta be pretty lovely at this age.

I wish I could give you a hug and see your smiling face on your big day. I’m sorry I can’t be there to celebrate with you. I know your mom is doing something special. She was always good at knowing how to celebrate birthdays when we were together.

Even if you never reply to these letters, I’ll keep writing them. Though I hope you’ll write me back one day. In the meantime, I want you to know that I think about you every day.

Love,

Daddy

All I could do was stand there staring at the paper in my hands. I was like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz when he needed to be oiled. My arms and legs felt stiff, like they’d weigh a million pounds if I tried to move them.

Why did Marcus sound so . . . nice? Mom always made it seem like he was a bad person. He didn’t seem like he was writing from prison. I wasn’t sure how someone in prison would sound, exactly, but I guessed they wouldn’t be so smart.

He seemed normal. He liked music, like any other dad. Like my stepdad, who was into classical and jazz music. I’d heard of Stevie Wonder, and I thought I knew a couple of his songs. I’d look up “Isn’t She Lovely” later.

I read the letter again. Why had he called me Little Tomato? It was kind of weird. I liked tomatoes, especially the little ones, but I didn’t want to be called one.

What