Chapter 5
Dear Logan,
Thanks for the package. Apparently there’s a school policy against bladed weapons, which is totally bogus considering that one of the students is literally, like, sharp on every surface, but the jacket is pretty cool. Did you kill someone for it? (KIDDING. I don’t want to know.)
I wasn’t expecting a ton of presents, but turns out not killing your roommate gets you on Santa’s nice list, so I’m taking a break from tearing up the halls in my rocking new blades, courtesy of Professor X-Claus. (I was worried that maybe I should have sent him something better than a card but then I remembered that he’s totally loaded and I’m a 15-year-old orphan. SNAP.)
What wasn’t so nice was the week before, when our field trip went totally pear-shaped because of this stupid town full of stupid jerks who wouldn’t let some kid go to school. He wasn’t even a mutant, just really gnarly looking. A guy died for no reason, and it sucked, and I wish you’d been there, not because you could have helped, because you probably couldn’t, but just so you would have been there.
Christmas was pretty good. Your girl made out like a bandit, and there was a truly epic snowball fight (at least until Banshee freaked out that we were going to knock down a building, which we totally wouldn’t have, probably). Some of the kids went home, but me and Angelo and Jono all stayed here. I was expecting Banshee and Frosty to have their own junk to do, but both of them were here, too, and I think they were trying to make it like some kind of family Christmas thing, like there was a tree and everything, and Banshee actually got this giant turkey to cook but then he and Frost got in a fight about something and forgot about it and we ended up getting take-out instead. They fight all the time, but it’s like the weird teasing fighting that adults do when they have a thing for each other, and it’s totally gross. Nobody over 30 should be allowed to even think about that stuff.
I have to go, because Angelo thinks he can eat more Hostess fruit pies than yours truly; and we both know that some insults WILL NOT STAND. I hope you’re having a good time fighting the Hand or sitting in the woods glaring at deer or whatever.
Jubes
P.S. Merry Christmas.
P.P.S. I miss you, but I think I’m going to be okay.