Anyway. No, I’m not this conceited guy you’re trying to make me out to be. I have long hair and sometimes it gets in my face and so I blow it out of my face. You really don’t need to mock that. That’s mean, and I know deep down you’re better than that. And if you’re not, let me know, because I don’t like mean people. Like one of the buttons on Stacey’s jean jacket says . . . “Mean People Suck.”
And about Stacey. I didn’t plan on my relationship with her. I never even knew her. I had heard about her, but it seems everyone in this school knows about her. But I never thought, “Huh, I should meet Stacey Simon.” I was never like, “Hmmm, how can I be calculating and meet Stacey Simon.” The way you’re viewing this makes it seem like I stole her jean jacket only to pretend to find it just so I could meet her. Didn’t happen that way, Tara. I found something that wasn’t mine, and I did what any decent person would do. I brought it to the school office. Lost and found. She lost it. I found it. That’s the story and that’s the truth.
And Stacey almost never ever talks about other people, but she did say that both you and I were great in Grease and that she’s happy you guys are friends. That’s it. She’s said that one thing, and she has never said a bad word about you or anyone. Not even Justin.
No, we’re not sleeping together. And no, we are not boyfriend/girlfriend. Stacey and I aren’t dating. We’re not hooking up. We are friends. Really good friends. And it’s a friendship that means a lot to me and to her. And guess what: It is sacred!
Not sure why you and your best friend Stef are in a bad place, but that has nothing to do with me, Tara. Nothing!
I go to school here. I do my best to do well in my classes. I suck at math, but I might be getting a tutor even though I’m begging my parents to just talk to the principal so I can get out of math. I am practicing my new audition songs for the Spring Musical. Auditions are first week of March. I heard a rumor that it’s going to be West Side Story, which would be unbelievable. Anyway . . . I hope you have a safe flight to Nashville. I hope you win everything you want to win. I hope I’ve answered some of your questions. And I hope this drama can stop. It’s 1992, Tara.
All my best.
Sincerely,
Matt Bloom
MARCH 1992
To-est Tomato, Minnie Strone . . . Soup!
BB Minkey, this is so unlike you to block my every outreach. But as I continue to reiterate . . . I get it. And man, do I not blame you. I am on my knees literally begging for your forgiveness, Stef.
We are all changing so much as summer-after-Senior-year and first-semester-of college loom over us. I could always count on you taking me back with open arms no matter how crappy I was bein’, but you’ve grown up a ton, and I respect that from the very bottom of my heart. You have blossomed into someone who if I met today for the first time I would envy. Someone I would want so much to be friends with. Someone I would hope liked my clothes, my hair, my thoughts on society and the world at large. You’re just so multidimensional and wise and both book- and street-smart. Basically, Stef—you friggin’ get it. Whatever the IT everyone always talks about is . . . you get IT and have IT. All of IT.
I just can’t bear to go another day having won Nationals and MVP without being able to share it with you. I mean this, those titles and the trophies and the new school banner, mean less than nothing to me because I can’t even share it (IT) with you. What’s a mansion, they always say, if you can’t share it with those you love most? A yacht is just some floating metal if it’s not filled with people you love. And titles are meaningless if your best friend isn’t in your world.
Pleading with you, Stef. Let me be a part of your world. Mine is nothing without you in it. That I can say for certain.
Ya know, I was so delusional coming into 1992 thinkin’ I had “evolved so much” and “figured it all out.” I am humbly admitting I don’t know much, but I know I love you. (Oh my god, I just remembered how much we sang that song, Steffed Animal. You were the most glorious Linda Ronstadt and I, an amazin’ Aaron Neville.)
While I can’t do anything until West Side Story auditions are over, I am going to listen to my best friend (you might know her . . . her name is Stef Campbell . . . she is, oh, I don’t know . . . the best girl ever. Heard of her?) and end things with Christopher. Let me say that again. I AM GONNA END THINGS WITH CHRISTOPHER!
I guess I forgot me along the way. I forgot who I am. What I’m made of. You tried so hard to remind me, but I was basically deaf. You could have done sign language and I wouldn’t have gotten it, Stef. I guess that means I wasn’t deaf. I was dumb. Ignorant. Arrogant. All of it (IT).
I’ve changed, though. I have. Going to Nashville, being immersed in Southern culture, changed me. I got to sit and meditate (thanks to you, my guru) and get clear. And
