Caroline squirmed in her seat. She was not a nice person anymore, she knew that perfectly well. Nice people did not put dead rats—or fake dead rats—into other people’s lunch boxes. But she felt too exhausted to argue with her friend, so she did not say anything else. Besides, she figured that Micah would have plenty to say all by himself.
“Actually, there’s an idea! Maybe our next prank can be on your sister. She’s in seventh grade, right? Maybe we could rig her locker so that rotten fruit falls out when she tries to open it. Or . . .”
Micah went on for a bit, but Caroline did her best to tune him out. She didn’t want to play a prank on Lara. She didn’t know what she did want, exactly. But it definitely wasn’t that.
Yet she didn’t have the slightest idea of how to communicate to Micah without losing him altogether. And so, as he talked and planned and talked some more, Caroline said nothing at all.
Dear Marissa,
Caroline typed the words, paused, then sighed. Even looking at them felt quite ridiculous. Despite her regret over the rat incident, Caroline certainly didn’t think that Marissa was the least bit dear. But that was the right way to begin a letter, and Caroline knew she had to do this right.
She rubbed her eyes and continued to type.
I am sorry
No, that wasn’t good. She went back and deleted. I am very sorry, she wrote. That felt better. Should she add another very? Or was that overdoing it just a little?
After five minutes of painfully slow writing, Caroline had only managed two sentences in total. Although Principal Jenkins had not specified how long her apology letter ought to be, she felt pretty safe in assuming that it needed to be considerably longer than that. Yet at her current rate, she’d be done with middle school before managing to complete the letter.
Caroline leaped up from the computer and paced back and forth, back and forth. Maybe she was going about this the wrong way. The blank screen irritated her, making it difficult to think. Perhaps she ought to write the letter by hand. If nothing else, it would be easier to fill up a page.
Yes, that was just the thing. She wandered downstairs in search of the perfect piece of paper. This was absolutely not a waste of time, Caroline told herself. Once she had the right paper, everything else would come into place. Then she could finish this ridiculous letter and continue on with her life, thank you very much.
She examined the different options in the Finkels’ arts and crafts supply cupboard. After much consideration, she settled on a thick beige card stock. Caroline figured that a total snob like Marissa would probably like a letter on fancy paper. To the extent that she could like an apology letter for an incident involving a fake dead rat.
Caroline settled in the den with her fancy pens. Dear Marissa, she began, adding an extra flourish to the final a.
I am sorry for placing a fake dead rat in your lunch box. (Just so you know, it was not actually a rat at all. I put red paint on a toy that belonged to my cat, Kugel.) I should not have done this, and I am very sorry that you were upset.
A decent start, Caroline thought. She chewed on her pen and searched for additional words. There was still two-thirds of the page to fill.
“Art project?” Ima asked, wandering into the den with a vacuum cleaner in hand.
Caroline eyed the vacuum cleaner with suspicion. She preferred to be on a different floor whenever Ima decided to vacuum. Since Ima showed no signs of turning it on, it was probably safe to engage in conversation. She grabbed her tablet and began to type.
“I am working on my apology letter for Marissa,” she explained.
“Ah.” Ima pursed her lips together. “Well, I’m glad to see you work on that. Best to get it out of the way.”
Caroline tapped the “yes” button, lacking anything else to say.
“Is the letter going well?” Ima asked.
Although Caroline considered simply tapping the “yes” button again, she hesitated. Ima would know it was a lie—she just had a way of knowing such things.
“Not really,” Caroline said. “It’s hard to say sorry.”
Ima nodded. “That’s certainly true. Have you considered asking your sister for help? She is good at writing.”
Caroline typed her response quickly. “I know. But she is not very good at saying sorry.”
There was no doubt about it—Ima winced. “I know things between you have been difficult lately, but I hope you can put it behind you.”
Given her complete inability to come up with a nice-sounding response to that, Caroline decided not to say anything at all. She returned to her letter, because trying to be nice to Marissa in writing felt easier than trying to say anything nice about Lara out loud.
“I understand that she violated your trust.”
Clearly, Ima wasn’t nearly so willing to just let the subject go. Against her better judgment, Caroline went back to her tablet.
“It’s not just that,” Caroline said. “She hasn’t even tried to say sorry.”
“Well, have you given her a chance?” Ima asked.
Why did Ima have to be so very reasonable all the time? Ever since that night, Caroline hadn’t allowed herself to spend more than a few minutes in Lara’s presence. Whenever her sister tried to speak, Caroline immediately put away her tablet.
“I haven’t really talked to her much,” Caroline admitted.
“That might be your first problem right there,” Ima pointed out. Of course she didn’t say “duh” or anything like that, but Caroline felt that was Ima-speak for duh. “You know, my mother used to have these Ladino sayings that she liked to use. It was her way of teaching my sister and me important lessons, I suppose.”
Ima rarely talked about her mother, who died years before Caroline was even born. Whatever
