Letters from the Inside Read Online Free

easy, and a 300-word English essay so hard? God knows. I wonder if She/He does. Anyway, good luck for the big game, keep in training: don’t smoke, drink or the other thing — see you —
    Love,
    Mandy

    April 6
    Dear Mandy,
    Thanks for your letter. If I fall asleep before I finish this paragraph, hope you forgive me. What with training and schoolwork and everything else I’m out of it. But I liked your letter. I knew you’d understand how I felt about the basketball.
    There’s nothing much to write about, so this could be short. My brother Dean was here for the weekend, and he came to our game, and took the whole team to McDonalds afterwards. We had a great time. It was so nice of him. He went back to university yesterday.
    Next Friday’s a black one, the 13th. Our game’s the next day. Hope it’s not an omen.
    I’m going shopping tomorrow, mainly for new jeans. I had some really good ones — light blue Geminis — but when I was feeding the horse yesterday they caught on a nail and ripped open, down the leg. It’s so annoying. Guess I shouldn’t have been wearing them to feed the horses. Hurt my leg too, scratched it deep, but not enough to need stitches.
    Then tomorrow night I’m going to a party with Casey, at a friend’s of his. Some huge place, with a swimming pool and spa and everything. Should be fun. Hope Casey behaves himself. But I’ll forgive him if he doesn’t.
    I’m too tired to write any more. Night!
    Love,
    Tracey

    April 12
    Dear Trace,
    One week of school to go. I can hardly wait. This term seems to have taken forever. And generally it’s sucked.
    I’m feeling so down and out. There’s too much work at school. Most of the teachers are stuffed. I can’t keep up with French. Rebecca’s being a bitch. This is definitely one of those weeks, one of those years, one of those lifetimes.
    Rebecca’s got it in for me at the moment. She’s such a back-stabber. Every time I make a comment she says something sarcastic, and God help me if I crack a joke. It’s all those little things — like, if we’re in a class with Helen and Cheryl, she’ll keep seats for all of us, but if it’s only Rebecca and me she doesn’t keep a seat. She makes me so mad! We went right through primary school together, and she’s always been hot and cold.
    So what are you doing for these holidays? Something glamorous and exciting with your perfect family? Sorry, I’m getting like Rebecca. But I hope you realize how lucky you are. Anyway, I think I’ve asked you about your holidays before. But I don’t think you answered.
    I met a girl from Prescott High yesterday, but she didn’t know you. Anthea or Athina or some name like that. She’s in Year 11. She’s an exchange student from Greece, and they had a meeting here. We’ve got two Greek ones; one of them’s in some of my classes, a guy called Phil. He seems nice but I haven’t had much chance to get to know him.
    Maybe while I’m feeling so bad I ought to answer your questions about my brother. I keep putting it off because I don’t want to poison these letters, but this one’s sour already. So. . . Steve. Where do I start? Bloody Steve. I gotta tell you Trace, this isn’t easy. Something in my head is telling my arm not to write any more. But I’ll probably keep going, now that I’ve started.
    See, Trace, the trouble is, I’m scared of Steve. Scared of my own brother — it’s not meant to be like that, is it? But Steve is a violent guy. I mean really violent, seriously violent. He’s still at school, in Year 12, except I don’t think he does any work. But the worst thing is, no-one seems to realize how bad he is, except me. It’s not just that he’s got a bad temper, though he sure has that. It’s not just that his room’s full of Rambo posters, that he watches all these violent movies, that he dresses in Army greens, or that he’s got all kinds of weapons, like two old guns of Grandpa’s and butterfly knives and nunchaku and Rambo