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the unforgiving roughness of the pavement against it, and I continue falling onto my elbow, then my backside. The surface of the parking lot tears into me. The seat of my pants is torn, and my shaved palm and elbow are left bleeding. Wanting to conceal my wounded pride, I stand quickly, covering the hole in my pants with my injured hand, and stride off the playing field. Soon, I hear footsteps.
    “Julia, are you okay?” Megan asks, catching up to me.
    I look back at the game and a few kids, including Kelsey, are pointing and laughing at my expense. I’m embarrassed.
    “Yeah,” I say, not wanting to convey my true feelings at this moment.
    “Don’t worry about those kids. They’re jerks.”
    I nod. “Was it Kelsey who threw the ball?”
    “No, it was Jason, but I think she put him up to it.” She looks in Kelsey’s direction and gives her a dirty look.
    “Whatever. I’m going inside.”
    We walk to the recess aid and explain the situation. Normally, they’d ask my parents to bring me new pants but since it’s so close to the end of the day, I tell them not to bother. The rest of the day, I sit at my desk, a zip-up hoodie tied around my waist, and my behind still stinging from my injury. I don’t look at Cameron again. I’m just too humiliated.
    “What’re you doing?” Megan asks just before the last bell of the day rings. She’s looking down at my notebook.
    “I’m just doodling,” I reply quietly, trying to not call attention to myself.
    “That’s a lot of hearts.” Her eyes are wide.
    I move my hand aside to see the entire front of the book covered in tiny hearts. I guess I didn’t realize just how many I was drawing. I shrug.
    “It’s something I do when I’m stressed. You know, to take my mind off things. I guess it helps me think.”
    “Well, you have every right to draw them today,” she says with a sympathetic expression.
    I sigh. Yeah, I really do.
     
    ***
     
    Mom consoles me, and offers me a hug and a kiss for my wounds. I’m too old for that, so I refuse and head upstairs to change. I take off my pants, replacing them with comfy sweatpants, lie across my bed, and weep into my pillow. The phone rings a little while later. It’s Megan, but I tell Mom I’ll call her back later. Before exiting my room, she hands me the monthly magazine my grandmother bought me a subscription for. It’s little consolation, considering I’d rather have a letter from a certain boy in Germany. None the less, I leaf through it casually, trying to bring myself out of this state of self-pity. It does little to help. I throw it toward my desk, but it doesn’t make it and flops down onto the floor.
    “Ugh, I can’t do anything right,” I whine.
    As I crawl off the bed, to retrieve the book, I notice something white sticking out from inside its pages. I’m excited to discover it’s a letter from Germany! I let the magazine fall to the floor and pull out my desk chair, sitting carefully as to mind my sore rear. Grinning, I open the letter.
     
    Dear Julia,
    Thank you so much for the post card! It was exactly what I needed. I put it on my dresser so I can look at it every day. I miss home so much and it really cheered me up. I love it. Maybe someday, when I get to go back home, you can visit me. That is, if you want to.
    I’m glad we have each other’s addresses now. I’m going to write to you every week. So, how are things with Toria? Is she still crying a lot? I remember my little brother when he was a baby. Not only did he cry constantly but he smelled really bad. I used to spray air freshener at him, and my mom would yell. I still do it sometimes, just to be funny.
    So, I have an idea. I have sent you an extra envelope with a picture of me inside of it.
    DON’T OPEN IT YET!
    In your last letter, you mentioned not knowing what I look like. I feel the same way. A lot of times I try to picture you too. Okay, here’s my idea. How about if you send me a picture of you, inside an envelope, just like I