Kalhoun is 12, a boy starting the 7th grade with a solid plan for his emotional survival.
No one gets to know you... not when you keep your thoughts in a navy blue folder, in the desk in your room.
Writer’s note
You can write in a diary or a journal or you can write directly to the boy that is driving you mad. Kalhoun could use a more up-to-date form of communication, but settles on things he would have to buy a postage stamp for. Also, he can just keep the handwritten sheets of paper in his room until he gets the stamp. Epistolary fiction is often a correspondence between two people. Since Kalhoun keeps the letters in a drawer, he's the only one doing the writing.
It's the year of boy-girl parties, the year when they give school dances and you know what is expected of you. Kalhoun tries really hard not to like the boy that he likes in art class; he will write letters to him explaining why he can't like him in this year when the rules get serious, the 7th grade. He won't send the letters, of course, letters that say way too much for the U.S. Mail.
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Passage at Amazon Kalhoun
The beginning of the story…
DEAR BOY in the Front Row,
You don't know me. I'm a boy in your art class.
I can't believe we started school today. Also, I can't believe what happened in class.
I saw you there and I liked you.
That wasn't supposed to happen to me in 7th grade. Not only is this supposed to be the year of boy-girl parties, but they've also got these school dances planned.
Liking you is not part of it.
Maybe I liked some boys in the 5th or 6th grade but that's over now. You aren't supposed to be out there. I don't want to meet you.
It's bad enough that I saw you in class and can't stop looking at you. I can't like a boy in the 7th grade. I hope you understand.
They won't let us dance at the school dance. I could watch you dance with some girl but that's about all I could do.
I don't know your name or anything. But it looks like I'm gonna find out sooner or later because of art class. The sweater you wore today was really nice. I liked it. Plus your blue jeans.
I've got a few names that might be yours. I mean I made them up. Tex is one. I heard it somewhere. When I saw you, it seemed to me you looked like a Tex. But I know that who you really are is the kid in art class. I think you looked in my direction one time and I wonder if you saw me.
You know what the rules are in 7th grade. I hope you didn't see me breaking them. I like you.
Maybe I could actually send you this letter. I would change stuff around so you wouldn't know it was me. But I would still be able to say to you that I can't stop thinking about you.
I'll go to the U.S. Post Office. I'll buy a stamp. That means somebody is going to have to tell me who you are and where you live.
Always,
Kalhoun