Solo Scribbled Squiggles Letters Closed

Hi, Mom,

It's me. Ami. You know, your only daughter, your only child? I miss you a lot. Both you and dad. And Thomas. I don't like Hogwarts. I don't know why you wanted me to come here, and so late in the year, too. Everyone's been here for months and months before me... why couldn't I just go to Ilvermorny? Why couldn't you have let me be as a normal, non-magical human being? Do you know how much I miss Thomas? Mom, really, some days I question your logic.

I mean, I guess the people here are pretty great. A lot nicer than home, that's for sure- and when I say home, I mean both Chicago and London. I know you want me to be your perfect British daughter, but I've spent most of my life in Chicago. I can't help being American. Really, it's not my fault. Blame dad. Seriously. He wanted me to grow up American- at least, that's what you always say.

If I don't come home with the best grades, don't kill me, please. You know I've come later than everyone else, and I suck at turning in homework on time. Really, it's not my fault- I do know the material, it's just that the homework is killer boring. Honest.

Whelp, I've gotta write dad's letter now. He'll get basically the same news as you- not much has happened. I don't even know why I'm writing. I hope this letter finds you in good health, yadda yadda, insert other formalities. You know I'm not good at that type of thing.

Miss you bunches,
Ami Charity

Dearest Dad,

Sorry I haven't written before this. I know it'll take a little longer for this owl to reach you, considering you still live in the US and all that jazz, so I'll elaborate more so that you'll have a little bit more to read.

School's great, thanks for asking. I mean, it's as great as it can get without Thomas or a decent vegan meal. Really, it's all normal food here- but I'm used to it, I guess. The homework's out to kill, the library is huge, the grounds are gorgeous... what else am I forgetting? The teachers are pretty brilliant, although they're called 'professors' over here, like we're in college or something. Plus, I keep forgetting to call the hallways 'corridors', and the bathrooms 'lavatories'. Seriously, what even are lavatories?

I've made some friends, believe it or not. There's Amadea, happy and bubbly and basically a better version of me; Ky (Kyden), a prefect (that's basically like a kid dean of students) who knows a crap-ton about this school; Lorelai, she loves breaking rules like me (I swear, I've only broken, like, two); Emily and Lucy are both super-geniuses, or something; Asher loves musicals, just like me; and Mia is sweet and funny. There really are a ton of cool kids at this school.

Don't get me wrong- I still hate it. I want to go home. I want to see Thomas again, I want to eat hot dogs for dinner (okay, maybe not hot dogs, but  you know what I mean, don't you?) and skateboard along the highway. I want to go back and train with you, I want to go back and see America again. Really, why did mom make me move?

I've got books waiting- plus a steaming mug of tea, if you know me at all.

Your miserably happy daughter,
Arm Chair

Thomas,

Some people long for a life that is simple and bland; tied with a ribbon. If I may say so myself, Flavia is NOT one of these people. Thank you loads for The Grave’s Fine and Private Place. You know I love me some good ol’ Alan Bradley. I need it- desperately.

Boarding school sucks! Really, private school was bad enough, but a rich-ass boarding school filled with snooty, privileged children who think they're better than everyone else? It actually can't get any worse. Miss you bunches, there're not enough gay people here. I think I might be alone- and I'm not even full out lesbo.

Enclosed, you’ll find a CD from your favorite red-headed singer (no, not me)- a signed copy of Divide. One of the girls in my dorm gave it to me, so be grateful. I’ll try to send some food (okay, fine, candy) next time, but I don’t think we can leave the grounds- not as first years. I know, total bull.

I have the honor to be
Your obedient servant,
A. Pro