so, yeah. kristin.

i know we don’t talk or anything. i mean, i get it — i’m not exactly a+ material or whatever, and you’ve got this goody-goody rep to uphold and stuff.

but… seems like you’ve got it all together, you know? i don’t know, just not as fucked up as the rest of us. i mean, yeah, we’re all stuck here in this shithole, but… i don’t know. you may actually get out someday. make something of yourself. be the goddamn lady president or something.

and i want to hate you for that, i really do, but i can’t. and i can’t stand it.

maria

p.s. can you just burn this or something? i’m sure you don’t want anyone to know i talked to you
oh, and i don’t really smoke. i just like the smell

Maria scraped the nail polish off her thumb with her teeth, crumpling up the note along with the rest of her work. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered under her breath as she grabbed her bag and walked toward the trash can, subtly dropping the note in Kristin’s lap on her way out the door.