Tell Me Three Things Read Online Free PDF Page A

offer from someone local.
    Me: Whatever. Ugh. Thanks, Dr. Phil. I miss you!
    Scarlett: Miss you too! Go write back to SN. NOW. NOW. NOW. Now tell me the truth? Anyone at your school unusually pale?

To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: Conjuring my spirit guide
Okay, I call mercy. You’re right. This place is a war zone, and I could use some help. So I’m going against my gut here and just hoping I can trust you. Are you still game for just a few questions? (And if this is Deena, you win. You got me.)

To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
Subject: at your service, m’lady
now you got me curious about this Deena chick. why is she out to get you? the offer still stands.

To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: I’m virtually curtsying.
The Deena story isn’t particularly interesting. Stupid high school girl stuff. Speaking of which: you said that there was a short list of people I should befriend? Not to sound too desperate, but some guidance would be appreciated on that front.
    What’s up with WV Giving Day and what will happen to my toes if I leave them exposed?
    Do those weird lunch cards come preloaded with $$ or what?

To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
Subject: toes chop suey
start with Adrianna Sanchez. she’s shy, so she won’t approach you first. But she’s cool and smart and secretly funny once you get to know her. I don’t know why, but I feel like you two could be good friends.
    community service day with Habitat for Humanity. it involves hammers, hence closed-toe shoes. your Vans should be fine. they’re cool, by the way.
    nope, not preloaded. machine outside the caf takes only tens and twenties and credit cards.
    Huh. Maybe this SN guy knows me better than I thought. Adrianna Sanchez is the girl with the oversized Warby Parker glasses who sits next to me in English class. The one who reminds me of my friends back home. I blush a little at his Vans compliment. I’m such a sucker.

To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: The One Percent
Credit cards? For real? Is everyone here rich?

To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
Subject: come for a ride on my G4.
honestly? we have a couple scholarship kids, but this place costs mad bank, as i’m sure you know. it is what it is.
    Spelled out in black-and-white: Reason #4,657 why I don’t fit in here. My dad’s not a film marketing mogul, whatever the hell that is; he’s a pharmacist. Back home we were far from poor. We were what I knew as normal. But no one had their own credit cards. I shopped at Target or Goodwill with saved-up cash, and we wouldn’t just buy a five-dollar coffee without first doing the unfortunate math and realizing that the drink cost almost an hour’s worth of after-school pay.
    My parents were never much interested in money or clothes or any of the fancy-pants crap that’s ubiquitous here. I wasn’t the kind of kid who asked for designer stuff—it was never really my style, and even if it had been, I’m pretty sure my mom would have given me a lecture. Not just because we couldn’t afford more than the occasional splurge, but because my mother considered name brands and decorative stuff wasteful. Silly stuff for silly people. She was much more interested in using whatever money she and my dad saved to travel to interesting places or to donate to good causes.
Experience over things,
she used to say, and then talk about some social science study she had read that definitively proved money doesn’t buy happiness. I wish I could say I always agreed with her—I remember one fight we had over a two-hundred-dollar dress for the eighth-grade dance—but now I’m proud of how I was raised, even if