In a sense, I felt more reassured and contented after reading January’s letter than I did my father’s. After all, I knew exactly and without question of truthfulness where January was, but dear dad was another story. As I ate my oatmeal in the breakfast nook of the giant house, my mind was elsewhere in space. I held January’s letter in my hand, and my father’s lay on the table. If there was one thing I needed right now, it was a friend. But January was a whole continent away, and who knew where my father really was. According to the return address on the envelope, he was in Arkansas. I exhalded deeply. The girls at camp could never come close to sufficing my friendship needs. While the camp conselours made sure that no one was sitting alone during lunchtime, I still wasn’t entirely happy sitting with a group of prim, fake, and snotty girls.