But Seriously, Use the Deodorant

Dear Victoria,
        First of all, you need to relax.  Calm down.  No need to panic.  Yes, in your futile but nonetheless valiant quest to organize your locker (which, by the way, smells like a dead rat, so please, for the sake of your locker buddy, do something about that), you have indeed stumbled upon a letter from your eighteen-year and fifteen-day-old counterpart.  And I have some information that you may find interesting.  So you better go sit down--I recommend going to the library, because Anna and Catherine are in the cafeteria right now, and they will inevitably steal this from you if they catch as much as a glimpse of it.  So go.  Alright, where shall we begin? Ah, yes. Hygiene. Seriously, Victoria, you do not smell much better than your locker.  I know how much fun you have rebelling against Mom and refusing to wear that nasty blueberry-hibiscus-scented Teen Spirit deodorant (and you will develop an allergic reaction to it anyway, so prepare yourself) but now would be a perfect time to start getting in the habit of using it.  I recommend Dove. It smells good, and in eighth grade that one cute guy you will meet at 4-H camp may or may not tell you smell nice. Anyway.  If I recall correctly, Ms. Heartz is your homeroom teacher, and you have no friends in your class.  Now, if we were anyone else, I would undoubtedly advise you to stop acting like such a little recluse and go make friends.  Fortunately, though, I know that you do make it through your fifth-grade year utterly unscathed despite this lack of friends.  So, if you can tolerate the awkward fifteen minutes of homeroom before Mr. Dole's class, no need to worry about acting like the social butterfly that you aren't. On that topic, let's have a discussion about the friends that you do have.  Fortunately or unfortunately, however you would like to look at it, those are the friends you're stuck with for the rest of your time here at Chagrin.  So you better learn to deal with them.  Luckily for you, Anna will eventually stop calling you Schmacums, although, for reasons that I absolutely cannot fathom, you will succumb to the urge to make both your email and your clubpenguin username "schmacums13." And it will come back to bite you.  So please do not do it.  Also, Catherine will stop stealing your lunch box every day, but please, for the love of God, go get a new one.  There's mold growing on the inside pocket and you know it. Your attachment to trivial material objects disgusts me.  Sadly, though, you will not outgrow that by the time you have reached eighteen.  So learn to live with it.  And, since, by the age of eighteen, we have not yet learned how to make our writing concise, I have rambled and am thus running out of room. So, a few parting words of wisdom: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

Sincerely,
Your better half

P.S. One more thing.  In eighth grade, on your way out of school, you will pass by the art room and see Ana Moran sitting in it, working on a project.  She will appear to be alone.  She isn't.  Mrs. Ford is standing at the sink, the one you can not see from the door.  So please resist the urge to barge in and start singing her a song.  Mrs. Ford will think you're a psychopathic loon.

P.P.S. I do not remember if you have read the Harry Potter books yet, but if you have not, I advise you to do so as soon as physically possible--partially because they will become your second-favorite series, and partially so you can understand the reference in the last line of my letter.

P.P.P.S.  Joke's on you! No one will ever compliment you on how you smell in eighth grade, especially not that one guy from camp.  He moves away anyway, and you will never hear from him again after your freshman year.  So do not get your hopes up.  But seriously, use the deodorant.