I found out why Will Mudgett was so freaked out.

Dear Dad,

We won our first game 3-2. I played at the end of the first half and the end of the second half. It was pretty cool. I felt like I did OK. No one scored when I was on the field, so I guess I didn’t screw up too bad. Mr. Schick didn’t say anything to me one way or another.

Keith had all sorts of advice for me. I should attack the ball more. I should stay between the ball and the goal. I should dribble with my head up. I should talk more. I kind of wish he’d just lie and tell me I was good, but he’s always coaching me. He probably figures you would do the same thing if you were here and he needs to be a father figure for me. He’s nice, though. He takes me to Denny’s for ice cream sundaes, because his girlfriend works there and can give us ice cream for free if her manager’s not paying attention. Talk about real boobs. She’s got them big time.

I found out why Will Mudgett was so freaked out. He asked Misty Lee to go out with him and she said no, because she liked someone else. He asked who, but Misty wouldn’t tell him. Then Misty told Sharon King the story and Sharon King told Will Mudgett that Misty liked me. And now Will Mudgett wants to kill me. I don’t mean he is mad at me. I mean he literally wants to murder me. Murder. I heard all this from Rick Jarvis.

Then Rick Jarvis says, “Are you going to?” Am I going to what? “Are you going to ask Misty Lee to go out with you? Go out where? “Go out! You know, go out.”

I don’t know. I don’t know if I even like Misty Lee. But now if I don’t ask her to go out, everyone will think I’m scared of that crazy punk, Will Mudgett. Maybe I am.

What would you do?

Rick Jarvis said that tomorrow, Misty Lee was going to sit by me at lunch. “That is the perfect time,” he said. I didn’t ask him to explain, because I know what he expects me to do. And I definitely know what Misty Lee expects me to do. Misty Lee is really popular. I can’t figure out why. And I sure can’t figure out why she likes me so much.

I bet I’m six inches taller than Will Mudgett. I bet if it came down to a real fight, I would slaughter him. Unless he stabbed me or something. He probably wouldn’t do that. He probably doesn’t even have a knife.

I have a math test on Monday. I haven’t studied for it at all. I know I should, but I haven’t. I hate the homework. I haven’t done it for the last two days and now I don’t really know what Mrs. Fletcher is talking about in class.

I’m assuming you haven’t got any of these letters. I don’t really expect you to, being that you’re dead and all. But if you got a letter from me, you’d write back, wouldn’t you? I mean, if you could. If God allowed you to and if you had a body and a pen and envelopes and stamps.

I suppose it would also require there to be a post office in the afterlife. I don’t know if there is one.

Your son,

Trevor

Will Mudgett is a punk. I shouldn’t be afraid of him.

Dear Dad,

I wish I was Catholic, so I could pray to you. Catholics do that. They pray to dead people.

Mom says you were never religious, but that you became a Christian before you died and that you’re in heaven right now worshipping Jesus. I don’t know. You never really struck me as the worshipping kind. I prefer to picture you sitting next to Jesus in matching leather chairs, taking naps after Sunday dinner, like you used to do with Uncle Dick. Maybe Jesus has one of those cool ashtrays like Uncle Dick, too, and you and Him smoke those little cigars with the plastic mouthpieces on them. Or maybe you’re cooking Jesus a mess of mussels that you collected from the beach. If I was Jesus, I’d way rather have some mussels or a nap then a bunch of Christians singing to me. I mean, let’s face it. The music you hear in church is simply not that good.

Mom makes me go to church with her Sunday morning. And Sunday night, too. Although last night I pretended I fell asleep about a half hour before we had to leave for church. Then when she tried to wake me up, I pretended I was really tired and she let me stay home. I watched reruns of some old show called MASH. It’s not that funny, but nothing else was on.

There is a kid at school called Will Mudgett who sits by me in Social Studies. He’s kind of a dillrod, but he doesn’t know it. He dresses like a dillrod, in long-sleeved, plaid shirts that he buttons all the way up to the top and he wears glasses that are way too big for his face. But he acts like a stoner and talks like he’s tough. I guess his hair is pretty cool.

Today he grabbed my peechee and wrote AC-DC Rules on it in huge letters. I do not like AC-DC. They are not very good, although Back in Black is a pretty decent album, especially the guitar solo on You Shook Me All Night Long. But I definitely don’t like them enough to write their name on my peechee. I like Wolf Mother and The Raconteurs. In fact, I downloaded Wolf Mother’s first album this weekend. I’ve already promised myself that Dimension will be the first song I play on my iPod, when I buy it and get it all set up.

So I told Will Mudgett to knock it off and called him a jerk. He told me I’d better watch it. Or what? I said. Then he told me that he always carries a knife and that if I didn’t watch it, he’d stab me. Then he told me he has a cousin who just got out of prison and Will could have him stab me, too.

I told him to show me the knife. He told me he couldn’t pull it out at school, because if he got caught with him, they would throw him out. But he swore that he had it on him right then. “So you don’t wanna fight me,” he said, “because I would totally stab you.” I am not making this up.

I didn’t say anything. He’s a complete freak. I’m 99% sure he didn’t have a knife. And even if he has a cousin, I doubt that his cousin would do anything to me. But I wish I’d said something more. I should have punched him in the face. If he does anything else to me, I’m not going to back down. You wouldn’t want me to, would you?

At least I hope I won’t back down. Will Mudgett is a punk. I shouldn’t be afraid of him.

I bet Mom would be really steamed if she found out there was a kid at school who was threatening to stab me. I mean, this is a private school and all. You shouldn’t have to worry about getting stabbed at a school that costs money. It’s just not something you should have to worry about.

Your son, Trevor