I walk into the classroom with my English textbook pressed close to my chest. The ambience is cold and full of disappointment, twenty high school seniors in one room, muttering profanities because spring break has ended. Every face is plastered with a glum look. It's not like mine isn't- I don't want to be bottled up in Mr. Washington's boring English class either; however, sitting at home with absolutely nothing to do gets old after a few days.

My favorite seat in the room is empty, and sitting beside of the desk is my best friend, John Laurens. He's occupied by wrapping a strand of his dark brown curls around his pencil, humming a tune. His big, brown eyes glance up at me. His appearance fully contradicts mine- my dull black hair and black eyes are no match for his radiant looks.

"Nice to see you again," I say, a laugh escaping my lips.

John smiles briefly, and proceeds to drop his pencil on the desk. "Hello to you, too." He has no more enthusiasm than anyone else in here.

I don't let it go unnoticed. "Last class of the day," I comment. The thought motivates me- just an hour more and I get to go home, where I have wifi and blankets and peace and quiet. Not to mention air conditioning.

"True," he smiles.

Mr. Washington claps twice, which is his unique signal that class is starting. He approaches the white board and grabs his marker, messing with it as he speaks.

"Welcome back, everyone," he says. "I hope you all had a wonderful spring break."

There are comments of reaction floating around. Mr. Washington ignores all of them. "But school is back in session, and it's time to get back into the swing of things. I have a project for you. It isn't one that you just complete, present and turn in, no. It's the final quarter of your school careers! Therefore, this one is extremely authentic."

I steal a glance at John. He's trying to mask the fact that he's not particularly thrilled about this project.

"I am not messing around this quarter. This assignment also counts as half of your final grade, so you shouldn't mess around either. I'm assigning you... pen pals."

The room goes silent. No one has any sort of remark on this. Not even me. My brain just quits functioning. Mr. Washington expects me to write to a stranger for nine straight weeks? What if this stranger is completely unbearable? I don't want that! Maybe I'd rather accept an F...

No, I can't... this places me in such an uncomfortable situation.

"I'll pass out a packet explaining the assignment, and a profile on your pen pal. I expect you all to write neat, legible, and respectful letters to your selected person, and to treat this assignment with care. Can you do that?"

We all nod or mumble some type of response.

"Good."

He places the two papers on my desk. I don't bother with the packet of information- I just skip right to my pen pal.

A boy?

Mr. Washington assigned me an eighteen year old boy named Alexander. He's from the Caribbean, which is a whopping 1800 miles away. I live in New York City, and he's from the Nevis.

It lists an address, a few fun facts about him, and a photograph.

John says, "This is... interesting."

"I hand-picked everybody's pen pal," Mr. Washington says. He's still handing out papers as he speaks. "I didn't want you writing to a stranger you had nothing in common with. I preferred you to write to someone you could get along with. The rest of your class period will be spent writing your first letter to your pen pal. Use this time wisely."

I pull out my pencil and jot down a few simple facts about me. Before I know it, the sheet is filled with words and the bell rings.

"Good luck!" Mr. Washington calls as we retreat to our lockers. "And make sure to mail your letter tonight. You'll look back on this assignment years from now, and you won't regret it."

We'll see about that.