Dear Wigleaf,

It is sneak-out weather here. You know it: muggy enough to wear the air as a cloak. Let's climb out the bedroom window and put the truck in neutral. Let's push it down the driveway past the front lawn. Start the engine in the street. You can sneak out as a grownup but tonight we are 17.

The beach is calling us. We are taking I-45 down to the Gulf where the waves are browner than the sand. Tonight it is all ours. A few stars pimple the sky through the haze. We're going to put our toes in the warm water and think about the boy who plays guitar in church and how far it is to Mexico. On the way home, roll the windows down on the empty interstate. Overpasses may be the most direct pathway to heaven.

We'll skin our knees on the brick when we climb back in our still-open window. In bed, we'll cup our hands around our ear to hear the waves again. Close our eyes and the water is blue and high school is over and the kids we hate have all lost their last names.

With love,
Hannah