I envy you. You have great friends, they're loyal and funny, and you're the kind of kid I wanted to be. You're pretty, funny, and popular. I feel so bad for you. We moved from a good neighbourhood to a ghetto before you had the chance to become a real person. Now you're on your way, and I am terrified of who you're becoming. It almost affected me, too, but I was old enough to understand the social suffering going on around me and set my sights on university instead. These kids who live with their mom and their mom's drug-dealing boyfriend who kicks them out so they have to move out of town in the middle of the night without telling a soul (Three times this has happened already! Three!) are sadly probably never going to amount to anything, because they don't know what the world can offer them besides a life of defacing public property, welfare cheques, and drug dealing at the skateboard park. Please, please, little sister. Be more than these kids. Work on your math grade and stick with your dream of veterinary school. I'll pay for it myself. P.S. You couldn't pay me a million dollars to raise my kids here. —Love, Concerned Older Sister