The Last Song

To whoever decided it was a good idea to read this letter,

Why does it even matter anymore? I never thought I'd say it, but I am going to miss school. After seven years of being told where to be, what to do, I'm not sure if I can even function in any other manner. Sure, I was never one for following rules. Homework was usually late, attendance had a tendency to be low, but at least I knew when I chose to rebel that there was something else I was supposed to do. By this time next year, things will be entirely different. I get to make all the calls and I'm not even sure what to do with myself anymore.

I barely know the people who will be graduating with me this term. All my good friends are younger than me and I am leaving them behind. This, though I hate to admit it, I am terrified of. I will have to build an entirely new life upon graduating, including making new friends. Meeting people and getting people to like me has always been easy. But hardly anyone sticks around once they really get to know me.

Getting a job sounds awful, but Mother promised that I wouldn't see a cent of our family's fortune until she is in the ground if I don't at least try to get an occupation. She's a healthy woman too, so there's no waiting that one out. I'm not sure what I'll do. The thing is, nothing in school has ever interested me. Everyone else seems to have their life planned out but me; I'm afraid.

After this upcoming graduation, it won't matter that I was Quidditch announcer. It won't matter how many awesome pranks I pulled, how diverse people I have kissed. It won't matter that I failed potions a couple of times or that I never showed up for Divinations, except for on the test days. What was the point of all of this that made up such a large chunk of my life so far? And, more importantly, how am I to go on from here?

Kid, my advice to you is try your best not to be like me. Be as handsome as me, but also don't be as reckless as I was. Sure, I had fun these seven years causing havoc and breaking hearts, but at the end, none of it matters.

Wish me luck,
Fane