(Matteo's PoV)

Dear Matteo,

Everything is going just fine here (other than the fact that I miss you so much). I'm starting to get used to my crutches a little more, but I wish they didn't prevent me from being on swim team. Oh yeah, Pablo is doing great at swimming. His best stroke is backstroke just like his big brother. I wish you could see him. You would be so proud. I can't wait to hear from you again, and like I said, everything is fine, so there's no need to worry about me.

Love,

Emmy

I set the letter down beside me and sighed.

"What's up?" Will asked, climbing down from the top bunk.

"It's Emmy," I explained.

Will cocked an eyebrow. "Since when is that a bad thing?"

"It's not," I replied, slightly disheartened. "Like, don't get me wrong, I love hearing from her, but it's just...I got a feeling she's not telling me something."

"You mean like how you're not telling her lots of things," he pressed.

"That's different," I retorted.

Will shrugged. "Maybe. Although she could be withholding any information from you for your own protection. Same motivation."

I felt sick at the thought, and I think he sensed my nerves.

"That is if she's actually withholding anything at all," he added quickly.

I ran my fingers through my bangs. "I don't know, maybe I'm overreacting. It's just her letter seems almost forced."

It was starting to eat away at me. What could she have possibly needed to hide from me? I already knew about her parents, her mental illness--what bigger secret could she have? We promised to tell each other everything. I bit my lip to ease the guilt of expecting her to follow through with her end of the deal when I wasn't.

Will sat on the opposite side of my bed. "Matteo, it's probably nothing. Or maybe it's something small like her legs aren't healing as fast as she thought."

"But why wouldn't she just tell me that?" I questioned.

"I don't know," Will responded. "Probably cuz she doesn't want you to worry."

"I just hope she's okay," I could feel my stomach tightening into knots.

Will put his hand on my knee. "She's fine. After all, she was able to write you a letter. You're probably just worried about her safety because you can't know everything that's going on."

"I guess." I shrugged.

Maybe he was right, but it still didn't make me feel any better.

(Landon's PoV)

Holly went around handing everyone their mail, pausing at Tristan, Gavin, and I.

"Oh yeah," she said, flipping through a stack of letters. "I've got some for you guys," She pulled out two envelopes and handed one to each of my friends.

Tristan smirked upon reading the return address, "I can't wait to see Kierra's reply." He attempted to nudge Gavin, but his attempts went unnoticed. From the look of joy on Gavin's face, I could only assume the letter he got was from Trixie.

Holly frowned, now sifting through the pile of letters a third time.

"Watcha looking for?" I prompted.

Without looking up, she replied, "I thought I saw something for you in here." She paused after she reached the last letter. "I guess not."

I gave a small laugh. "I could've told you that and saved you a minute of searching."

"It doesn't make any sense," she pondered, her eyebrows still furrowed. "Landon, how come you never get any mail?"

I started to stutter and attempted to cover it up by clearing my throat. "I mean, isn't it obvious?" My hands started to fidget. "No one sends me anything."

Holly rolled her eyes. "I know the literal reason. But why not? I assumed you'd get the most mail of anyone here. I mean, you're popular."

I cocked an eyebrow at her joke, but her face remained serious. "Aren't you?"

I ran my fingers through my hair to let it fall loose, as if a few strands in my peripheral vision was going to make the eye contact any less awkward.

"Well I'm flattered you think so highly of me, but nothing could be further from the truth."

Uncomfortable with a pause lasting more than three seconds, I started to ramble.

"That's not to say that I don't have friends back home. I do. A lot. It's just...they're like acquaintances. It's kinda hard to get close to people when you never bring them home. But I could never do that. Not with my sisters there. They'd make it their personal mission to humiliate me in front of them. I can only imagine the hell that would ensue if I brought a girl over..." My voice trailed off as my mind caught up to my words. I quickly changed the subject. "But anyways, Holly, how come you never get any mail?"

"Cuz people don't like me," she replied simply. Before I could respond, she added, "and I'm okay with that."

I wondered if it was true. It didn't seem realistic to ignore any concerns about the judgment of others, but then again, there were several things I didn't understand about Holly.

"Speaking of people who never get mail," she went on. "How's Connor been?"

I shrugged. "Not quite sure, although it doesn't look good. He's been even more brooding than usual, but I can't blame him."

Holly sighed. "I feel so bad."

"Aw, blondie, that feeling is called sympathy," I teased.

She smacked my arm lightly. "I know what sympathy is." She hung her head and mumbled, "I just didn't know what it felt like."

Every time I saw Connor, my mind tried to imagine the pain. I had no idea what it was like to lose a childhood best friend. Frankly I had no idea what it would be like to have a best friend for that long. I didn't understand, but I felt bad too.

"And then there's the condolence letter," Holly continued. "It's probably reached there by now." She tried to push a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, but her fingers got stuck in a knot. She gave up and let it hang there.

"I'm sure you did fine," I told her.

"They shouldn't have had me write it," she said. "It should've been written by someone like you."

I was taken aback by her statement. "What? Why me? You think I'm obnoxious."

"I do," she acknowledged. "But you also know how to sound not obnoxious. Your whole persona changes with your words. You're good with words."

Words had always been my strong suit. The tools of the limitless ways to convey a message. It was like the ultimate science experiment of communication, each a new trial run.

My family always said I talked too much.

As I looked at the stack of letters that Holly was still holding, I figured writing couldn't be too different from speaking.

"Well, let me make you an offer," I proposed.

Her raised eyebrow either meant interest or concern.

"It's nothing bad," I assured her. "I actually think you'll like it. Hear me out: You clean my gun every so often, and any time you have to write a letter--any letter you don't want to deal with--just direct it to me."

Her eyes lit up a little. "Really?"

"Really." I broke out into a smile, and Holly came close to one. "We might as well be playing to our strengths," I added.

"It's practical," she agreed.

Sgt. Blake came storming in shouting, "Five minutes until lights out."

Holly looked down at the letters. "I should finish handing these out, but I'll see you around, Landon," she said, with the faintest tone of possible happiness about that prospect.

(Tristan's PoV)

I knew I shouldn't be complaining. It had gotten much colder than this back home. But then again, I never had to be outside for long periods of time in Nebraska winters.

I exhaled, revealing a cloud of silvery air. The temperature had to be near freezing.

Gavin tensed up his body and mumbled, "I hate this weather." Ever since mid-December hit, the temperatures dropped dramatically. It was difficult to believe we were originally sent to a jungle terrain.

"I wonder what the weather's like back home," I pondered out loud.

"Probably colder," Landon guessed. "But it is Nebraska, so who knows."

The Midwest was known for having all four seasons--sometimes all in the same week.

"Either way," Gavin interjected. "Everybody back home is probably shielded from whatever weather they're having."

I readjusted my helmet to cover more of my face. "I mean, why is it even cold here--it's the jungle."

Landon shrugged, and Gavin responded with, "I don't know, but I bet I know somebody who does."

Without another word, the three of us left our area to go find Justin. On the way there, we passed the choir boys who were all huddled up together for warmth.

Landon knelt down next to Justin, attempting to break his focus. "Hey Justin, we were wondering if it's normal to be this cold here?"

Justin turned to the three of us. "Well, according to my research the average temperature in Guilin for the winter time is in the low 40s on the Fahrenheit scale. Although this definitely feels colder than that. These temperatures aren't common, but they're not unheard of. Even worse, they're indicators that the whole winter season is likely to be colder than usual."

"It's not gonna snow, right?" I asked to be sure.

He gave us a half-hearted smile. "It shouldn't. Snow is a very rare occurrence in southeast China. It's only been known to happen a few times in recent history."

"Fuck," Gavin muttered.

"What's wrong?" Landon asked him. "It sounds like if we're lucky, it won't snow."

Gavin groaned. "But that's just it. We're not lucky. If any of us were lucky, we wouldn't have been drafted in the first place."

"True," I acknowledged.

"Look guys, it's highly unlikely," Justin explained. "Even with our shitty luck."

"Well thanks for the help, Justin," Landon told him. "We should probably get back to our spot."

As the three of us walked back, the wind grew faster. And of course this time it had to be going in the direction against us.

"I take back every bad thing I said about these heavy jackets during the summer," Landon said, pulling his jacket tighter around him.

"I'm still gonna complain about them in the summer again though," Gavin noted.

I nearly mis-stepped at the vocalization of that uneasy thought. We may still be here in the summer.

(Holly's PoV)

I slammed a stack of papers down on Sgt. Blake's desk.

I managed to get him to look up, though his expression remained thoroughly unimpressed. "And what's this supposed to be?"

"Medical paperwork," I replied matter-of-factly.

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. "You're not an actual nurse, you don't know anything about medicine."

"Well, the army seemed to think that my six weeks of training was adequate enough to give this kind of input," I retorted.

He narrowed his gaze at me. "What for?'

Pulse quickening, I exhaled and wiped my hands on the bottom edge of my dress. "I think Connor Notham should be discharged."

At this point Sgt. Blake actually laughed. It was an awkward laugh--the kind you would expect from someone who's never heard anything funny, but the faint undertones of unchecked power seemed to stick out. "Yeah right. Get back to work."

"I'm serious." I blurted out. I could feel my skin heating up with anger.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you now?" He leaned forward at his desk, feigning concern, as if to humor me. "And what makes you think I'm just going to give up my strongest soldier?"

"What good is physical strength if he's mentally a wreck?" I challenged through my shallow breathing.

He waved the idea off. "So he saw his friend die. This is a war. What did he expect with being in the army?"

"He never expected to be in the army," I shot back. "And even if he did, that doesn't negate his reaction to it."

"He'll get over it," he told me.

"It's been almost a month," I pointed out. "He hasn't gotten much better, and he won't if he doesn't get proper help."

"Such as?"

"Medication. Therapy."

"Oh now you're just being melodramatic," he accused.

"He was literally going to kill himself that night." I could feel my voice growing more shrill with each sentence. I cleared my throat. "He needs help."

Sgt. Blake's tone turned more condescending. "Connor does not need medication, therapy, or anything else. It's not like this is a real health issue. Mental illness isn't a thing. It's all about self-discipline and strength of mind--not that you would know anything about that."

Fuming, I shot back, "you know, one would think that you'd be more empathetic seeing as your girlfriend died as a result of this war too."

Sgt. Blake slammed his fist on his desk and immediately stood up. I suddenly realized how much he towered over me. "Who told you that?" he demanded.

"Lt. Jason said something about it last month," I stammered. Come to think of it, he also said not to say anything to Sgt. Blake, but my anger had caused me to temporarily forget that part.

His voice raised in volume with each word. "Don't ever bring that up again!"

I tried to explain myself, but nothing was coming out.

"Now get out of my office before I show you what a real injury looks like," he ordered.

"Yes sir," I said breathlessly and ran straight to the infirmary. Once inside, I slammed my fist against the cabinet door.

I wasn't even upset about being told off. Even when following the "women's role" of nursing, I still couldn't manage to do anything right.