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Little Johnny sat at his desk, with pen in hand. The letter he had been writing to Santa had started out well enough. He had asked for the usual game-boy, the new mountain bike, but then he laid down his pen and looked at the little girl's photo that he had snatched from his teacher's desk earlier that fall.
Her name was Chelsea; she had been going to school with him for the past three years. Eight weeks ago, was the last time he had seen her; she hadn't moved away like many of the other children in his class she had just stopped coming to class. A few weeks later Mrs. Montgomery had explained how her parents had lost their home, since the plant had closed. Both of Chelsea's parents had been employed with the company.

Her parents had found other jobs, and they had managed to coexist for a while on those paychecks and their savings for a few more months. Unfortunately their debts were far larger then the money they were bringing home now. Johnny could still visualize the yard sales and the auction that had ended all hope of them keeping their home. He hadn't really paid much attention to the little girl before that day, but during the auction he'd seen her as she sat in the corner pretending to read her book. He had watched her then, as the tears streamed down her face.
The little girl had been at school the next day, even the day after that. In fact she attended for two more weeks, but no longer were her clothes ironed and her hair clean and shining. Her hair was now dull and tangled; her clothes were wrinkled. The girls who had once been her friends were no more, now they stayed away from her like she had some disease in which they might catch. Out side at recess they would whisper among themselves, and giggle with sly secret smiles that passed her way.
Chelsea had quit coming to school not long after her tears spelled out over the spite her old friends had shown her. He hadn't really paid much attention to her vacant seat that first few days, but as the days turned to weeks he had assumed they had moved to another town or into another school district. That was the day he had asked Mrs. Montgomery for her address to send her a Christmas card.
Mrs. Montgomery had informed him there was no forwarding address, and due to their circumstances they probably didn't have an address other then a PO Box if they even had that.
"What do you mean?" He asked, "Everyone has an address."
Mrs. Montgomery turned away after that remark, but he heard her whisper, unfortunately

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