Dear President Sergio Mattarella

Dear President Sergio Mattarella—I call you the handsome one—how are you? I'm doing well, though I could be doing better, but that's fine. I see you all the time on television with my grandmother, who is 92, except she can't see you because she's blind. But she hears you, and I tell her what you're wearing and where you are, so I help her out. She says she knew your sister really well. I like you, and you're handsome too. But you absolutely have to let me go back to school in September. Not just school. Also gym, soccer, my White Hands choir in Testaccio, and out with my friends around Rome. Because I get around by myself and I take the bus and the metro. I did really well in school and my teachers told me so and gave me good grades. Even two perfect tens. But school means going to school, not staying home. Home isn't school. School is sitting at a desk with my classmates and teachers. School is going to grab breakfast at the bar and laughing. I did all the video lessons and they told me I was great because I never, ever missed one and I taught myself how to use the computer. I had fun, but that wasn't real school. In September I'm starting my third year at the Gioberti hospitality school in Trastevere. I chose to study hotel reception because I love it and my teacher is really good with me and she says I can get so much better. So I work hard. For the first two years I went to the branch on via dei Genovesi. But in September I'm moving to via della Paglia where reception is taught. I want to go there and meet my new classmates and new teachers. You can't meet them at home. I tell everyone that. But nobody listens to me here. I wanted to go back to school so badly that I told everyone a lie: I said Conte called me to tell me we were going back to school right away. He didn't call me. But I tried. I guess nobody heard me. I told everyone I was writing to you too, and they all say I'm doing the right thing and they tell me what I should write. But I'm writing you what my head tells me. I like doing everything, but I don't like it when they won't let me do things and they lock me in the house. I only want to be home to sleep. Otherwise I'm just wasting time at home. I told my grandmother I was writing to you and she says I'm doing the right thing. If in September they don't let me go to via della Paglia and play sports and sing in the choir and go around Rome, listen, I'll write to you again and then maybe one more time after that. Now I'm going to the beach for vacation. How wonderful!