Ah, young love.
What must it have been like to be a popular, athletic boy, the elite of my adolescent years? To have girls fawning all over me, whispering and giggling whenever they saw me, offering to carry my books or wanting to borrow my pen, simply because I had used it? To be thought and written about to such an extent, in such detail, as to defy imagination? If I applied half the time and energy to publishing a memoir as I did to boys just during eighth and ninth grade, I’d be working on my second book.
The more I dissect these notes, the more I just sit here shaking my head and wondering how we all made it to adulthood relatively successfully. Could we really have been the same girls who wrote these? It doesn’t seem possible.
Hi! Guess who’s pen I’m writing with? T.’s! Big wow! Today he thanked me for the first time for carrying his books. It’s about time! I think I’ve found another person to like too. Who is this new Love of yours? I’ve gotta go for a while. I have to write up an experiment for Mr. H.
I had to give T. his pen back. Gosh, I can’t remember liking T. last year. I think I did but I’m not sure. I can’t remember his being in my classes. I know he was in a couple.
I would never have been able to sit up in front of the class like you do, especially our English class!
Did you know that J.D. is practically in LOVE with Doggie? ICK!
Didn’t it just make you sick yesterday in gym? S. just can’t stop showing off can she?
T. is getting crude. I am not going to listen to his and T., and Cs’ conversation going on behind me. I don’t want to know T. to be like that.
I was just thinking, are you sure you don’t want to get T. Not the first way, though.
P.S. Does T. still like L.?
Here’s a nice big piece of (almost) blank paper for you to write on.