Don’t do it. I know, I know you want to. But don’t. I’m going to want to go up to that boy, (you know the one we really, really, like) and tell him, sometime in the future when I’m you. Don’t. If he likes us too, we won’t know what to do. If he doesn’t reciprocate, we’ll be heartbroken and depressed. It’s not worth the damage to that wonderful friendship that will result from those actions.
Or I’ve jumped the gun (how does one jump a gun anyways?) and we’ve already graduated and everything is good. I hope we’ve graduated with great marks and the IB diploma we wanted.
We’re writing this to “The Tenth Kingdom” and giggling at it, wearing our horrible green sweater. Because even if you’re thirty now and reading this, absolutely everyone deserves to have at least one horrible sweater that is worn, threadbare, or just plain ugly. Mom threw out our last one, even if she denies doing it.