Same Question, Different Century

I was walking past the dumpster at the soon-to-open middle school yesterday when a small white tightly folded wad of paper caught my eye. I reached down, unfolded the piece of notebook paper– the kind with shredded edges on the long side –and on it was tell-tale preteen girl handwriting. Big fat circles over the ‘I’s and all. Having probably spent the summer stuck at the bottom of the bin now being readied for the school year,  it contained one sentence. Find out if he likes me.
Continue