t h i r t e e n t h

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Dear Duck,

If the One Direction end note was a way at hedging at my sexuality... Someone needs to teach you subtly. While I can understand the appeal of five British guys. All singing about how beautiful I am. It's not really my thing. Though if only one person sang to me... Well. That's a whole other story. As for musical tastes... Show me yours and I'll show you mine. Since you seem to hold an opinion over everything.

I'm glad for the warm reception of my last message, actually I should call it a letter since that's what it was. As for your thoughts on Mr. Doubtful, I'm more than happy to listen to you rant over the guy. Your schoolyard love confessions were what got my foot in the door with this friendship, and even you reading me to filth and calling me a jackass hasn't pulled me out... yet.

I want to get to know you. For however long we keep talking. Maybe in college we'll find some cluster of maple trees between us. Send our carrier pigeons there so we can keep in contact? Just some food for thought.

Congratulations on the pop quiz by the way. Did a lot better than I did. Solid B+ student here. And that's a reach at times. I think our pigeons are in for the long haul if you end up attending Stanford. Hopefully I won't get lost in the rearview when school's over.

Was that a little too heavy and real?

Let me switch gears.

Regarding crushes, I'm not the best at giving advice since my own have all taught me the same lesson: When you're hung up on someone you forget that life moves pretty fast, and that if you don't stop to look around every once and a while, you'll miss everything else as it passes by.

Still too heavy and real?

Okay, how about this.

I took a page out of your book and wrote this in the boy's bathroom on the third floor. The stall I picked was right at the end. The one with the semi-fogged over window that the chainsmokers use. I gotta say, the legroom was pretty decent. I almost fell asleep then and there. Thankfully the bell went off and I made it to third period.

If the vending machine fails, maybe we could make that the new basis of operations?

On that note though I should probably stop writing and head to my history teachers dropbox to hand in my overdue essay.

With Tales of Daring,

Compass.

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