Fine, Matt. You can write me back and I will read your note, but only, and I mean only, if you state quite clearly what it is you want from me.
I have a ridiculously full life, and I don’t have the literal time to get into it with a Freshman. You are lucky, very lucky, I have responded this time.
Be well in all your future endeavors,
Tara Maureen Murphy a.k.a. soon to be Anne Frank
Hey Stefanie,
Ever heard of people being wicked busy? I had to buy two new sleeves of microcassettes for my answering machine because I’ve been getting soooo many messages as of late. I actually had the bright idea to make myself a Return Call Sheet and I put it on my corkboard. I swear you are next or the next after the next. It’s a long sheet.
Honestly, Stefanie . . . how many times do I have to say thank you for that time years ago when I spent a few nights at your house because my parents were goin’ through some stuff? My GOD! No, Stef . . . sorry to bum you out, but everything at my house is soooo great!
And as for missing the night with you and that girl Stacey . . . sorry, hon . . . it just wasn’t my top priority. Getting the role of Anne Frank is.
Hope you and Stacey had fun even though I wasn’t there. Was she so upset that I bailed? I will add her to my call sheet to say hello. I’m sure I have her number somewhere.
Best,
Tara
Dear Tara,
Thank you so much for writing me back. I appreciate it a lot. You asked me to state clearly why it is that I am writing you. Here goes nothin’ . . .
I can’t stop thinking about you. And that kiss. Our kiss. That night at Camel Lot when you kissed me.
I know you are in love with Chris. And I’m in love with Joy. But I guess I also have feelings for you. I’ve never met any girl like you, Tara.
I think you’d make a great Anne Frank.
Much love,
Matt Bloom
Dear Sweet Matthew,
Hi, my Matthew. It’s me, Tara. I got your note, and I have to say I cried. And some of my tears fell onto your note, smudgin’ your beautiful handwritin’. But that’s the price you pay when your heart feels things.
I have hidden your note (much like Anne Frank hid her diary) in my safe. Who knew that my safe would become the keeper of notes from Matt Bloom? I certainly didn’t expect this twist so late in my high school career. Mattttttttttttttttttttttt. Hi. Shhhhhhhh. (While you read the rest of this note I want you to imagine me sittin’ backstage in my candy cane skirt, okay? My long hair is wet, and I am brushin’ it with my awesome brush. You enter. Backstage left. And you approach me. I feel shy, so I try to not be attractive, but you won’t allow for such nonsense. You say, “Keep brushin’ your long hair.” I tell you that I feel fatigued from so much brushin’, so I hand you my brush. I think you are gonna keep brushin’ my hair, but you don’t. You throw my brush, and it smashes into bits and pieces against the wall, and then you hold me . . .) Shhhhhh . . .
Matt, I feel so old and mature but still a kid in so many ways.
I know that your feelin’s for me are pure and hard core. How could they not be? I feel the same way about you. This is crazzzzzzzy.
Look, I’ve never done anything like this before, but I have watched General Hospital. There are ways for star-crossed lovers to sneak around town and ultimately, some day in the future, end up on the docks together and hop aboard a container ship headed for somewhere better.
I’m sorry I was ignoring you, Babe. I just was feeling sad and hurt by you, so I put up my defenses. I’m an Irish Catholic girl. We know how to stop all feeling and move about the day as if nothing ever happened. I will never, ever, ever do that to you again. Unless you leave me no other option, but I know you wouldn’t do that.
Listen, if I get the iconic role of Anne Frank this week, I will pick you up at the bottom of your street and take you to Camel Lot.
This time you will learn why a back parkin’ lot at Brophy Elementary School is called Camel Lot.
Big kisses, my guy,
Tara
P.S. Sniff this note. That’s not Trésor, Mattttttttttttttttttttt.
Dearest Soup,
I’m so happy we talked last night. Even though our call was wicked brief, it was just so great to hear your voice and to put everything to bed. And I can’t tell you how good it felt to cross you off my Return Call Sheet. Your name was loomin’ over my head for days. Literally . . . ’cuz my call sheet is on my corkboard, which is over my desk so it was over my head. (How mad are we still that they changed Edna’s Edibles to Over Our Heads on Facts of Life?? So stupid of them.)
I woke up this morning anew. It’s like the fog literally lifted from my eyes. I think I truly have Senioritis, and I’m serious that I might even go to my doctor to get a second opinion.
Why did no one warn us of the roller coaster that is our final year at South High? College applications, plays (for me, not you, but you have so many wonderful interests), my last cheering competition in Nashville in February, Prom (who even knows what life is going to be like then and
