If my dad worked at the Pentagon…

 

I knock on the door, clutching her notebook full of lyrical angst.

“I’m coming,” I hear, and my mind goes there. “Hello?”

“Uh…”

“Yes?”

“Here,” I say, thrusting the notebook at her.

She takes the sweaty mess, reluctantly, but quickly notices the giant CONSPIRACY she’s written on the cover. “What the-?”

“You dropped it, by your locker.”

She eyes me suspiciously.

“I’m not stalking you, or anything, I just think you’re cute.”

“Um… Thanks?”

This is going badly. “Abort, abort,” I say into my wrist watch; instantly, Seal-Team-Seven swoops in, in a chopper, and airlifts me to safety.

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