A piece of paper is taped to the fabric inside. I catch it and tug it out. It’s another note on blue-green construction paper, and it starts with a postscript. My fingers tremble as I read it. P.S. I love the way you smile like you don’t realize you’re doing it. I love your perpetual bed head. I love the way you hold eye contact a moment longer than you need to. And I love your moon-gray eyes. So if you think I’m not attracted to you, Simon, you’re crazy. And underneath that, he’s written his phone number.
