Free A Novel Idea by Aimee Friedman

may have helped me out by mentioning other boyfriends. James hadn’t known she was talking about Stacey, so maybe he already suspected that I juggled twenty different boys.
     
    Now I just had to confirm that suspicion.
     
    Grabbing my journal, I stretched across my bed and took careful notes on each of Rosamund’s stunts. They were as follows:
     
    1) Before a lavish tea party, she wrote herself a love letter, disguising her handwriting ( Darling Rosamund, I must possess you ). At the party, Rosamund “accidentally” let the note fall out of her book of Shakespeare sonnets and onto Lorenzo3’s expensive shoe.
     
    2) When her pushy parents invited Lorenzo to dine at their manor (I love how in these books, even the poor people live in mansions), Rosamund secretly arranged to have a lavish bouquet from an “admirer” delivered to her door.
     
    3) While strolling in town with her brother-in-law, Rosamund ran into Lorenzo—and pretended said brother-in-law was really a suitor.
     
    4) And finally, the icing on the cake: pretending to love Alberto.
     
    Lying on my stomach, I chewed my pen cap, thinking hard. Weirdly enough, Rosamund’s first step was practically already in place for me. Audre’s dessert party tomorrow (well, today) was almost like a tea party. James would be there. I would be there. What better opportunity to let a love letter carelessly flutter to the ground?
     
    And, best of all, since I didn’t live in 1812, I wouldn’t even have to disguise my sloppy handwriting. All I had to do was type!
     
    My skin tingly, I slipped out of bed, bound my hair up in a messy bun, opened my iBook, and started writing.
     
    Dearest, darling Norah —
     
    Suddenly, I heard heavy footsteps thumping toward the bathroom in the hall and froze. It was Stacey; for someone so dainty, my sister walks like a baby elephant. I wondered if she’d seen the light on in my room, and for a second I felt like a criminal. An insane criminal. Who in their right mind wrote themselves a love letter?
     
    Well, whatever. It worked for Rosamund.
     
    When I heard Stacey return to her room, I let out a breath and went back to work.
     
    Dearest, darling Norah ,
     
    How often have I admired your elegance and grace. I long for you deeply —
     
    No. Horrible. I needed to stop channeling Irene O’Dell and make the letter sound like it came from a normal boy.
     
    Hey N ,
     
    You might not know me, but I think you’re smoking. Your ass looked so hot in those jeans today I almost —
     
    Okay, but not a gross boy. Someone who’d actually go for me.
     
    Norah ,
     
    This is kind of embarrassing, but I think you’re one of the coolest girls I’ve ever known. And you’re really cute, too .
     
    I smiled, blushing. This was a nice self-esteem boost.
     
    Figuring my made-up admirer should go to Millay, I added: I’m in history class with you . That sounded good; English would be too obvious. I kept going, feeling inspired.
     
    You don’t speak too often, but when you do, it’s really smart. And when you take your dark hair out of its bun and let it swing down your back, I think it’s, well, beautiful. Anyway, you probably have a boyfriend—girls like you are never single. If you think you know who this is, write me back, and tell me if I have a chance with you. I really, really hope so .
     
    Faithfully yours ,
     
    An admirer
     
    I reread the note on my screen, biting my nails and reviewing the works. The letter seemed to work. It was the right mix of shy-boy awkward and smart-boy poetic. Exactly the kind of love letter I would want to receive. And, hopefully, the kind that would completely fool James.
     
    The early sunlight was painting my walls gold as I printed the letter, folded it, and carefully tucked it into my copy of Shakespeare sonnets, which I’d take to Audre’s house that night. Giving up on sleep, I headed out the door for the shower, mentally preparing myself for what lay ahead. Depending on how things went,