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So, This is What It's Like
I wonder if she knows anything about Marilyn Monroe's following; I doubt she does. She probably doesn't even know who Marilyn Monroe is, let alone the numbers of men she brought to her knees.
To describe Brooke McQueen as Marilyn Monroe is stretching it, because truth be told, Brooke McQueen is no Marilyn Monroe; Brooke McQueen is Brooke McQueen, and she deserves her own pedestal among the blonde bombshells in American history.
I'm such a dork. I'm such a loser. I must so totally suck that I'm sitting writing lovesick ramblings about her. A girl I couldn't stand at the beginning of this year, and as I find myself entering summer vacation before junior year I'm so smitten with her it's sick.
If only Carmen knew, Carmen would slap me upside the head! Carmen's infatuated with her, too, but in a different way. She wants to be her, and I just want to be with her. I want to be her Josh Fo...
I didn't just say that. I did, didn't I?
It's true, though, I'd hate to admit it, but it's true. I want to be her Josh. I want to be able to look at her the way he does, be as close to her as he is, kiss her like he does; I want to be the one that shares a carrot with a kiss, I want to be the one that accompanies her in the convertible at Homecoming, I want to be the one who dances with her at the Sadie Hawkins. I want to be her Josh Ford...
It's sick. This infatuation, this love...
I didn't just say that either, did I? Did I?
I'm in love with Brooke McQueen.
Sam leaned back in her chair with a heavy sigh, closed her eyes, and closed the document without saving it.
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