The Jinx. Jennifer Sturman

night, you are my starry skies. But how can I confess my forbidden love? I cannot. One day, perhaps, but not today.

      I didn’t blame whoever had written it for leaving it unsigned—it was awful.

      “Yeesh,” I said. “Are they all like this?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Nauseating?”

      “You think it’s nauseating?”

      “Well…” I cast about, trying to find a more appropriate word, but came up empty. “Yes. Nauseating. So gushy and gross.”

      “Which one are you looking at?” he asked me.

      I handed it to him, and he skimmed it. “Oh. I thought this one was sweet. Romantic, with the Keats and everything.”