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Dear Love, I Hate You

Description ajoutée par kats-at 2021-09-10T10:46:32+02:00


It all started with an anonymous letter.

He wasn’t supposed to find it—no one was. And he definitely wasn’t supposed to answer it.

We end up talking through letters and sticky notes in a book. One sticky note. Two sticky notes. Ten sticky notes. All baring our darkest, deepest secrets.

It’s all fun and games until I find out who my pen pal is...

Xavier Emery. King of my basketball-obsessed town, my childhood bully, and the guy I am in grave danger of falling in love with.

But the rules were clear: we can never know who we’re talking to, and the confessions can never, ever get out. Seriously. It would destroy lives.

Fine by me. Even if Mr. Popular does find out his confidant is little old me, it’s not like he’d ever love me back…


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Classement en biblio - 8 lecteurs


Extrait ajouté par pertadz 2021-11-07T17:20:32+01:00

Dear Ms. Callahan…

You’re an asshole.

Knew it from the first time I walked into your class at the beginning of senior year. There. I said it. You. Are. An. Asshole. And not the “she’s nice once you get to know her” asshole. You’re the human equivalent of stepping into a puddle with socks on.

I wouldn’t be surprised if you spent your evenings bathing in hell fire, trying to come up with new ways to make your students suffer. Seriously, what’s your thought process like?

“Twenty pages on poetry? Great idea! Giving high schoolers less than forty-eight hours to read the book and turn the paper in? Even better!”

Now, before I proceed with my rant, I’d like to apologize (not really) for any mistake I might make in this letter that your never going to get. Can’t really be bothered with grammar right now.

You see, I’m in a bit of a time crunch between trying to graduate high school, score a once in a life time scholarship so I can get the F out of this town, playing chauffeur to my prodigy sibling and being a full-time disappointment to my mom.

Oh, and don’t forget the twenty pages.

Who needs sleep, right?

Sure, “technically”, I’m to blame for getting stuck with this poetry book, but how the heck was I supposed to know the one time I’d get sick and miss English lit would be the time you’d let us pick the book for the essay that’s worth fifty percent?

Granted, I would’ve been stuck with a boring book either way, (You didn’t exactly have thrilling options lined up) but you didn’t have to do us dirty like that.

You must think I’m crazy. I promise you I’m not. I’m actually a pretty decent person when I’m not calling middle-aged women Satan. In my defense, my therapist says writing down my feelings will help me cope.

So, what if I called u an asshole? So, what if I’m sitting here, in the library, wasting my time writing a hate letter to a teacher who can never remember my name when I’m already running late?

It’s not like anyone is ever going to read this anyway.

I’m realizing this letter is a bit all over the place, so let me summarize it for you.

Dear Ms. Callahan,


From the bottom of my heart,

Go fuck yourself.

- L

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Commentaire ajouté par pertadz 2021-09-23T18:16:02+02:00

J'ai été surprise par ce livre. Je m'attendais à aimer, mais pas à autant accrocher !

Vraiment bien écrit.

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