“Dear John,
“I’m writing to tell you not to ask me to marry you. Do not fall in love with me, don’t tell me you can’t live without me, and don’t try to be my boy friend, because none of that is allowed.
“My phone number is 666-7319, but don’t call me. It’s strictly forbidden. So is finding out my address from the return on this envelope and coming to my door to ask me out. You’re not allowed to do any of that.
“Remember: Don’t fall in love with me. You aren’t allowed.
“Yours, Emma.”
Emma Reed set down her pencil with a satisfied sigh. “What do you think?”
Her sister Chris, at whom this comment was directed, picked up the letter and read it over. “I think it won’t work,” was her opinion. “I think he’ll know right away what you’re trying to do . Good try, though.”
Emma shrugged, undaunted. “You never know. I’m sure John can’t resist doing anything he’s told not to do! He’s bound to ask me out when he gets this.” A happy sigh.
Chris frowned, always serious the same way Emma was always cheerful. “I don’t know about that, Emma. You are being pretty obvious.”
“We’ll know soon enough, anyway,” said Emma, ending the debate as she took her letter back and folded it up to fit inside an envelope. “With any luck, John’ll get this just around the time he and the other Beatles get here. Just imagine – the Beatles will be practically right next door to us!”
“In a hotel somewhere,” Chris reminded her. “We won’t know where they’re staying exactly.”
“Still – right in the same city....” Emma sighed dreamily, gazing up at the Beatles poster she’d hung in the room the sisters shared, lost in a happy John haze.
Chris opened her mouth to tell Emma she didn’t think it was that easy, but decided against it. Chris was twenty-one, and considered herself the mature, responsible one. Emma was sixteen and Beatlemania had hit her full force ever since the release of Please Please Me earlier in the year. No need to disillusion her so soon. If Emma was happy thinking it would be this easy to meet her favourite Beatle, let her go ahead and think it.
Besides, Emma wasn’t listening anymore. “I’ll say I love you... and I’m always thinking of you-ou-ou-ou....” she sang to herself as she carefully addressed her envelope.
“I’m writing to tell you not to ask me to marry you. Do not fall in love with me, don’t tell me you can’t live without me, and don’t try to be my boy friend, because none of that is allowed.
“My phone number is 666-7319, but don’t call me. It’s strictly forbidden. So is finding out my address from the return on this envelope and coming to my door to ask me out. You’re not allowed to do any of that.
“Remember: Don’t fall in love with me. You aren’t allowed.
“Yours, Emma.”
Emma Reed set down her pencil with a satisfied sigh. “What do you think?”
Her sister Chris, at whom this comment was directed, picked up the letter and read it over. “I think it won’t work,” was her opinion. “I think he’ll know right away what you’re trying to do . Good try, though.”
Emma shrugged, undaunted. “You never know. I’m sure John can’t resist doing anything he’s told not to do! He’s bound to ask me out when he gets this.” A happy sigh.
Chris frowned, always serious the same way Emma was always cheerful. “I don’t know about that, Emma. You are being pretty obvious.”
“We’ll know soon enough, anyway,” said Emma, ending the debate as she took her letter back and folded it up to fit inside an envelope. “With any luck, John’ll get this just around the time he and the other Beatles get here. Just imagine – the Beatles will be practically right next door to us!”
“In a hotel somewhere,” Chris reminded her. “We won’t know where they’re staying exactly.”
“Still – right in the same city....” Emma sighed dreamily, gazing up at the Beatles poster she’d hung in the room the sisters shared, lost in a happy John haze.
Chris opened her mouth to tell Emma she didn’t think it was that easy, but decided against it. Chris was twenty-one, and considered herself the mature, responsible one. Emma was sixteen and Beatlemania had hit her full force ever since the release of Please Please Me earlier in the year. No need to disillusion her so soon. If Emma was happy thinking it would be this easy to meet her favourite Beatle, let her go ahead and think it.
Besides, Emma wasn’t listening anymore. “I’ll say I love you... and I’m always thinking of you-ou-ou-ou....” she sang to herself as she carefully addressed her envelope.
