For the writing contest.
15 year-old Sonja, (saun-yah), is cleaning the attic of her best friend. When she comes across a diary dated 1683, she finds a love note stuffed inside far too new and white to be centuries old. Sonja is shocked when she finds out the note is for her - but not as much as when she finds out who wrote it!
"Boy, it is dusty up here!" I cried. I was in the attic of my best friend, Connor.
"Yeah, you're the first person to help with the attic in years." Connor smiled at me, showing his dimples.
"Yeah, no problem." I said, coughing. "Are you sure you want to move up here? It's kind of creepy."
"Not after I add carpet, paint it and Connor-ize it." He said. "Besides, I have no choice. We only have two bedrooms in the house, and I'm not sharing mine with a baby."
I nodded. I, myself, share a room with my twin sisters, and trust me, it's not pretty. I stacked a few boxes on one another and started carefully walking down the attic stairs. These lead to the garage, because their actual house's attic is too small for boxes. I passed the bright red pickup truck and went out to the yard, where Mrs. Blake, her stomach bulging with the baby, was setting up tables for a yard sale.
I set the boxes down on a table and started to unload the stuff. It was pretty random, stuffed animals, old recipes, old clothes, and an old diary. I flipped through the diary and read a few entrys and found myself entranced. This 'Madeline' woman was very interesting, for someone who lived in 1683.
"May I keep this?" I asked Mrs. Blake, showing her the diary.
"Sure. It's my great, great, great...well, you get the idea. It's my really great grandmother's diary." She smiled, and continued to unpack the boxes. I stuffed the diary in my pocket and then continued to carry boxes down.
When the yard sale was over, I promised Connor I'd help with his room tomorrow, then hopped on my skateboard and started home. Fifteen minutes later, I was home and carrying my skateboard into my room. I tossed it away and pulled the diary out of my pocket.
When I turned the page of what seemed the hundredth one Iid read, I didn't find a page of the diary of Madeline, I found a love note!