Insignificantly important

The last time I wrote with this pain in the pit of my stomach was in tenth grade.

My tenth grade (INSERT FLASHBACK RIPPLE EFFECT)

It was before you could be busted by a text message or snooped upon through Facebook. No, the only way you could find out how someone really felt about you was to get a friend to perform a three-way call with the person in question. You were to remain silent on the line while your friend executed a pre-approved line of questioning worthy of a scene out of CSI Miami (as the characters are terrible at questioning suspects).

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