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Five answers.

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   Cally picked the scrumpled up piece of paper. It was the only thing remaining at the bottom of her canvas bag from the last days of high school. Ever. It still felt weird, thinking that in two days' time Cally would be packing up her suitcases and another two days after that would be hitching a long ride with her father to the University of Bath to study art for three years. University was a whole new thing, and it still didn't seem real on that hazy August morning. Well, morning...just. Well...quarter past two in the afternoon. But it still didn't feel real, Cally mused as she smoothed the corners of the paper down slowly, curiously wondering how she could have missed seeing this the day before when she had "sorted out" all of her school notes (the shredder may now be broken from stuffing too many sheets in there but that was beside the point).

  Cally frowned at the handwriting. This wasn't hers, it was Joe's. What his stuff was doing in her bag Cally had no idea...It was then that Cally saw her name scrawled in his somewhat spidery hand:

Cally, I just wanted to

  1. No, to be honest, but that's only because they apply to normal people, and you're better.
  2. Of course I think so. It's the best I've seen.
  3. No, I just like your cockiness when you win these things
  4. He'd never be good enough.
  5. No idea. It's going to take me a bloody long time though. I'm sorry Cally, forcing this on you now of all times, but

The bottom right hand corner was torn off. Cally sat stupidly on the carpet for a second before scrabbling about in the bottom of the bag, frantically searching for the remainder of the list.

It wasn't there.

The End
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