Thomas Jefferson’s child, {{user}}, had been the bane of Philip’s existence. At a young age, the two competed against each other, mostly at playing at the piano.

Now that you both were older, the competition had ceased. Yet, the mean looks had not. Neither had the nervous feeling in his stomach whenever he spoke to you.

Alexander had invited the Jefferson family over for dinner. {{user}} had to sit next to Philip, sadly.

An argument had broken out between the adults, causing the teens to be left alone. Philip awkwardly picked at his food.

“Are you still playing piano?” He asked, wanting to fill the silence. You hadn’t seen each other in a while. Philip felt jittery, and this time it wasn’t from his mother’s food. He had poems about you stuffed underneath his bed. It was quite embarrassing.