I sat down to finish reading The Letters of Sylvia Beach. I read The Believer instead. And I have to tell you that I may not have to wait until I grow up to become Nick Hornby. He read The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie last month. I read The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie last month.
He bought J. M. Barrie’s Peter Pan last month because Jane Hayes’s Who Is It That Can Tell Me Who I Am? The Journal of a Psychotherapist told him to. I put Peter Pan on my hardback wishlist because Laura Miller’s The Magician’s Book told me to.
That’s all. Back to Beach.
Nathalie Foy 
If y’all do a third thing in unison, the mounting evidence will be too much to ignore, and scientists will have to admit that you are indeed Nick Hornby.
I’ve already alerted the authorities.