[COMPLETE]
When Hanna Haddad embarks on what's supposed to be another uneventful summer as a lifeguard on Cape Cod, a trip to the past comes as an unnerving surprise. The discovery of her estranged mother's journal opens up the world of tragedy and...
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September 6, 1993
8:44 a.m.
It feels weird to say, but I am officially a senior in college.
Honestly, my senior year in high school feels like it was yesterday. Actually, scratch that, even middle school feels like not that long ago.Where did the time go?
I don't know if I'm ready to leave a place I love and hate so much at the same time. Being roommates with my best friend for three years in our disgusting dorms, meeting my boyfriend in the worst math class I've ever taken, growing up so much living a modest one-and-a-half hours from my parents; these were all the best things that could have happened to me.
On to the less sappy stuff, there are some things I'm looking forward to this year. No more 8 a.m classes, for one, which is why I'm still snuggled under my covers during an hour I'd normally be taking notes. I also finally got a different on-campus job, which shouldn't suck as much as working at the front desk of the gym and getting hit on by creepy guys every day.Lastly, Nicolas bought his first cell phone last month, and he's finally going to show me how to use one. Dad says they're overrated, but I think it's because he's secretly a Luddite. I keep trying to convince him they're going to be huge one day. I can just feel it.
Oh, and I almost forgot. In four days, it'll be a year since I rage-bought this thing to rant about seat stealers ;)
Happy early birthday, dearest journal.
For some reason, learning what I had yesterday only motivated me to read more of this journal. I'd been up most of last night feeling queasy, pacifying myself by surfing through the summer entries. At times, I hadn't been sure if I was crying over the random jolts of twisting pain in my midsection or the mention of Samantha in an entry.
I wanted to turn the page but couldn't, as I had to race to the bathroom to vomit again. Apparently, the nausea I'd started feeling yesterday was a stomach virus, ready to make my life a living hell. I groaned as I bent over the toilet bowl, feeling like I'd just gotten trashed at a party, only I didn't have a friend to hold my hair back as I regurgitated what was left in my stomach.
Speaking of a friend...
Dragging myself back to my tangled-up bedsheets, I found my phone and called the only person who could tolerate me in this altered state.
"Hello? Hanna?" she grumbled after three rings.
"Stella, I'm dying," I croaked, clutching my stomach, "and I can't go through this alone."
