[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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Before my shift, I stopped by my favorite coffee shop, a cozy little place that was only a few minute's stroll from the beach. Holding a large iced coffee with an extra shot of caramel in one hand and the journal in the other, I sat down at a table by a window that faced the calm morning waves. I glanced around, relieved I recognized no one around me, knowing how easily distracted I was.
I set the currently unlocked yet still unopened journal on the table in front of me and thumbed through the pages, taking in just how many entries there were in my mother's half-cursive, half-print handwriting. I used to beg her to teach me how to write like that, but it'd turned out she never had to show me how.
Over the years, the black ink had faded, and the pages didn't quite lay flat anymore, giving the illusion the journal was thicker than it was. When I set it down on the table, it opened to the first page automatically.
This Journal Belongs to Annie Khoury ♡
There was no going back.
September 10, 1992
4:44 p.m.
You know what will always suck about college out of the many things that suck about college?
When people steal your seat in class.
Yes, this was actually the tipping point to me buying this journal today because apparently my roommate, Samantha, is tired of hearing me rant about this 'non-issue.'But what she doesn't seem to understand is that a seat is actually one of the most important parts of the classroom experience.
Sitting in the back and still seeing the chalkboard is something I can only dream about, thanks to the phenomenal vision I got from Dad. Sitting in the front is basically inviting the professor to call on me when no one answers a question. Sitting in the middle of any row is yet another no, ever since some guy last year accidentally brushed my ass trying to get to his seat and thought that was an invitation to hit on me for the rest of the semester.
So, last year, I decided on what constitutes the perfect spot, down to a T.
1. The second row, for the sake of my poor vision
2. The last seat on the end, so I can step out into the aisle when someone tries to get to their spot
3. Right side of the classroom. No specific reason for the preference.
4. And, of course, as far away as possible from any guy who seems like he thinks accidentally touching a female's backside means she wants him
