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The Girl Diaries: Awkward Honesty

Copyright © 2019 by M. A. Thomas

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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ISBN-10: 1093427558

ISBN-13: 978-1093427554

First Edition: May 2019

This book is for the lost girls and angry boys I have known. Your teenage years are some of the best and worst times you will face. Always remember that you are not alone in this. The tunnel ends.


There are far better things ahead than what we leave behind.

- C. S. Lewis

My mother wakes me with a kiss. "Happy Birthday," she whispers as I squeeze my eyes tightly. Why are weekends so short?

A moment later I felt my cat Jynx start to purr. She was curled up beside me. In the crook of my elbow. I could picture her there, a shiny black patch of fur on an otherwise pink and purple canvas.

I tried and failed to open my eyes. "You should stay home today. We could ditch together."

My mother laughs and sits on the bed, she smooths my hair out of my face, her fingers snagging slightly in the long tendrils that had escaped from my braids. "Your presents are upstairs in the kitchen." She kisses my forehead. "You really should go to school today; you only have three days of term left."

I sit up and groan. "Exactly, three days of hangman and celebrity head. I could learn more at home."

Jynx rolls off her pillow without my arm keeping her propped up. The purring stops. Her yellow eyes stare accusingly at my mother.

"Think about it Rissy Roo," she says and I cringe at her pet name for me.

"I'll think about it," I assure her. I can always log into the parent portal to authorise my absence if I decide not to go. I have done it before. The joys of sharing a home computer and Chrome's auto saving of our password history. Bright orange streaks of colour burn the curtain edges of the windows that line the east facing wall of my room. "What time is it?"

"Almost five," she says, straightening up.

Great. Not. My alarm wasn't set to go off for another hour.

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