When the notebook containing their deepest, darkest secrets is stolen, two former best friends must unite, despite crushing on the same heart-stopping boy.
*****
Best friends, Al...
Do you have Mrs. Piccola for history? If you do, change ASAP. She's ancient and sounds like she ate a bucket of gravel. She's constantly coughing and hacking up phlegm. BIG mistake sitting in the front row. One plus is she's blind as that old tabby who roams outside your apartment begging for food so she can't see I'm writing to you. -Georgie aka Alexx
PS. Guard this notebook with your life. Seth snuck into my room the other day and tried to steal it. I saw Arlo eyeing it too. Bet you a hundred pounds of cheese he wants to take it and post it everywhere to embarrass me. I don't know how Hugo stands him.
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The first week of school was a pageant show—students parading up and down the halls with their summer tans and freshly cut hair. Even the kids who insisted they didn't give a crap showed up in slouchy shirts and worn-in jeans that gave off "whatever" vibes.
There were also the breakout stars. The ones who blossomed over the summer, gaining muscles or boobs that had everyone drooling in envy. Sadly, that list didn't include Alex. The biggest curve she gained was a callus on her middle finger from her summer job—writing Mr. Travers' memoir.
At eighty-four, his arthritis was so severe he couldn't hold a pen, so while he talked, she recorded. It would have been easier to type, but he didn't "trust" technology and insisted everything be handwritten. It was tedious as hell, but the money was well worth the hand cramps.
It's how she was able to afford her new sewing machine. Okay well, new-ish sewing machine. She'd bought it off of an elderly lady at an estate sale. It was still in good condition, and hey, at least it worked, unlike her last one, who died while trying to lengthen the hem of Alexx's lace skirt, the one she was wearing today.
Alexx strolled towards her, the white maxi skirt swaying with every step. "Here you go," she said, handing over the lime green notebook. "We're gonna have to get another one."
"Already?" There were at least three hundred pages. She flipped and found the last entry, which was five pages long, front and back. Only a couple of empty pages after it. "I'll buy one this weekend."
"What are you buying?" Sloane asked, stopping next to them with Brianne in tow.
A chord of tension rumbled through the early morning air. Alex could feel it pressing in on her, making it hard to breathe. It'd been getting heavier and heavier ever since the Lorde's barbecue. It would have been bearable if they weren't stuck in a car every day. At first, Alex made an effort, but when Sloane and Bri only wanted to talk about going to the lake or hiking, she stopped.
So now, after they were dropped off, they parted ways. Alex went to the cafeteria to buy an egg bagel with extra cream cheese—her favorite—and the girls went to Brianne's locker and then to Sloane's, which was conveniently above Alex's. Fate was a cruel, cruel mistress.
"Uh, a new book." Alex swiftly stuffed it in her bag and shut her locker.
Sloane's jaw worked as an awkward pause descended over the group that had Alex itching to bolt. It was the same awkward pause they shared in the car yesterday morning when Bri's mom had seen Alex reading an entry and had asked what it was. Life, it seemed, wanted her in a series of awkward moments.
