Forever summer (Summer # 4) Read Online Free

texts; I had never heard from him so much in my life. In some sick way they were a link to him, a very one-sided link, one I didn’t know how long would last if I didn’t answer. My thumb hovered over the reply button, staring down at the last message, tempted to reply as I read his latest addition over and over.
    Adam 7:09 p.m.
    “x”
    Bastard! It was a simple enough gesture, certain to melt my icy façade, something he would no doubt be taking bets on that this above all else would have me replying.
    I chucked my phone onto the couch. As it bounced and slid away, I looked at it as if it had given me an electric shock. I had to keep busy. I had to refrain from the temptation of replying to Adam’s texts; he was wearing me down and that’s exactly what he was working on.
    “I don’t think so,” I groaned, pulling myself to stand, hearing the bones click and pop as I stretched. I placed my hands on my hips, surveying the damage of all the unfinished business in my flat, which resembled more of a residence for a hobo than that of a dental nurse in her twenties. Enough was enough! Time to commit to neatness and get into the land of the living.
    I started with the first box in the poky hall, sliding it rather inelegantly toward the lounge as my bed socks failed to gain traction on the glossy tiles.
    Shit, it was heavy. I fell to my knees, breathless and confused at what the hell I had packed, as my head tilted to read ‘Books’ written on the side. Now that made sense; I did have a rather impressive book collection, not something many knew about: Ellie Parker, the bookworm. Well, Adam knew it, but I quickly wiped that from my mind. I made work on ripping the packing tape from the box and exposing the interior crammed with books, ranging from Enid Blyton childhood classics, Sweet Valley High to Christopher Pike horror books. My entire reading life’s catalogue was here and I suddenly felt more at home than ever. When I wasn’t out with Tess and Adam, I could be found tucked up on my favourite couch with a book. Both my mum and dad were avid readers, and that love had been passed on to me. I didn't need to go out and explore Maitland just yet. Books were my comfort zone, and that would be fine for now.
    I smiled. “Rock on Friday night.”
     
    ***
     
    Another bottle of wine and some tunes later and I had all but forgotten about the Onslow Hotel, about Adam, and the messages on my phone, all of it. I was swept away in a different kind of nostalgia, getting sidetracked in long-lost books that I had forgotten about reading.
    “Awww, Hating Alison Ashley .” I held it up to the light, pouting over my absolute favourite book by Robin Klein. I was soon lost in its chapters until I snapped my mind back to the task at hand and the half-unpacked box. The room actually looked worse.
    “Shit,” I sighed, putting the book aside and pulling myself up onto my knees to look inside the box for the next treasure, when I paused, my brows knitting together in confusion.
    “No. Way.”
    Gone were all the hardcover classics; the last of the childhood memories had well and truly been cleaned out. Instead, the box was filled with a new layer of history, one that I hadn’t even realised I had packed: my diaries.
    I reached in, retrieving the first pink-bound diary, gratified by inky love hearts and the words PRIVATE: KEEP OUT scrawled over its cover with the year 1990 embossed in gold.
    I laughed, quickly moving to the next books: 1991, 1992, 1993. My intense, if not shambolic, boy-crazy chronicles that had been documented all through my teens were all there, all with similar warnings of promised death if anyone so much as looked into the pages. I couldn’t believe it: how had I not remembered these? How had I not recalled packing the … Oh God. A sudden sickness flooded me as I recognised the writing on the side of the box as my mum’s.
    “Oh no, no, no … please, God, please tell me she didn’t read them.” I cringed.
    When