Read Online Summer of Love by Emily Franklin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emily Franklin
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pretty much soaked it all up, but it’s great. And being away from emailing, texting, and all the electronic ings is a welcome break. My thumb doesn’t ache and my thoughts don’t revolve around checking messages every two seconds. Every few days, Arabella and I wander to the local library where there’s internet access and check like we did yesterday:
Hello, Love! If you’re reading this, you’re probably at the library. Glad to know that your island experience is still relatively remote. From your phone call it sounds like the summer’s taking up a nice pace. And I think Arabella’s onto something about not planning and just taking it easy, letting (Mable and I used to confer about your tendency to overburden yourself). I know you don’t like the expression take it easy, but I hope you do. Louisa and I will see you in August for Illumination Night if not before — not sure I can wait that long to see you!
Love, Dad
P.S. I wouldn’t feel parental and intrusive enough without asking about your essays and if you’ve started them. I’ve had the pleasure of reading a couple from other students and think it’s best if you get an early start as they seem to require a bit of revision. Xo.
Love that my dad can make me smile and grit my teeth in one minute. Love that he knows me well enough to tell me to chill out and love the fact that he’s right about the essays but that I hate the fact that he is. But the only other exciting email I had was a mass emailing I found only because Arabella took so long to write back to her famous royal ex-boyfriend Toby who still plagues her with long missives about their old life together. Plus, I saw she had an email from Asher in her inbox and I was so tempted to read it or ask about it to see if he mentioned me, but it’s a sore subject for both of us so I didn’t. Instead, I sorted through the junk and spam and found:
Mercury — For security reasons we have changed the password to this year’s Malibu gala. The new entry code is the fifth planet from the sun. We will follow this mailing with a personal call from one of our staff. Regards, Teeny and Martin
That I received bulk mail from Martin Eisenstein’s film company and his wife is just plain funny. But he did say when I met him in England that you never discard an address or contact; you just add them in until you need them later. He can’t need me for anything but he could serve as entrée into the California world of which I know nothing. And maybe it’s time I scheme a way to get out there even if it’s only for a couple of days to go to that party, even if it’s just for the utterly surreal aspect of going to an event I’ve seen profiled on tv and in celebrity mags for years. Of course, it’s an all-blue party (guests are reportedly supposed to be fluid, like water, all the better to mix and mingle) but that’s just a drop in the bucket (heh) in terms of problems associated in getting there. I mean, flying three thousand miles is hardly a drop-by. But maybe an excuse will pop up.
Notable correspondence missing from email account=Jacob, evil Lindsay Parrish (whom I figured would torment me from time to time this summer with her fall plans for school domination), and anything from my mother. Somehow, with Mable gone and her treasure hunt in full swing, I thought she’d line up a talk-show moment where my mother suddenly enters my life after nearly eighteen years of absence. It’s not that I’m desperate to find her (or obviously I would have made more of an effort), but without Mable, there’s a gap. A void where there once was this maternal figure and of course I know no one — not even Galadriel (aka birth mother) could fill the spot Mable did — but my biological and emotional curiosity is piqued. Fifth planet from the sun=Jupiter. That I know this bit of info isn’t startling — but the realization that all I’d have to do to get to Martin’s party is plan a college interview in California is
Hello, Love! If you’re reading this, you’re probably at the library. Glad to know that your island experience is still relatively remote. From your phone call it sounds like the summer’s taking up a nice pace. And I think Arabella’s onto something about not planning and just taking it easy, letting (Mable and I used to confer about your tendency to overburden yourself). I know you don’t like the expression take it easy, but I hope you do. Louisa and I will see you in August for Illumination Night if not before — not sure I can wait that long to see you!
Love, Dad
P.S. I wouldn’t feel parental and intrusive enough without asking about your essays and if you’ve started them. I’ve had the pleasure of reading a couple from other students and think it’s best if you get an early start as they seem to require a bit of revision. Xo.
Love that my dad can make me smile and grit my teeth in one minute. Love that he knows me well enough to tell me to chill out and love the fact that he’s right about the essays but that I hate the fact that he is. But the only other exciting email I had was a mass emailing I found only because Arabella took so long to write back to her famous royal ex-boyfriend Toby who still plagues her with long missives about their old life together. Plus, I saw she had an email from Asher in her inbox and I was so tempted to read it or ask about it to see if he mentioned me, but it’s a sore subject for both of us so I didn’t. Instead, I sorted through the junk and spam and found:
Mercury — For security reasons we have changed the password to this year’s Malibu gala. The new entry code is the fifth planet from the sun. We will follow this mailing with a personal call from one of our staff. Regards, Teeny and Martin
That I received bulk mail from Martin Eisenstein’s film company and his wife is just plain funny. But he did say when I met him in England that you never discard an address or contact; you just add them in until you need them later. He can’t need me for anything but he could serve as entrée into the California world of which I know nothing. And maybe it’s time I scheme a way to get out there even if it’s only for a couple of days to go to that party, even if it’s just for the utterly surreal aspect of going to an event I’ve seen profiled on tv and in celebrity mags for years. Of course, it’s an all-blue party (guests are reportedly supposed to be fluid, like water, all the better to mix and mingle) but that’s just a drop in the bucket (heh) in terms of problems associated in getting there. I mean, flying three thousand miles is hardly a drop-by. But maybe an excuse will pop up.
Notable correspondence missing from email account=Jacob, evil Lindsay Parrish (whom I figured would torment me from time to time this summer with her fall plans for school domination), and anything from my mother. Somehow, with Mable gone and her treasure hunt in full swing, I thought she’d line up a talk-show moment where my mother suddenly enters my life after nearly eighteen years of absence. It’s not that I’m desperate to find her (or obviously I would have made more of an effort), but without Mable, there’s a gap. A void where there once was this maternal figure and of course I know no one — not even Galadriel (aka birth mother) could fill the spot Mable did — but my biological and emotional curiosity is piqued. Fifth planet from the sun=Jupiter. That I know this bit of info isn’t startling — but the realization that all I’d have to do to get to Martin’s party is plan a college interview in California is
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