Forever summer (Summer # 4) Read Online Free Page B

to understand where I am, I had to go back to the beginning. What was the saying? Hindsight was a bitch. Well, I’ll be the judge of that, I thought, as I started reading and was instantly transported to the summer of 1991.
    Dear Diary,
     
    ***
     
    “Steven Wigmore is so hot.” I sighed, leaning back on my elbows and admiring the tanned view from the water’s edge through my white-rimmed sunnies.
    Tess, who sported an identical recline, cocked her head to the side. “I guess he’s pretty cute,” she said, giving it plenty of deep thought.
    My head snapped around comically fast. “You guess? Are you blind? He is smoking hot.”
    “Well, he’s a seven,” Tess said, using our usual method of a rating system.
    “A seven? He is like a nine, at least,” I said, with an edge of horror. Looking back out to the water, admiring the smooth, tanned skin of the blonde Adonis, if an Adonis wore Hang Ten board shorts.
    “He is lovely,” I said breathlessly.
    “Ugh, you know I’m right here?” came a muffled voice from the suntanning body lying between us.
    Adam ripped off the towel that was covering his face and squinted up at me in irritation.
    “Give me a bucket; I’m about to puke.”
    My brows knitted together. “I wasn’t talking to you,” I snapped. “You shouldn’t be listening anyway.”
    Adam pulled himself into a sitting position, squinting against the sunlight before he flipped his sunglasses over his eyes. “Believe me, I even tried to asphyxiate myself with my towel without any luck.”
    “Well, let me know if you need any help with that,” I said sweetly, tilting my head.
    “Thanks, but I think I would have better chances suffocating with buff-boy Stevie’s muscles.”
    Tess tipped her glasses up. “Why, Adam Henderson, are you jealous?”
    The sunglasses shielded his eyes, but it did little to mask the look of outrage across his face. “Pfft, please.” Adam shifted to his feet, dusting the sand off the back of his shorts and looking down at us with a smile. I had to shield my eyes as I looked up at him. Adam’s tall, lanky frame blocked the sun from entirely blinding me, but then he smiled—broad, brilliant and white—and it was the equivalent of looking directly into the sun.
    “As if I’d be jealous of a five,” he said, glancing back out to the water, where Steven Wigmore was wrestling with his mates in some kind of macho display of manhood.
    “A five?” Tess laughed.
    Adam picked up his towel, shaking the excess sand from it before looping it over his shoulder.
    “Maybe even a four and a half,” he said with a little smirk, before he saluted us and started down the beach toward his bike. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Adam called back over his shoulder. “We can braid each other’s hair and talk about Jason Priestley.”
    I shook my head. “Why do we put up with him?”
    Tess laughed. “Why does he put up with us?”
     
    ***
     
    Memories are an amazing thing: such a small trigger like ‘Steven Wigmore is seriously hot’ opened up the floodgates of a moment in time spent baking in the sun near Lake Onslow. The last summer before starting high school, before believing our lives would change now that we weren’t simple little primary schoolers. I flipped forward in the diary, eager to recall what the reality was, when my eyes locked onto an intriguing sentence.
    Jodie Collins is a fucking bitch!
    My brows rose at the jarring declaration: a good thing my diary hadn’t been photocopied for the entire Year Seven class to see. A small smile lined my face, thinking about how Adam had defended my honour, how he always defended my honour: it had me believing in him again; that one amazing act alone could wipe out him standing me up. I was tempted to reach for my mobile, to text Adam and go on like nothing had happened, but before I did there was one thing that was lingering in my peripheral vision: on top of the Sweet Valley High pile was the infamous 1999 diary.
    Reeeead me,