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    Sunny: Diary One
    Sunny: Diary One
    Sunny: Diary One
    Ebook137 pages1 hour

    Sunny: Diary One

    By Ann M. Martin

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    About this ebook

    When it comes to running away from feelings, Sunny is a master—but nobody can run forever
    Sunny Winslow is the life of the party. Even though her mother is suffering from lung cancer and her workaholic father is avoiding his family, Sunny is determined not to let life get her down. Her friends don’t understand why she isn’t more worried about her mom. They won’t join her when she decides to cut class, so she takes off on her own. Headed to Venice Beach, Sunny meets the mysterious and cool Carson, who seems to understand where she’s coming from. But can she run away from her problems with him, or will her true emotions creep back in?
    This ebook features an illustrated personal history of Ann M. Martin, including rare images from the author’s collection.

    Sunny: Diary One is the 2nd book in the California Diaries, which also includes Dawn: Diary One and Maggie: Diary One.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateMar 25, 2014
    ISBN9781453298091
    Sunny: Diary One
    Author

    Ann M. Martin

    Ann M. Martin grew up in Princeton, New Jersey. After attending Smith College, where she studied education and psychology, she became a teacher at a small elementary school in Connecticut. Martin also worked as an editor of children’s books before she began writing full time. Martin is best known for the Baby-Sitters Club series, which has sold over one hundred seventy million copies. Her novel A Corner of the Universe won a Newbery Honor in 2003. In 1990, she cofounded the Lisa Libraries, which donates new children’s books to organizations in underserved areas. Martin lives in upstate New York with her three cats.

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      Book preview

      Sunny - Ann M. Martin

      Sunny: Diary One

      California Diaries

      Ann M. Martin

      The author gratefully acknowledges

      Peter Lerangis

      for his help in

      preparing this manuscript.

      Contents

      Monday 10/20, 12:15 A.M.

      Tuesday 10/21, 1:06 A.M.

      Wednesday Morning 10/22

      Wednesday 10/22, 12:09 P.M.

      Wednesday Afternoon

      Wednesday Night

      Thursday Afternoon 10/23

      Thursday Night

      Later Thursday Night

      Friday 10/24, 10:00 A.M.

      Friday 8:31 A.M.

      Friday 10:17 A.M.

      Friday 1:17 P.M.

      Friday 8:17 P.M.

      Saturday 10/25, 10:34 A.M.

      Saturday 10/25, 9:27 P.M.

      Saturday 10:49 P.M.

      Sunday 10/26, 10:05 A.M.

      Sunday 11:53 A.M.

      Sunday 2:07 P.M.

      Monday 10/27, 3 P.M.

      Monday 9:45 P.M.

      Tuesday 10/28, 9:30 A.M.

      Tuesday 2:35 P.M.

      Wednesday 11/5, 10:04 A.M.

      Wednesday 3:45 P.M.

      Wednesday Night

      Wednesday Night

      Thursday 2:15 A.M.

      Thursday 11/6

      Preview: Maggie: Diary One

      A Personal History by Ann M. Martin

      Monday 10/20

      12:15 A.M.

      I hate my life.

      Despise it.

      I would trade it in a minute for anyone else’s.

      That’s all. I have to say.

      Good night.

      Tuesday 10/21

      1:06 A.M.

      Back again, same place, different day.

      Same life, too. Unfortunately.

      Miserable.

      Hateful.

      Pointless.

      Sleepless.

      Night three of insomnia. I cannot believe it. The very last thing I need.

      I’ve listened to all my CDs. I’ve even tried doing homework, but that just made me even more depressed.

      I actually thought about calling Dawn. For about a second. Like, she would really be thrilled to hear me at this hour, complaining about the same old stuff.

      So I’ll just sit here and do something that would make my teachers faint.

      Write. Voluntarily.

      Maybe I’ll bore myself to sleep.

      Dawn used to say my name fit my personality. Sunny. The sunny Sunny Winslow.

      I hate that. It’s so wrong.

      Well, it does feel better to write this out. These journals aren’t such a stupid idea after all. Okay, let’s hit all the problems, from the top.

      Number one. I am very upset about Mom. Three days ago I told her to call Dr. Merwin about her wheezing. I didn’t like the way she sounded. Of course, she waited until today, when she’s really sick. So now she has to go back to the hospital for observation. Plus she has to stop chemotherapy and radiation treatments until she’s better.

      Number two. Dad. When the renovations in his store began, he became the Control Freak of the Century. This is his life now:

      Most of etc. is taken up with sleep.

      Which Dad has no trouble with. I can hear him snoring in the next room. He sounds like wood shop. I don’t know how Mom puts up with it. I don’t know how I put up with it.

      I’ll just stay awake, that’s all. At school tomorrow I’ll look like a horror movie. Sunny the undead. Maggie and Dawn will give me more useless insomnia tips.

      Like today. Maggie suggested I should look out the window and pick out constellations. Well, I don’t know how many stars she can see through the Palo City smog. The ones I saw all looked like the Big Dipper.

      Dawn? She had insomnia too, over the changes we’re facing. which I guess means the eighth-graders’ switch from the middle school to the high school building. I don’t understand Dawn sometimes. She’s still my best friend but hello? I mean, we’re thirteen. We belong with the older kids. Especially the guys. Okay, we don’t rule. Okay, high school kids lured us to that party at Ms. Krueger’s empty house, just to get us in trouble. But only some of them did. Most of the others seem pretty cool. Like Ducky. Anyway, consider the alternative. Who wants to hang with teddy bear huggers and giggle over squeaky-voiced boys?

      Maybe Jill does. Honestly, that girl really makes me sick. I’m glad Maggie and Dawn and I have drifted away from her.

      If any of my friends—any of them, even Dawn—read this, they’d fall over. They think I’m so confident. So together. (Well, maybe not together. They saw me hurl chunks at that party. Not exactly a together thing to do.)

      Sometimes I think I’m the only eighth-grader at Vista who tries to have any fun at all. Which is totally ironic, considering my frame of mind. I think the move turned everyone into zombies.

      Including Maggie, who used to be so cool. That’s ancient history. She refused to cut math with me today. And she was so freaked out when I had my navel pierced. Dawn was too, but I kind of expected that. (Jill, of course, almost fainted, which makes it so much fun to flash my ring at her in the school hallways.)

      I don’t know why I even bother trying to show signs of life. Nobody appreciates it. Everybody is mad at me for something. It’s not just Dawn and Maggie, either. Dad’s being a pain too. He keeps telling me I should be more serious. And all my teachers think I’m a slacker.

      I know. I should start wearing plaid wool skirts, stop painting my fingernails black, join the math club, and discuss global politics at lunch. I mean, life is hard enough. PEOPLE SHOULD LIGHTEN UP, in my humble opinion.

      I just yawned. That’s a good sign.

      I am boring myself to sleep.

      Just as well. My fingers are starting to hurt. I have never written this much in my life.

      Wednesday morning 10/22

      I just read what I wrote yesterday.

      I’m glad I’m not my friend. I would drive me crazy.

      Mom and Dad just passed by on their way downstairs to breakfast. Mom was yelling at Dad for not holding onto her enough. She seems so angry.

      Well, she’s allowed. She’s allowed to be mad at the world. I would be, if I had lung cancer. (Actually, I am mad, at the tobacco companies.)

      She’s also depressed about going to the hospital. For two days she has not worn her wig. She says she’s too tired to put it on. She wears a kerchief instead, to cover her thinning hair. She says it will all grow back when the chemotherapy ends. I can’t wait. Not that the hair matters. I mean, I’d take Mom bald and bearded if she were healthy again. It’s just that not wearing a wig seems like some kind of signal. As if Mom is starting to give up.

      Maybe I’m thinking about it too much. Maybe she is just tired. Besides, wearing that wig must be like having a thick old hat on all day. Would I do it? No way. Kerchiefs for me, baby.

      Wednesday 10/22

      12:09 P.M.

      Have I mentioned I hate public buses?

      I HATE PUBLIC BUSES!!!!!!!

      There. I mentioned it.

      I am on one right now, going to visit Mom in the hospital. The driver is evil. Just to annoy us riders, he is aiming for every single pothole on Naranja Boulevard. I think he wants to get us all sick.

      It’s lunch period. I should be sitting in the air-conditioned cafeteria of Vista with all the other eighth-graders. Instead, I’m sweating like a pig, bouncing down the street on a public roller coaster as I sit behind a fat man in a Hawaiian shirt eating a tuna salad sandwich. A lot of it is actually on the shirt, blending in nicely with the design. Why does tuna taste

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