Carpe Diem by Autumn Cornwell Read Free Book Online

via hookup or Internet café—apparently there are tons of them all over Southeast Asia. Especially in places where the backpackers loiter. We’ll proofread them and let you know if something isn’t clear. By the end of the summer, you should have a completed first draft ready to turn in.”
    â€œThat’ll give you two weeks to edit before turning it in to Principal Ledbetter,” said Amber.
    Good ol’ Principal Ledbetter. After much persuasion, she’d agreed to let me write the novel for AP/AAP English credit, but with one stipulation: “It must be turned in on the first day of school, to count. Is that clear, Vassar? There will be no extensions or exceptions.” It would be a tight squeeze—but well worth it.
    I sniffed. I’d succumbed to emotion more times in the
last two weeks than the rest of my life combined. “You guys …”
    â€œVassar, you’d do the same thing for us,” Laurel said, blowing her nose again. By now, her skirt pockets were bulging with used tissues.
    â€œAnd don’t waste time emailing us personal messages or travel details,” said Denise.
    â€œOr buying us souvenirs,” said Amber.
    â€œExcept for my spoons,” said Laurel.
    â€œSpend your energy writing those chapters,” said Denise.
    Then Amber pulled a small box out of her backpack. “It’s from all of us. Bon voyage!”
    â€œ Bona fortuna! ” said Laurel.
    Good luck. I sure needed that.
    I opened it. A necklace with an inscribed silver medallion: Nulla dies sine linea.
    â€œâ€˜Not a day without a line,’” translated Denise. “A simple yet constant reminder of what you’re there for.”
    â€œIt’s real silver,” said Laurel.
    â€œOh, you guys!” I snatched one of Laurel’s Kleenex.
    â€œWatch out—you’ll tarnish it,” said Amber.
    â€œIf John Pepper asks about you, we’ll give him your email address,” said Laurel.
    â€œBut only if he asks,” I said firmly.
    Amber nodded. “Yep. Hard to get. That’s the way to play it.”
    Denise rolled her eyes. “Such wisdom, O experienced one.”

    â€œTime’s up, ladies,” Dad called.
    We visibly deflated.
    I hung the necklace around my neck and hugged Laurel, Amber, and Denise good-bye.
    â€œOh, wait. Can you give this to your mom?” Amber shoved a wrinkled piece of paper into my hand. “My Summer Goal List. I was supposed to turn it in at the last Hour of Reflection, but—”
    â€œWhy is it so sticky?” I distastefully held it by a corner.
    She licked her fingers. “Honey-mustard dressing?”
    Then, as the three of them walked out the door, Denise added:
    â€œBy the way, I’ve been pondering those words you overheard. You should focus on cracking the term ‘egg’—no pun intended. My sixth sense tells me it’s the key to the whole thing. Perhaps it concerns a poultry-related tragedy. Diseased hens laying tainted eggs—from hen to egg to dying. See the trajectory?”
    â€œThanks, Denise. I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”
    Then they were out the door.
    I polished my medallion.
    I missed them already.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    No Matter What
    W hen we checked in with Singapore airlines at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, Dad had to pay a fee for my extra pounds of luggage. While he was taking care of it, Mom tugged my arm—the familiar cue that she wanted to whisper in my ear—and I bent my head down to her level. She gave me the usual Spore Family Pep Talk Suitable for Any Auspicious Occasion and ended with:
    â€œOh, and Grandma Gerd may tell you some strange stories, but don’t believe a word of them. Especially if she’s been drinking—”
    Before she could finish, Dad reappeared with my claim tickets. She coughed, then said, “And that’s why hydration is absolutely vital in humid