The Moon And More Sarah Dessen Pdf Download

1 HERE THEY COME. “—or I promise you, we’ll turn right around and go back to Paterson!” the woman behind the wheel of the burgundy minivan was shouting as it pulled up beside me. She had her head turned towards the backseat, where I could see three kids, two boys and a girl, staring back at her. A vein in her neck was bulging, looking not unlike the interstate, thick and unmissable, on the map held by the man in the passenger seat beside her. “I am serious. I have had it.” The kids didn’t say anything. After a moment of glaring at them, she turned to look at me.

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She had on big sunglasses with bedazzled frames. A large fountain drink, the straw tinged with lipstick, was parked between her legs. “Welcome to the beach,” I said to her, in my best Colby Realty employee voice. “May I—” “The directions on your Web site are garbage,” she informed me. Behind her, I saw one of the kids frog-punch another, who emitted a stifled shriek.

“We’ve gotten lost three times since getting off the interstate.” “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I replied. “If you’d like to give me your name, I’ll grab you your keys and get you on the way to your rental.” “Webster,” she told me. I turned, reaching into the small rattan bin that held all the envelopes for that day’s check-ins. Miller, Tubman, Simone, Wallace.. “Heron’s Call,” I read off the envelope, before opening it to make sure the keys were both in it.

“That’s a great property.” In reply, she stuck out her hand. I gave the envelope to her, along with her complimentary beach bag full of all the free stuff—Colby Realty pen, giveaway postcard, area guide, and cheap drink cooler—that I knew the cleaning crew would most likely find untouched when they checked out.

“Have a great week,” I told her. “Enjoy the beach!” Now she gave me a wry smile, although it was hard to tell if she was truly thankful or just felt sorry for me. After all, I was standing in a glorified sandbox in the middle of a parking lot, with three cars lined up behind her, most likely full of people in the exact same kind of mood. When the final stop on a trip is paradise, being the second to last is no picnic. Not that I had time to really think about this as they pulled away, signal already blinking for their turn onto the main road. It was three ten, and the next car, a blue sedan with one of those carriers on top, was waiting.

I kicked what sand I could out of my shoes and took a deep breath. “Welcome to the beach,” I said, as they pulled up beside me. “Name, please?” * * * “Well,” my sister Margo said when I came into the office, sweat-soaked and depleted, two hours later. “How did it go?” “I have sand in my shoes,” I told her, going straight to the water cooler, where I filled up a cup, downed it, and then did the same with two more. “You’re at the beach, Emaline,” she pointed out. “No, I’m at the office,” I replied, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.