![]() ![]() You never know! The important thing is that you have to do EVERYTHING I tell you to because I spent all freaking week making this for you. I might ask you to write, draw, smear dirt on the page. ![]() Since I can’t be with you on your fab jaunt across the Pond (that’s not sarcasm, it’s jealousy), I’ve constructed a book of activities for you, all geared toward the documentation of your summer. ![]() YOU’RE GOING TO ITALY! Think of all the fantabulous pictures you’ll take! Of the food you’ll eat! Of the hot Italian boys you’ll see! All I ask is that you bring back a calendar for my locker this year (and maybe one of those hot Italian boys). I know you’re still angry this was all forced on you without much warning, but you really are going to have fun. The next page is a note in her handwriting: I untie the string and flip open the front cover, smiling as I take in the first page decorated with red and green doodles and Pippa’s Italian Summer in bubble letters nestled in the center. My hand cramps from white-knuckling the journal my best friend gave me when she dropped me off. ![]() As if a big reclining seat and hot towels could make me forgive Mom any faster. Thirty minutes until they board first class. Outside the terminal window, the plane that will take me to my connection in Newark taxis up to the gate. ![]()
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