Under the printed chapter one, in that same purple pen, Mackenzie had written notes in the margins. Little critiques. Next to the part where Nikki spills spaghetti on her new jeans, Mackenzie had scribbled: “Clumsy much? Try better posture. - M.H.” Next to the part about Brandon, she’d written: “Boys are a distraction. Focus on your mirror.”
Best $1.25 I ever spent.
Zoey found me ten minutes later, holding a stack of books two feet high. “Nikki? You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost wearing a glitter beret.” dork diaries used books
She read the notes. Her eyes got wide. “Nikki. This is… huge. This is like finding out Darth Vader knits sweaters for orphan kittens.”
Next to the scene where Nikki’s mom comforts her, Mackenzie had written: “My mom is always on a cruise. With her new husband. #whatever” Under the printed chapter one, in that same
It was a drizzly Saturday afternoon, the kind that turns your hair into a frizzball and your mood into a soggy paper towel. My mom had dropped me and my BFF, Zoey, off at “Second Look Books,” a massive, cramped used bookstore downtown that looked like it had been built by stacking old cottages on top of each other. The owner, Mr. Pumble, had a white beard and wore cardigans with elbow patches, and he didn't care if you sat in the aisles for three hours as long as you didn't bend the spines.
The smell hit me first—a dusty, sweet, sun-baked vanilla scent that no e-reader or brand-new hardcover could ever replicate. It was the smell of a thousand forgotten stories, and I was hunting for just one. Try better posture
No. It couldn’t be. Mackenzie would never donate a book. She’d have her butler burn it for warmth.
“Thank you. —M.H.”
I showed her the book.