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    Sunny: Diary Two
    Sunny: Diary Two
    Sunny: Diary Two
    Ebook136 pages1 hour

    Sunny: Diary Two

    By Ann M. Martin

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    From the author of The Baby-Sitters Club: Facing a family tragedy, Sunny builds a wall around her heart—so she doesn’t fall apart.
     
    Sunny’s mom isn’t getting better. In fact, her health (along with her mind) is deteriorating quickly. When Sunny turns to her best friend, Dawn, for support, it seems like all she gets is guilt. It doesn’t help that Dawn seems to connect better with Sunny’s mom than Sunny does, or that her dad is still so absorbed with work that he is never home.
     
    But at least there is one adult whom she can talk to—Dawn’s pregnant stepmom, Carol. And Sunny has a stream of guys knocking at her door to keep her occupied. But none of that can replace her mom—and if she lets herself think about it, she may not be able to keep going.
     
    This ebook features an illustrated personal history of Ann M. Martin, including rare images from the author’s collection.

    Sunny: Diary Two is the 6th book in the California Diaries, which also includes Ducky: Diary One and Dawn: Diary Two.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateMar 25, 2014
    ISBN9781453298138
    Sunny: Diary Two
    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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    Reviews for Sunny

    3.5/5

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    • 4/5
      Not altogether sure why I keep this book... When I was anorexic, this book was unfortunately one of the things that helped me stay that way. But other then that, this is a good book, well-written and interesting.

    Book preview

    Sunny - Ann M. Martin

    Friday 3/13

    6:00 P.M.

    Just got back from visiting Mom at the hospital.

    God, I am tired of writing that.

    I know. I’ll write it a hundred times.

    Then I can cut and paste. Save some energy.

    Just got back from visiting Mom at the hospital.

    Just got back from

    No. I’ll have a stamp made. Much easier.

    Never mind.

    I’m not in the mood to write.

    Saturday 3/14

    4:04 A.M.

    Mom just called.

    She asked me if I could bring her the Palo City Post.

    At

    4

    In

    The

    Morning.

    I told her, uh, we don’t get it for another two hours.

    She kind of freaked. She apologized about a hundred times. She said she must be losing her mind. She thought it was already tonight.

    I had to calm her down. I told her the phone did not wake anyone but me—which is a lie, because I hear someone walking around in the kitchen. I also said she couldn’t be losing her mind. If she were, she wouldn’t have remembered I was staying at Dawn’s house.

    That didn’t convince her.

    Doesn’t convince me either.

    Mom is slipping.

    I mean, the hair loss and weight loss were bad enough. But we expected that.

    Not the mind, though. Lung cancer isn’t supposed to affect the brain.

    I don’t understand this. All the hospital visits, all the chemo and radiation—they’re all supposed to help. But they’re not. She’s just getting worse and worse. Plus she’s exhausted from all the trips to the hospital.

    Face it. Winslow.

    Read between the lines.

    Dr. Merwin has stopped talking about good signs.

    There are no good signs.

    She’s not going to get better.

    So what’s the point? Dad should just take her away from that horrible place, bring her back home where she’ll be comfortable. Take care of her.

    In sickness and in health. Isn’t that what they say at weddings?

    Dad wouldn’t remember. He only remembers sales figures. Everything’s the store, the store, the store. What’s he going to do when the store is all he has?

    Till death do us part. That’s the other thing they say.

    The truth is, Mom would be better off dying at home.

    There.

    I said it.

    And I’m not sorry.

    Why do I do this to myself?

    I am staying at Dawn’s to escape. I’m not supposed to get all worked up.

    Why do I bother writing in this thing? This doesn’t help my insomnia!

    I am crazy, that’s why. I not only have a miserable, depressing life, but I write about it. Just to make myself feel worse.

    And what’s Dawn doing? Snoring. Dreaming about happy Dawn stuff, probably. A perfect world, with lots of flowers but no allergies. Animals roaming freely on the streets. People giving up their cars, riding bikes to work, picking berries and vegetables for lunch. Peace on earth. Whatever.

    I love her.

    I really do.

    Dawn, if you find this and are peeking at this page, that paragraph was a joke. I love you!

    She is my best friend. She lets me stay at her house. If I couldn’t do that, if I had to be home every day, I’d be a nutcase.

    I have to be kind to her.

    Even if she snores.

    I have nudged her a few times. That shuts her up for, oh, 30 seconds. Then she starts up, louder than ever.

    I can’t stay in this room.

    I know what I have to do.

    Eat.

    4:32

    Bad bad bad idea.

    I think I have permanently lost my appetite.

    Carol was puttering around in the kitchen. Well, maybe not puttering. With that big old pregnant belly, it was more like lumbering.

    I was relived. Any other grown-up would have yelled at me for being up so late. But Carol was … Carol. 32 going on 15. Insomnia too? she said. Cool, let’s have a midnight snack.

    Which sounded great. I mean, if I had to have company while I was awake, it might as well be someone I like.

    So Carol began chatting away about her pregnancy and her crazy appetite, and about how she had to eat for two now.

    I politely went along. I took a plastic container of leftover Chinese food out of the fridge. I put it on the table, ready to inhale it.

    And then I saw what Carol was eating.

    Tuna fish.

    And chocolate.

    Together.

    She was standing there, blabbering away, with strands of stringy brown glop stuck between her teeth.

    Back into the fridge went the Chinese food. And here I am again. In bed, listening to Dawn’s snores.

    At least I’m not hungry.

    Now I can’t eat or sleep.

    Oh, well. I’ll just stay awake. I’ll fill up this journal. I’ll fill 2 journals. Ms. Newell will be so impressed. Maybe I’ll even pass English.

    I can publish it. The Incredible Revolting Life of Sunshine Daydream Winslow, A Memoir.

    Oh. I forgot. We have to keep these journals private. No one is ever supposed to see them. That’s part of the vista school experience.

    So what happens if you show them to someone? You flunk?

    I think Chris has the right idea. Just fill your pages with random words. Peas carrots rabbits pigs oink thunder and lightning, stuff like that. Why knock yourself out if the teachers aren’t going to read it?

    Chris is so funny. Cute and funny.

    Chris.

    I like writing his name.

    Chris.

    I’m feeling better already.

    Chris?

    Oh.

    My.

    God.

    What am I going to do when he comes over tomorrow night? Not tomorrow—tonight! I’ll have bags under my eyes. I’ll be staggering with fatigue. I’ll look like Mom.

    How ironic. Maybe I should say I have cancer. That’s a good excuse.

    Hey, it works for Mom.

    I didn’t write that.

    I did write that.

    I disgust myself.

    Saturday

    9:46 A.M.

    I did it.

    I actually slept.

    I think.

    It felt like sleep, anyway. A sort of wakey kind of sleep. Full of nightmares.

    Whatever it was, it’s over.

    Dad just called.

    Nothing like a few words from Paul Winslow to get the morning off to a bad start.

    First he reminded me that I have my own bed at my own house, and maybe I should spend a few nights at home instead of sponging off Dawn’s dad and stepmom.

    Well, he didn’t actually say sponging, but that’s what he meant.

    Then he dropped the big news: he was shorthanded at the store.

    I should have told him to grow another hand. I should have told him something. But I didn’t. My brain was fried from lack of sleep.

    So guess where

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