Dibs on the Bartender by Harper Giselle

Author:Harper, Giselle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AKQ Publishing
Published: 2022-12-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

When I woke the next morning, I rolled over on to my bookbag. Why didn’t I put that away? I looked closer at the contents spilling out. I definitely grabbed my textbooks—but did I grab my diary?

I grabbed my bag and dumped it out onto the sheets. Pens and notepads and neatly stapled packets of paper spilled everywhere. I moved them around frantically, searching for anything that might have fallen out underneath them. No luck. The diary was not there. I hadn’t grabbed it. I needed to find it—now.

I had written so many personal things. About life back home. About my disdain for the other girls on this trip. About Rufus. About the game. If the diary wound up in the wrong person’s hands, it could be devastating for them and for me. Regret sank into my stomach. How could I have been so stupid and careless with something so personal?

I quickly dressed and threw my hair in a ponytail. There was no time to make myself look good today. I was on a mission.

I threw on sweatpants and an oversized gray t-shirt. My messy ponytail held my curls to the top of my head, and I glanced in the mirror on my way out. Yesterday’s makeup was still there. I looked smudged up and sleepy-eyed, but I didn’t care. My concerns were far greater than being picture-perfect in the moment. I had a reputation to salvage. Feelings to save. Embarrassment to avoid.

I frantically scampered up on deck, tripping over my own feet as I hit the stairway. I was making a beeline directly for the chair I’d been sitting in the day before. With any luck, the diary would still be there where I’d left it. As I rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, I noticed a woman sitting in the chair reading a magazine. I approached as casually as I could, scanning the floor for any sign of my diary—but to no avail.

The woman noticed me lurking and gave me an annoyed glance over the top of her magazine. I backed up a few steps, trying to be less obvious as I scanned my eyes under the table and the chair next to hers. She didn’t buy it.

“Can I help you with something?” she snapped. My face flushed with embarrassment.

“No,” I said. “I mean, maybe.” I was too nervous to even ask about the diary at this point. If she read it, and I told her it was mine, she’d for sure think I was the worst person she’d ever encountered on the planet. There was no safe way to get around this. I finally decided to just blurt it out.

“I, uh... I left a diary here?” I said.

She scoffed, giving me a look up and down with a judgmental, casual glance. “A diary?” she asked. “Honey, aren’t we a little old for diaries?”

A man nearby, loading batteries into his camera, overheard and chuckled. I was mortified.

“It helps me,” I said. “Did you see it?”

She shook her head, bewildered at the idea of a grown woman writing in a diary, I suppose.

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