Seas the Day: Chapters 1-2
Read the first two chapters of Seas the Day for free
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Thanks so much for your interested in my debut novel, Seas the Day. Seas is a no-spice YA rom-com.
I loved Mondays. I knew I was probably the only person in the world, but I would readily go on record and say that I loved Mondays. They were a fresh start to every week. A nice reset. They were a way to revitalize your outlook. They gave me the same dopamine hit as cleaning out my email inbox, which admittedly consisted mostly of spam since I have no practical use for an email except for the occasional email from a teacher.
I looked forward to my first office job where I would get my own assigned email, and I could add a really cool signature. Yeah, that would be nice.
I was particularly excited about this Monday because it was the first day of school. My senior year awaited me, and I had spent the entire summer planning how to make it my best year yet. I meticulously plotted my rehearsal schedule, volunteer hours, dance practices, and school assignments. Nothing was going to get in the way of my perfect plan.
In addition to Mondays, I loved mornings. Unsurprisingly, my lovably grumpy sister, Gillian, did not. Which was why I always wrote a cute note on our bathroom mirror for her. I wasn’t really sure how she felt about the notes, but I liked to think they made her mornings a little brighter.
I uncapped the Expo marker and doodled all over the mirror. My energy was doing an excited tap dance across my heart, so I even added a lipstick kiss to really set the mood for Gill’s morning. Then I swiped off the rest of the lipstick with a piece of toilet paper. Lipstick before breakfast was just unreasonable.
I descended the stairs with a bounce in my step before doing a pirouette into the kitchen.
“Hey, sweetheart.” My dad’s warm voice came from the dining table.
“Good morning, Dad! Whatcha reading?” I asked before planting a kiss on his cheek.
Though I didn’t have to be at school until eight, my alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. so that I had time to enjoy the morning. This unplanned tradition of breakfast with my dad was one of my favorite parts of the day. He was the only other person in our family who shared my love for early starts. After almost twenty-five years of marriage, my parents had a system for their conflicting internal clocks. While Mom “went” to bed at the same time as Dad, she read on her Kindle or watched TV on her iPad while he snored in peace.
Dad flicked a finger across his tablet screen. “Oh, just the same old. Pollution in the lagoon, interest rates are increasing, you know.” I didn’t, but it was kind of him to think that I did. After reading his Bible each morning, my dad checked the news on his tablet. He would highlight the main news points for my mom to look at later. I wasn’t sure if she ever did, but he didn’t seem to mind one way or another. I think he just liked including her in all the little things.
“Did you already eat?” I asked. “I set some sourdough out last night for French toast this morning. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds great, pumpkin.”
I smiled at the nickname as I set out the pan and got to work. He always called me “pumpkin” because my birthday is in the fall. Same reason that he calls Gill “sweet pea,” because she was born in the spring—although I wouldn’t dare use the word “sweet” to describe Gill.
When we finished eating, it was time for Dad to go to work. He went to wake Mom and kiss her goodbye. Helen, my mom’s hearing dog, slipped out the open door. She had to stay in the room with Mom as she slept, but always made a break at the first opportunity. When Helen was a puppy, she used to paw and whine until Dad let her out. Luckily for Mom, she never heard it.
I set two plates of French toast for Mom and Gill in the microwave to stay warm before heading back upstairs. I already had my clothes planned out for the rest of the month, so getting dressed took less than five minutes. I slipped on jean shorts with frayed edges, a halter crop top, and a short yellow kimono that I left untied. Then I paired the outfit with my cute, one-strap sandals.
By the time I finished dressing, I still hadn’t heard Gill begin her routine, so I went and flipped on her bedroom lights. She despised getting out of bed, but that was our deal—if I was going to drive her to school, she could not make me late. It should work. She hated taking the bus.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” I chimed.
“You’re the worst.”
I narrowly dodged the pillow Gill threw my way. I blew her a kiss.
“It’s 6:45. We leave in thirty minutes.”
I didn’t bother shutting the door, allowing Helen to barrel in after I left. Even Grumpy Gill couldn’t ignore her slobbery kisses.
Back in the kitchen, I met Mom as she trudged to the coffee pot. “Good morning, Mom!” I sang and signed.
“Good morning, Mia,” she sloppily waved back. I had already placed her favorite mug and K-cup next to the Keurig. My mom stayed at home our whole childhood, but now that we were older, she spent her days working on her Etsy hand lettering business. Right now, she was making bridal invitations with gold leafing and sunshine-yellow marigolds. They were probably my favorite of her projects yet.
Helen charged into the kitchen after the Keurig kicked on, drawn either by the sound or the smell of brewing coffee. She excitedly spun in circles as if to say hello to Mom once again. Every time she did that, her Goldendoodle curls reminded me of one of those fancy mop-things you press with your foot to wring out the excess water.
Mom gave a silent command and Helen immediately obeyed, sitting as her tail wagged against the tile floor.
“Aww, look who’s such a good girl,” I said, bending down to pet her.
Mom carried her now-filled mug to the table, and I placed her plate of French toast in front of her. Sure, my mom was more than capable of making her own breakfast, but I liked to help out in any way I could. It was one of the ways I showed her my love.
“Gillian!” I yelled from the kitchen. “It’s 7:00. You have fifteen minutes left!”
“Shut up!” she sounded from the bathroom, risking that Mom wasn’t wearing her cochlear implants yet. Mom doesn’t like when we talk rudely to each other, so Gill is always careful even when she’s in an extra grumpy mood.
I sat next to my mom and pulled out my phone to double-check that she had her calendar sync on. Three years ago, I made her subscribe to my calendar events so that she had every practice, performance, and event at the tip of her fingers. Unfortunately, she didn’t use it like I’d hoped and still asked when stuff was.
“You have to pick up Gill next Monday because I have auditions for the fall play,” I signed.
Mom nodded, dismissively waving her hand before signing, “I know.”
A pang of sadness filled my stomach at the thought that today would be the first year of high school without my best friend Rylee, and honestly, it was a true travesty. We met in my freshman year when I auditioned for and got a coveted role in the advanced drama class. An impressive achievement, if I do say so myself. Because Rylee and my last names are so close alphabetically, we sat at the same table in Drama class. We have been best friends ever since.
Rylee was the embodiment of peace, like the calm after a storm, the stillness of a sunrise, the evening breeze on a summer’s day. She even looks like it with her silky brown hair that pools effortlessly around her shoulders, and her kind, hazel eyes. I needed her contagious peace this morning.
I swiped out of my calendar app and over to FaceTime. Rylee answered immediately. Her hair was a little messy, and she was still in her pajamas, but she was absolutely beautiful as always.
“Mia!” she greeted. “I was just thinking of you. Happy first day! How are you feeling?”
“Well . . .” I drew in a theatric inhale. “I was supposed to be the queen of the world. Until my best friend died.”
“I didn’t die, Mia. I just went to college.”
“Yeah, well, it’s basically the same thing,” I said sourly. “You left me.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Rylee said with a fond laugh. “We can always FaceTime, just like we are right now.”
“I am a performer.” I flipped my hair and blew her a kiss. “Drama is what I do best.”
We talked for a few minutes, sharing our schedules for the day and laughing at old first-day memories.
Glancing at the clock, I tilted my phone away and yelled toward the stairs. “Gill! I’m going to the car, if you aren’t there in two minutes, you’ll have to take the bus!” I turned back to face Rylee. “All right, I have to go. I just needed to see your beautiful face. I love you!”
“Love you too, Mia. And hey! Remember: You’re going to be okay.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said lightly, though her encouragement filled my heart. I locked my phone before slipping into my crossbody bag.
Gill turned the corner to meet me at the front door. Her curly, light brown hair was wild, but it didn’t rival the look in her eyes. She was not happy about being awake before noon. I guess the return to school didn’t agree with everyone.
I flickered the light switch to get my mom’s attention, just in case. Mom’s inability to hear doesn’t affect much of our life. Because she has cochlear implants and can read lips, her day-to-day is like pretty much anyone else’s. But when she’s around the house, sometimes she leaves out the implants, and we like to do little things like flicking the lights to make communication even easier.
“Mom,” I called. “Gill and I are leaving to go to school.”
“Just a second, honey. I need a picture.” Her footsteps pattered as she ran to grab her phone.
She came around the corner, cell phone in hand. “Perfect, now smile!” She had one of those old boomer phone cases that was a wallet and a case in one, so she had to awkwardly hold it open with one hand and snap the picture with the other. As she’s left-handed, it was near impossible.
In a display of mercy to both her and us, I handed Mom my phone. “Just use mine.”
She rolled her eyes playfully, but obliged. Gill and I hugged each other for the picture.
“I can’t believe it,” Mom signed. “My babies are growing up. A senior and a sophomore.” She pulled us both into a hug and then kissed us on the cheeks. “I love you both. Have a great day.”
Before we walked out the door, Gill said, “We’ll still have our first-day doughnuts after school even though Mia is driving now, right?”
Mom’s eyes went a little glassy before saying, “Of course!”
Gill’s face lit up, and I couldn’t hide my excitement either. I loved our inaugural school day tradition almost as much as doughnuts. And I’m convinced they taste especially good when someone else pays for it.
We walked down the driveway to my car. I got her last year, and I still couldn’t believe she was mine. My car is just as old as me—so basically, she was a piece of junk. But I worked hard, saving up my babysitting money for the past several years, to buy her from an old couple who got her when she was new.
Destiny was a 2006 Honda CRV. Crazy to think I was the second owner of a seventeen-year-old car. As I didn’t remember anything about the 2000s, after driving her home, I did what every sensible girl would and pulled out my phone to Google “popular girl names in the 2000s.” I decided to name her Destiny because it was in the top 80 out of 100 names. So, common, but not too common. But most importantly, she was destined to take me to great places. The greatest place of all being college next fall.
I turned the key and rolled down the windows. Habitually, we both pinched the corners of the seatbelt to avoid burning our fingers. Florida’s hot and humid, and Destiny’s A/C doesn’t work very well. She also didn’t have Bluetooth when I first got her, so my dad installed a new radio with the wireless technology. He was determined to make her as safe for me as possible, which I greatly appreciated. Gill liked it because it meant she could play DJ.
The drive to Seaside High was beautiful. We lived right along the Atlantic Coast. Palm trees lined the streets, the ocean view glittering in the sunlight. A touch of sadness tickled the back of my mind. When I went to college, I wouldn’t see this view every day.
Out of nowhere, Gill hit my arm. “Stop it.”
“Stop what? I literally wasn’t doing anything.”
“You’re making that ‘I’m thinking about something’ face.”
“Of course, I’m thinking about something. Everyone is always thinking about something.”
“You know what I mean,” she said accusingly.
I didn’t have to take my eyes off the road to know that she was staring at me with that world-famous deadpanned look of hers. She was right though; I did know what she meant.
“Fine.” I sighed, then gave her a selective truth. “I’m planning on sitting by the picnic tables for lunch today. That is if it’s not covered by seagull poop.”
“That’s what you were thinking about? Poop?”
I scrunched my nose. “What? No, ew. You’re gross.”
“How am I the gross one? I don’t daydream about poop,” Gill bantered.
“I was not daydreaming about poop, Gill.”
She laughed. “You mean the tables by the STEM hall, right?”
“Mhm.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”
I was glad Gill wanted to sit with me. I wasn’t sure who I would sit with this year. Sure, I had some friends from dance and Drama, but I didn’t have Rylee anymore. And that changed everything.
Our school was introducing something called “Power Hour” this year. They extended the school day by thirty minutes to give us an hour for lunch. It was meant for clubs and tutoring so that people who couldn’t stay late after school still got the help they needed. I was just excited about having an extra hour to dedicate to homework.
But that also meant an extra thirty minutes where I might possibly be alone, on the outskirts of society.
We got to school early today so I could claim one of the best parking spots. Students at Seaside High School weren’t able to paint their spaces like at other schools, but we did have an unspoken rule that the spot you parked in on the first day was your spot to keep.
“Well, this is it,” I said, shutting the car door as I surveyed the school’s sandstone edifice. “The last first day.”
Gill passed me a rueful frown. “Don’t make it weird. I can’t wait to get out of here.”
I could never comprehend Gill’s dislike of school. It was the best. The projects, the extracurriculars, the social gatherings—what wasn’t there to like?
“All right,” I said, beaming at her. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
With a “harumph,” she nodded, and we headed off in opposite directions.
Hours later, Gill found me at the picnic tables. She placed her lunch tray across from me. At the table next to ours, a couple of my friends from Drama class sat. As they were deep in their own conversation, I hadn’t felt right joining in.
I already missed Rylee so much. Everyone else knew their place—a problem I hadn’t experienced since the first week of freshman year. Throughout the morning, a loneliness settled into my stomach. I picked at my lunch trying to quell the memories.
I smiled brightly at Gill, trying to hide my discomfort. “How were your first classes?” I asked.
Her lip curled in her signature look of disgust. “Boring.”
“Riiiiight.” I chuckled. “Well, I love my schedule this year. It starts with French 2, which is a nice, easy class to wake up to. Then I have math, which sucks, but at least I get it out of the way. Next, I have Dance and Yearbook back-to-back, so that’s fun. And of course, I take my potty break then because I have the most time.”
Gillian rolled her eyes. “I don’t care when you pee, Mia.”
I continued, ignoring her. “Then I have lunch, obviously, and then AP Psychology, Drama, and English.” I sighed, contentedly, and picked up my brownie. “It’s going to be a good year.”
Maybe if I said it out loud, I would convince myself.
“I’m glad you think so,” Gill grumbled.
Eating my brownie one savoring bite at a time, I asked, “How was ROTC class?” Gill was in the Navy Junior Reserve Officer Training Corp class (NJROTC for short). She started it last year and it was the first class she really ever loved. I didn’t see the appeal. How someone would enjoy running in the hot sun while being yelled at the whole time, was beyond me. But hey, I liked it for her. Not only did she enjoy it, but she’d also begun to make friends in the class.
“Don’t know yet,” Gill replied. “It’s my sixth period.”
“Oh, well that’s nice,” I said. “I guess you only have to be gross and sweaty for one class before going home.”
“Mia, we don’t run in every class, ya know?”
“Oh, right. You twirl fake guns and stuff, too.”
“First of all, we don’t twirl anything,” Gill said, annoyed as only sisters can be. “We’re not stupid little fairy princesses or something. Second of all, you’re dumb.”
My phone chimed, distracting me as I replied lamely, “Okay, rude.”
I looked down to see a text notification, my heart swelling happily.
Rye: How’s the day gone so far?
Me: Oh, ya know, not too bad. Mostly the same, old boring syllabi stuff. Yearbook should be cool though. I’m going to try and go out for copy editor. It should look good on my college apps.
Me: How about you? Seen any cute college boys yet?
Rylee’s semester (colleges go by semesters, not quarters) starts in two weeks, but she moved in early for an on-campus job—so adult.
My phone chimed again. Rylee sent me three pictures. I opened them, intrigued, to discover flocks of geese waddling around campus.
A laugh burst out of me.
“What?” Gill asked.
“Oh, I asked Rylee if she had any hot dates.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“And then she sent me this.”
Gill replied with a sharp exhalation and mildly amused nod.
I rolled my eyes at her lackluster reaction and glanced at the time. We still had forty minutes of lunch left. I moved my tray to the side and opened my bag to pull out my planner, highlighters, and other supplies. Then I began adding the due dates from my class syllabi to my calendar, color-coordinating them by class.
“There you are!” An exuberant voice broke through my focus, and I looked up to see Alissa approach. “Where were you?” she asked. “I checked earlier—here, scoot over—and couldn’t find you.” I smiled, happy to see her. Alissa was one of my only friends in Sonata, the performing arts academy at Seaside. We were what you’d call “school friends.” We often sat together in classes and occasionally partnered up for projects, but we’d never hung out outside of school. And I guess I hadn’t really thought about it before because I always had Rylee. But now, I was thankful for Alissa’s friendship. I liked hanging out with her. She was funny in her outgoing, theatrical sort of way.
“You must have missed us,” I told her. “Gill and I came straight here after we got our lunch.”
Alissa looked at Gill as though just realizing she was there too. “Oh, hey, Gill!”
Gill gave her a nonchalant wave.
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Alissa said. “Dr. Scott let us out early because she forgot about the new schedule, so I was one of the first people in line. Are you going to eat that?” Alissa gestured to my remaining lunch.
I shrugged and pushed my plate toward her. “How was Humanities?” Everyone in Sonata was supposed to take Humanities, but I lucked out because of Yearbook. As a selective, application-only class, the school administrators felt bad about taking me out.
“Blah,” Alissa said with a flip of her hand. “It’s kind of annoying, but I do love Dr. Scott, so at least that will be fun. Anyway,” she took a forkful from my tray, “how’s Yearbook? I haven’t been able to congratulate you yet.”
I danced merrily in my seat. “So, Mrs. Robinson totally loves me and wants to use some of my photography, too.” I pulled a face then. “But I think Sarah hates me.”
“Who’s Sarah?”
“She’s the Chief Editor. Basically, she reads and reviews everything before Mrs. Robinson submits it.”
“Dang.” Alissa frowned. “How do you feel about that?
“Oh, she’s probably dying on the inside,” Gill chimed in.
Gill and Alissa shared a knowing look. They both liked to joke about how much of a people-pleaser I was. Well, actually, most people joked about that.
I didn’t find it funny.
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, right,” they said in unison.
Alissa and I had the same classes the rest of the day. One cool thing about being a senior was that usually, the teachers didn’t care where you sat once they learned your name. Either way, Alissa and I sat next to each other in all our classes. Her last name is Henderson, which usually comes right after my last name, Graham. I liked to think it was a sign that this year would turn out just fine.
Alissa and I reviewed our class assignments, planning ways to work together. A.P. Psych had a weekly vocab grade, and it would be something we could study together. I was thankful for the easy task to help me maintain my 4.0 GPA. And it would be nice to have a friend to do homework with. Even though Rylee and I were hardly in the same classes, we both took our homework seriously, often studying while we hung out.
Drama class was fantastic, as always. We skipped the syllabus and went straight for an improv game.
But as much as I loved Drama, I had been looking forward to English all day. Mr. Anderson was my favorite teacher of all time. I was Mr. Anderson’s favorite student, too. Not in a gross, creepy way. I think he saw himself in me, with how seriously I took his class, always volunteering to help with any in-class activity.
Our seating chart was displayed on the whiteboard. I barely had to glance at it, knowing I would be somewhere in the middle.
“Hey, look! I'm right behind you!” Alissa found our seats first, leading me away.
We sidled down the third row of desks and I took the seat she indicated was mine. “By the way, we’re going to get doughnuts after school, if you want to come?” I invited. “I’ll drive you home after.”
“Where are you going?”
“Doughy’s, for sure.”
“I’m in. Oh, hey, are you going next weekend? To the SBSB?” I wasn’t really interested in attending the Sonata Back-to-School Bonfire. It just wouldn’t be the same without Rylee.
“I don’t really—”
“Wait,” Alissa interrupted. “Are you even in the group? I don’t think I’ve seen you post. Here, I’ll add you.” She typed away on her phone before turning to show me. “Done.” I saw my name on her screen, chewing on my lip as I tried to think of a way to tell her I didn’t do social media. Then Alissa’s eyes widened in horror. Her chin rose in the smallest warning signal.
“What?” I gasped. “Why are you looking at me like that? Is there a bug on me?” I jumped out of my seat, swatting at my shirt. I bumped into my desk and fell backward into something solid.
No, not something. Someone.
I turned to apologize, and instantly realized why Alissa went all wide-eyed.
Eli Garcia stood there, his hands steadying me.
My stomach dropped.
“Careful,” he said mildly.
Despite his nonchalance, hearing his rich, velvety accent made all the blood leave my face to pool in my chest. He looked at me, waiting, before raising his eyebrows. Then, he gently pushed me aside because I somehow became incapable of walking.
Or talking.
Alissa leaned forward, grabbed my kimono sleeve, and pulled me back into my seat.
“Smooth, Mia. Real smooth,” she whispered before leaning back.
I whirled around to Alissa, mouthing, “Eli Garcia!”
She mouthed back, “I know!”
The bell rang and I forced my heart to calm as I turned back to see Mr. Anderson walk into the classroom. And hecking what? Eli was sitting right in front of me!
My eyes viciously cut to the seating chart, searching the names.
Eli was in the correct seat.
I was in the correct seat.
How had I not noticed that?
“Good morning, class,” Mr. Anderson said, drawing my anxious attention. “I trust you all had a good summer. I see many new faces as well as many returning. For those who don’t know, my name is Mr. Anderson, and this is my sixteenth year teaching and my twelfth year at Seaside High. Now, before we get carried away into the wonderful world of literature, I’ll take attendance.”
I worked to steady my breathing as Mr. Anderson went down the roll. I could not let Eli freaking Garcia throw me off my perfect plan. I was a well-oiled machine, ready to conquer her senior year, and nobody, especially not Eli, was going to get in the way of that.
“Daisy Franklin,” Mr. Anderson called.
A girl at the front of our row raised her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
The girl smiled shyly.
“Elijah Garcia.”
“Here.” Even that one word sounded like a the perfect ballad for a ballet.
“It’s nice to see you again, Eli.”
“You, too, Mr. Anderson.”
Mr. Anderson’s friendly stare shifted to me. “Amelia Graham,” he said with a welcoming intonation.
Pushing aside all distractions, I raised my hand and spoke merrily.
“Here.”
“Always a pleasure, Mia.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you too, Mr. Anderson.”
Alissa coughed something that sounded a lot like “kiss-up.”
Mr. Anderson grinned. “And it’s nice to see you as well, Alissa
Henderson. I trust that you two sitting together won’t cause any issues?”
“Of course not,” I said at the same time that Alissa muttered, “It’s not us two you have to worry about.”
I sent her a scathing look, but Mr. Anderson moved on, unaware of her surreptitious remark. “Joseph Henderson,” he called.
“It’s Joey.”
Alissa groaned. She hated Joey. He was the quintessential jock who didn’t care about school and always seemed to be in trouble. But that’s not why Alissa disliked him. It was because they shared the same last name and everyone incorrectly thought they were related. So they assumed Alissa was going to be as much of a partier and troublemaker as Joey. It was sort of funny in a not-really sort of way. I would hate to be mistaken as a slacker or troublemaker too.
Once Mr. Anderson finished calling attendance, he returned to the front center of the classroom. “Okay, everyone. We’re going to start the year off strong with a book project.”
There was a collective groan.
“Now, now,” he held up his hands placatingly, “before you complain, let me explain. We’re going to work through The Catcher in the Rye. We’ll do a few chapters together in class for discussion, but the primary reading will be with your partner. Yes, this is a partner project.”
Immediately, I reached behind for Alissa’s hand. She gave mine a firm squeeze to solidify the deal was done. We would be partners.
“I’ll show you the rubric, but you may come up with your own form of presentation,” Mr. Anderson said. “While this isn’t officially a Sonata class, it is predominantly Sonata students. So, write a song, perform a skit, do a dance—get creative however you like. If the arts aren’t your thing, you can make a PowerPoint, a poster, a video presentation, whatever you want. As long as it meets the requirements of the rubric, you have the freedom to decide.”
Alissa leaned forward and whispered, “We’re totally doing a duet-acting piece. You can write it, and I can do the costumes.”
I nodded excitedly. I was already thinking of stage directions.
Once Mr. Anderson finished his explanation, he switched the slide and showed us the rubric. Everything was simple and straightforward.
Alissa and I were going to get an easy A.
“Now, there’s a catch—” He shot a finger gun. “No pun intended.”
After a smattering of weak laughter, he continued. “I’ve preassigned your partners by using a random generator.”
Our collective groan could have woken the dead.
Alissa grabbed my shoulder at the same time that I reached for her hand. How dare he separate us!
“Before I show you, your task for today is to get to know your partner and create a time to meet and discuss,” Mr. Anderson said. “It can be in person or through FaceTime, or you can text about it. I don’t care—just make it happen.”
He switched the slide.
My eyes darted over the screen and then, I died.
Eli was my partner.
Eli freaking Garcia was my partner.
Why did it have to be him? And why did he have to be so hot? He had contacts now, plus a bit of muscle that made him look less like a high schooler and more like a fully-fledged man. It was totally unfair how when guys hit puberty, they suddenly looked grown-up.
Meanwhile, here I was: seventeen and still being mistaken for a seventh grader.
Great. My ex had a glow-up and I didn’t look old enough to drive.
Casually, Eli turned around to face me.
“Hey,” he said as though this wasn’t the worst day of my life. “You gotta pencil?”
Hey, if you’re new here, welcome! I’m Anna Barroso. I’m a Christian, wife, mother of two littles, a homemaker, author, and author assistant. To order your own copy of, Seas the Day, click here or visit my Etsy shop for signed copies. To learn more about the services I help authors with, click here. To learn how to get first access to all of my writing and publishing updates and/or how to get discounts on author services, click here.
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