Okay, it’s about as cheesy a plot as can possibly exist, but I had to remind myself that this is a young adult romance written in the early eighties. I can’t help but experience the feeling that no matter how bad some of the writing is, you don’t go into another person’s house and make fun of her...
Then I’ll fix that window in Dad’s study so I can work there. After—she sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed—doing a proper grocery shopping first thing Monday. She stretched, looking out her window at the lake, sparkling where the early morning sun touched its slightly rippled surf...