Boys of Summer Chapter Sampler

7/25/2019 Boys of Summer Chapter Sampler

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FALL IN LOVE WITH

WHATTYPE OF

#BOOKBOYFRIEND

ARE YOU

SEARCHING FOR?

Thebrothers

best friend.

A real-lifePrince

Charming.

The boynext door.

The secretadmirer.

The rebel witha cause.

The boy yourparents

dont like.


2/76

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3/76

@SophieKinsellaWriter @SophieKinsellaOfficial@KinsellaSophie

#FindingAudrey SophieKinsella.com

D E L A C O R T E P R E S S

FINDING

AUDREY

SOPHIE

K INSELLA

KEEP READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK. . . .

FALL IN LOVE with

THE BOYS OF SUMMER:

Linus is the brothers best friendin Finding Audrey.


4/76

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are

the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance

to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright 2015 by Sophie Kinsella

Jacket art copyright 2015 by artist

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by

Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Childrens Books, a division of

Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon

is a trademark of Random House LLC.

Visit us on the Web! randomhouseteens.com

Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools,visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Datadatadata

The text of this book is set in 12.6-point Walbaum.

Jacket design by Alison Impey

Interior design by Heather Kelly

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

First Edition

Random House Childrens Books supports the

First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

ATTENTION READER:

THIS IS AN UNCORRECTED ADVANCE EXCERPT

FREE SAMPLE COPYNOT FOR SALE


5/76

So now Mum knows whatLOCis. And knowledge is power,

according to Kofi Annan. Although, as Leonardo da Vincisaid: Where there is shouting, there is no true knowledge,

which might apply better to our family. (Please dont think

Im super-well-read or anything. Mum bought me a book

of quotations last month and I flick through it when Im

watching telly.)

Anyway, knowledge is power isnt really happening

here, because Mum has no power over Frank at all. Its

Saturday evening, and hes been playing LOC ever since

lunchtime. He disappeared into the playroom straight after

pudding. Then there was a ring at the doorbell and I scuttled

out of the way into the den, which is my own private place.

Now its nearly six and Ive crept into the kitchen for

some Oreos, to find Mum striding around, all twitchy. Shes

exhaling and looking at the clock and exhaling again.

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6/76

Theyre all computer addicts! she says in a sudden

burst. Ive asked them to turn off about twenty-five times!

Why cant they do it? Its a simple switch! On, off.

Maybe theyre on a level I begin.

Levels! Mum cuts me off savagely. Im tired of

hearing about levels! Im giving them one more minute.

Thats it.

I take out an Oreo and prise it open. So, whos with

Frank?

A friend from school. I havent met him before. Linus, Ithink hes called . . .

Linus. I remember Linus. He was in that school play, To

Kill a Mockingbird,and he played Atticus Finch. Frank was

Crowd.

Frank goes to Cardinal Nicholls School, which is just

up the road from my school, Stokeland Girls School, andsometimes the two schools join together for plays and con-

certs and stuff. Although to be truthful, Stokeland isnt my

school anymore. I havent been to school since February,

because some stuff happened there. Not great stuff.

Whatever.

Anyway. Moving on. After that, I got ill. Now Im going

to change schools and go down a year so I wont fall behind.

The new school is called the Heath Academy and they said

it would be sensible to start in September, rather than the

summer term when its mainly exams. So, till then, Im at

home.

I mean, I dont do nothing.Theyve sent me lots of read-

ing suggestions and maths books and French vocab lists.

Everyones agreed its vital I keep up with my schoolwork

6


7/76

and It will make you feel so much better, Audrey! (It so

doesnt.) So sometimes I send in a history essay or some-

thing and they send it back with some red comments. Its

all a bit random.

Anyway.The point is, Linus was in the play and he was

a really good Atticus Finch. He was noble and heroic and

everyone believed him. Like, he has to shoot a rabid dog in

one scene and the prop gun didnt work on our night, but

no-one in the audience laughed or even murmured. Thats

how good he was.He came round to our house once, before a rehearsal.

Just for about five minutes, but I still remember it.

Actually, thats kind of irrelevant.

Im about to remind Mum that Linus played Atticus

Finch, when I realize shes left the kitchen. A moment later

I hear her voice:Youve played enough, young man!

Young man.

I dart over to the door and look through the crack. As

Frank strides into the hall after Mum, his face is quivering

with fury.

We hadnt reached the end of the level! You cant just

switch off the game! Do you understand what you did, just

then, Mum? Do you even know how Land of Conquerors

works?

He sounds properly irate. Hes stopped right underneath

where I am, his black hair falling over his pale forehead, his

skinny arms flailing, and his big, bony hands gesticulating

furiously. I hope Frank grows into his hands and feet one

day. They cant stay so comically huge, can they? The rest

7


8/76

of him has to catch up, surely? Hes fifteen, so he could still

grow a foot. Dads six foot, but he always says Frank will

end up taller than him.

Its fine, says a voice I recognize. Its Linus, but I cant

see him through the crack. Ill go home. Thanks for hav-

ing me.

Dont go home! exclaims Mum, in her best charming-

to-visitors voice. Please dont go home, Linus. Thats not

what I meant at all.

But if we cant play games . . . Linus sounds flum-moxed.

Are you saying the only form of socialising you boys

understand is playing computer games? Do you know how

sad that is?

Well, what do you suggest we do? says Frank sulkily.

I think you should play badminton. Its a nice summersevening, the gardens beautiful, and look what I found! She

holds out the ropy old badminton set to Frank. The net is all

twisted and I can see that some animal has nibbled at one

of the shuttlecocks.

I want to laugh at Franks expression.

Mum . . . He appears almost speechless with horror.

Where did you evenfindthat?

Or croquet! adds Mum brightly. Thats a fun game.

Frank doesnt even answer. He looks so stricken by the

idea of croquet, I actually feel quite sorry for him.

Or hide-and-seek?

I give a snort of laughter and clap my hand over my

mouth. I cant help it. Hide-and-seek.

Or Rummikub! says Mum, sounding desperate. You

always used to love Rummikub.

8


9/76

I like Rummikub, volunteers Linus, and I feel a tweak

of approval. He could have legitimately laid into Frank at

this point; walked straight out of the house and put on Face-

book that Franks house sucks. But he sounds like he wants

to please Mum. He sounds like one of those people who look

around and think, well, why notmake life easier for every-

one? (Im getting this from three words, you understand.)

You want to play Rummikub? Frank sounds incredu-

lous.

Why not? says Linus easily, and a moment later thetwo of them head off towards the playroom. (Mum and Dad

repainted it and called it the Teenage Study when I turned

thirteen, but its still the playroom.)

Next moment, Mum is back in the kitchen, pouring her-

self a glass of wine.

There! she says. They just need a little guidance. Alittle parental control. I simply opened their minds. Theyre

not addictedto computers. They just need to be reminded

what else is out there.

Shes not talking to me. Shes talking to the Imaginary

Daily MailJudge, who constantly watches her life and gives

it marks out of ten.

I dont think Rummikub is a very good game for two,

I say. I mean, it would take ages to get rid of all your tiles.

I can see Mums thoughts snagging on this. Im sure she

has the same image I do: Frank and Linus sitting grimly

across from each other at the Rummikub table, hating it

and deciding that all board games are rubbish and total

pants.

Youre right, she says at last. Maybe Ill go and play

with them. Make it more fun.

9


10/76

She doesnt ask me if I want to play too, for which Im

grateful.

Well, have a good time, I say, and take out the Oreo

packet. I scoot through the kitchen into the den, and its

only as Im zapping on the telly that I hear Mums voice

resounding through the house from the playroom.

I DIDNT MEAN ONLINE RUMMIKUB!

Our house is like a weather system. It ebbs and flows,

flares up and subsides. It has times of radiant blue bliss, days

of grey dismalness and thunderstorms that flare up out ofnowhere. Right now the storms coming my way. Thunder-

lightning-thunder-lightning, Frank-Mum-Frank-Mum.

What differencedoes it make?

It makes every difference! I told you not to go on those

computers anymore!

Mum, its the same bloody game!Its not! I want you off that screen! I want you playing a

game with your friend! IN REAL LIFE!

Its no fun with two players. We might as well play, I

dont know, bloody Snap.

I know! Mum is almost shrieking. Thats why I was

coming to play with you!

Well, I didnt bloody KNOW THAT, DID I?

Stop swearing! If you swear at me, young man . . .

Young man.

I hear Frank make his Angry Frank noise. Its a kind of

rhinoceros bellow slash scream of frustration.

Bloody is not swearing, he says, breathing hard, as

though to rein in his impatience.

It is!

10


11/76

Its in the Harry Potter films, OK? Harry Potter.How

can it be swearing?

What? Mum sounds wrong-footed.

Harry Potter. I rest my case.

Dont you walk away from me, young man!

Young man.That makes three. Poor Dad. He will so get

an earful when he arrives home

Hi. Linuss voice takes me by surprise, and I jump

round in shock. Like, I literally jump. I have pretty sharp-

ened reflexes. Oversensitive.Like the rest of me.Hes at the doorway. Atticus Finch shoots through my

brain. A lanky, brown-haired teenager with wide cheek-

bones and floppy hair and one of those smiles like an or-

ange segment. Not that his teeth are orange. But his mouth

makes that segment shape when he smiles. Which hes

doing now. None of Franks other friends ever smile.He comes into the den and instinctively my fists clench

in fear. He must have wandered off while Mum and Frank

were fighting. But no-one comes in this room. This is my

space. Didnt Frank tell him?

Didnt Frank say?

My chest is starting to rise in panic. Tears have already

started to my eyes. My throat feels frozen. I need to escape.

I need I cant

No-one comes in here. No-one is allowed to come in here.

I can hear Dr. Sarahs voice in my head. Random snip-

pets from our sessions.

Breathe in for four counts, out for seven.

Your body believes the threat is real, Audrey. But the threat

isnt real.

11


12/76

Hi, he tries again. Im Linus. Youre Audrey, right?

The threat isnt real. I try to press the words into my

mind, but theyre drowned out by the panic. Its engulfing.

Its like a nuclear cloud.

Do you always wear those? He nods at my dark glasses.

My chest is pumping with terror. Somehow I manage to

edge past him.

Sorry, I gasp, and tear through the kitchen like a

hunted fox. Up the stairs. Into my bedroom. Into the fur-

thest corner. Crouched down behind the curtain. My breathis coming like a piston engine and tears are coursing down

my face. I need a Clonazepam, but right now I cant even

leave the curtain to get it. Im clinging to the fabric like its

the only thing that will save me.

Audrey? Mums at the bedroom door, her voice high

with alarm. Sweetheart? What happened?Its just . . . you know. I swallow. That boy came in

and I wasnt expecting it . . .

Its fine, soothes Mum, coming over and stroking my

head. Its OK. Its totally understandable. Do you want to

take a . . .

Mum never says the words of medication out loud.

Yes.

Ill get it.

She heads out to the bathroom and I hear the sound of

water running. And all I feel is stupid. Stupid.

So now you know.

Well, I suppose you dont knowyoure guessing. To

put you out of your misery, heres the full diagnosis: Social

12


13/76

Anxiety Disorder, General Anxiety Disorder, and Depres-

sive Episodes.

Episodes.Like depression is a sitcom with a fun punch

line each time. Or a TV box set loaded with cliffhangers.

The only cliffhanger in my life is Will I ever get rid of this

shit? and believe me, it gets pretty monotonous.

13


14/76

nicola yoonI L L U S T R A T I O N S B Y D A V I D Y O O N

D E L A C O R T E P R E S S

FALL IN LOVE with

THE BOYS OF SUMMER:

Olly is the boy next doorin Everything, Everything.

KPDING FOR A SAK PK

Share Your Everything, EverythingEverythingEverythingBook

#EverythingEverythingBook

#MyEverythingEverything

FirstInLineReaders #FirstInLine


15/76

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of

the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or

dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2015 by Alloy Entertainment and Nicola Yoon

Jacket art by Good Wives and Warriors

Interior illustrations by David Yoon

Childhood diary entry hand-lettered by Mayrav Estrin

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random

House Childrens Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin

Random House LLC.

Excerpt from The Little Princeby Antoine de Saint-Exupry, translated by Richard Howard.

Copyright 1943 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. Copyright

renewed 1971 by Consuelo de Saint-Exupry, English translation copyright 2000 by

Richard Howard. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing

Company. All rights reserved.

Picture from The Little Princeby Antoine de Saint-Exupry, translated by Richard Howard.

Copyright 1971 by Consuelo de Saint-Exupry. English translation copyright 2000

by Richard Howard. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing

Company. All rights reserved.

randomhouseteens.com

Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com


Yoon, Nicola.

Everything, everything / Nicola Yoon. First edition.

pages cm

Summary: The story of a teenage girl whos literally allergic to the outside world. When a

new family moves in next door, she begins a complicated romance that challenges everything

shes ever known. The narrative unfolds via vignettes, diary entries, texts, charts, lists, illustra-

tions, and more Provided by publisher.

ISBN 978-0-553-49664-2 (hardback) ISBN 978-0-553-49665-9 (glb) ISBN 978-0-553-49666-6 (ebook)

[1. FriendshipFiction. 2. LoveFiction. 3. AllergyFiction. 4. Racially mixed people

Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.1.Y66Ev 2015

[Fic]dc23

2015002950

The text of this book is set in 12-point Garamond.

Jacket and interior design by Natalie C. Sousa


10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

First Edition





16/76

THE WELCOME COMMIT TEE

CARLA, I SAY, it wont be like last time. Im not eight years

old anymore.

I want you to promise she begins, but Im already at the

window, sweeping the curtains aside.

I am not prepared for the bright California sun. Im not pre-

pared for the sight of it, high and blazing hot and white against

the washed-out white sky. I am blind. But then the white haze

over my vision begins to clear. Everything is haloed.

I see the truck and the silhouette of an older woman

twirlingthe mother. I see an older man at the back of the

truckthe father. I see a girl maybe a little younger than

methe daughter.

Then I see him. Hes tall, lean, and wearing all black: black

T-shirt, black jeans, black sneakers, and a black knit cap that

covers his hair completely. Hes white with a pale honey tan

and his face is starkly angular. He jumps down from his perch

at the back of the truck and glides across the driveway, moving

as if gravity affects him differently than it does the rest of us.

He stops, cocks his head to one side, and stares up at his new

house as if it were a puzzle.

After a few seconds he begins bouncing lightly on the balls

of his feet. Suddenly he takes off at a sprint and runs literally six

16


17/76

feet up the front wall. He grabs a windowsill and dangles from

it for a second or two and then drops back down into a crouch.

Nice, Olly, says his mother.

Didnt I tell you to quit doing that stuff? his father growls.

He ignores them both and remains in his crouch.

I press my open palm against the glass, breathless as if Id

done that crazy stunt myself. I look from him to the wall to the

windowsill and back to him again. Hes no longer crouched.

Hes staring up at me. Our eyes meet. Vaguely I wonder what

he sees in my windowstrange girl in white with wide staring

eyes. He grins at me and his face is no longer stark, no longer

severe. I try to smile back, but Im so flustered that I frown at

him instead.

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18/76

MY WHITE BALLOON

THAT NIGHT, I dream that the house breathes with me. I ex-

hale and the walls contract like a pinpricked balloon, crushing

me as it deflates. I inhale and the walls expand. A single breath

more and my life will finally, finally explode.

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19/76

NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH

HIS MOMS SCHEDULE6:35 AM - Arrives on porch with a steaming cup of

something hot. Coffee?6:36 AM - Stares off into empty lot across the way

while sipping her drink. Tea?7:00 AM - Reenters the house.7:15 AM - Back on porch. Kisses husband good-bye.

Watches as his car drives away.9:30 AM - Gardens. Looks for, finds, and discards

cigarette butts.1:00 PM - Leaves house in car. Errands?5:00 PM - Pleads with Kara and Olly to begin chores

before your father gets home.KARAS (SISTER) SCHEDULE

10:00 AM - Stomps outside wearing black boots and afuzzy brown bathrobe.

10:01 AM - Checks cell phone messages. She gets a lot of

messages.10:06 AM - Smokes three cigarettes in the garden betweenour two houses.

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10:20 AM - Digs a hole with the toe of her boots andburies cigarette carcasses.

10:25 AM5:00 PM - Texts or talks on the phone.5:25 PM - Chores.

HIS DADS SCHEDULE7:15 AM - Leaves for work.6:00 PM - Arrives home from work.6:20 PM - Sits on porch with drink #1.6:30 PM - Reenters the house for dinner.7:00 PM - Back on porch with drink #2.7:25 PM - Drink #3.7:45 PM - Yelling at family begins.10:35 PM - Yelling at family subsides.

OLLYS SCHEDULEUnpredictable.

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21/76

I S P Y

HIS FAMILY CALL S him Olly. Well, his sister and his mom call

him Olly. His dad calls him Oliver. Hes the one I watch the

most. His bedroom is on the second floor and almost directly

across from mine and his blinds are almost always open.

Some mornings he sleeps in until noon. Others, hes gone

from his room before I wake to begin my surveillance. Most

mornings, though, he wakes at 9 .., climbs out of his bed-

room, and makes his way, Spider-Man-style, to the roof using

the siding. He stays up there for about an hour before swing-

ing, legs first, back into his room. No matter how much I try, I

havent been able to see what he does when hes up there.

His room is empty but for a bed and a chest of drawers. A

few boxes from the move remain unpacked and stacked by the

doorway. There are no decorations except for a single poster for a

movie calledJump London. I looked it up and its about parkour,

which is a kind of street gymnastics, which explains how hes able

to do all the crazy stuff that he does. The more I watch, the more

I want to know.

21


22/76

MENTEUSE

IVE JUST SAT down at the dining table for dinner. My mom

places a cloth napkin in my lap and fills my water glass and

then Carlas. Friday night dinners are special in my house. Carla

even stays late to eat with us instead of with her own family.

Everything at Friday Night Dinner is French. The napkins

are white cloth embroidered with fleur-de-lis at the edges. The

cutlery is antique French and ornate. We even have miniature

silver la tour Eiffelsalt and pepper shakers. Of course, we have

to be careful with the menu because of my allergies, but my

mom always makes her version of a cassouleta French stew

with chicken, sausage, duck, and white beans. It was my dads

favorite dish before he died. The version that my mom cooks

for me contains only white beans cooked in chicken broth.

Madeline, my mom says, Mr. Waterman tells me that

youre late on your architecture assignment. Is everything all

right, baby girl?

Im surprised by her question. I know Im late, but since

Ive never been late before I guess I didnt realize that she was

keeping track.

Is the assignment too hard? She frowns as she ladles cassou-

let into my bowl. Do you want me to find you a new tutor?

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23/76

Oui, non, et non, I say in response to each question.

Everythings fine. Ill turn it in tomorrow, I promise. I just

lost track of time.

She nods and begins slicing and buttering pieces of crusty

French bread for me. I know she wants to ask something else. I

even know what she wants to ask, but shes afraid of the answer.

Is it the new neighbors?

Carla gives me a sharp look. Ive never lied to my mom. Ive

never had a reason and I dont think I know how to. But some-

thing tells me what I need to do.

Ive just been reading too much. You know how I get with

a good book. I make my voice as reassuring as possible. I dont

want her to worry. She has enough to worry about with me as

it is.

How do you say liar in French?

Not hungry? my mom asks a few minutes later. She presses

the back of her hand against my forehead.

You dont have a fever. She lets her hand linger a moment

longer.

Im about to reassure her when the doorbell rings. This hap-

pens so infrequently that I dont know what to make of it.

The bell rings again.

My mom half rises from her chair.

Carla stands all the way up.

The bell sounds for a third time. I smile for no reason.

Want me to get it, maam? Carla asks.

My mom waves her off. Stay here, she says to me.

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24/76

Carla moves to stand behind me, her hands pressing down

lightly on my shoulder. I know I should stay here. I know Im

expected to. Certainly I expect me to, but somehow, today, I

just cant. I need to know who it is, even if its just a wayward

traveler.

Carla touches my upper arm. Your mother said to stay

here.

But why? Shes just being extra cautious. Besides, she wont

let anyone past the air lock.

She relents, and Im off down the hallway with her right

behind me.

The air lock is a small sealed room surrounding the front

door. Its airtight so that no potential hazards can leak into the

main house when the front door is open. I press my ear against

it. At first I cant hear anything over the air filters, but then I

hear a voice.

My mom sent a Bundt. The voice is deep and smooth and

definitely amused. My brain is processing the word Bundt, try-

ing to get an image of what it looks like before it dawns on me

just who is at the door. Olly.

The thing about my moms Bundts is that they are not very

good. Terrible. Actually inedible, very nearly indestructible.

Between you and me.

24


25/76

A new voice now. A girls. His sister? Every time we move

she makes us bring one to the neighbor.

Oh. Well. This is a surprise, isnt it? Thats very nice. Please

tell her thank you very much for me.

Theres no chance that this Bundt cake has passed the proper

inspections, and I can feel my mom trying to figure out how

to tell them she cant take the cake without revealing the truth

about me.

Im sorry, but I cant accept this.

Theres a moment of shocked silence.

So you want us to take it back? Olly asks disbelievingly.

Well, thats rude, Kara says. She sounds angry and re-

signed, as though shed expected disappointment.

Im so sorry, my mom says again. Its complicated. Im

really very sorry because this is so sweet of you and your mom.

Please thank her for me.

Is your daughter home? Olly asks quite loudly, before she

can close the door. Were hoping she could show us around.

My heart speeds up and I can feel the pulse of it against my

ribs. Did he just ask about me? No stranger has just dropped by

to visit me before. Aside from my mom, Carla, and my tutors,

the world barely knows I exist. I mean, I exist online. I have

online friends and my Tumblr book reviews, but thats not the

same as being a real person who can be visited by strange boys

bearing Bundt cakes.

Im so sorry, but she cant. Welcome to the neighborhood,

and thank you again.

The front door closes and I step back to wait for my mom.

She has to remain in the air lock until the filters have a chance

25


26/76

to purify the foreign air. A minute later she steps back into

the house. She doesnt notice me right away. Instead she stands

still, eyes closed with her head slightly bowed.

Im sorry, she says, without looking up.

Im OK, Mom. Dont worry.

For the thousandth time I realize anew how hard my disease

is on her. Its the only world Ive known, but before me she

had my brother and my dad. She traveled and played soccer.

She had a normal life that did not include being cloistered in a

bubble for fourteen hours a day with her sick teenage daughter.

I hold her and let her hold me for a few more minutes. Shes

taking this disappointment much harder than I am.

Ill make it up to you, she says.

Theres nothing to make up for.

I love you, sweetie.

We drift back into the dining room and finish dinner quickly

and, for the most part, silently. Carla leaves and my mom asks

if I want to beat her at a game of Honor Pictionary, but I ask

for a rain check. Im not really in the mood.

Instead, I head upstairs imagining what a Bundt cake tastes

like.

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Be the first to read thedazzling new novel from

#1 New York Timesbestselling author

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THE SU N SHI NE S ON

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Sonya

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29/76

TELL ME

THREE THINGS

Juli e B uxbau m

DELACORTE PRESS

#TellMeThreeThings

FALL IN LOVE with

THE BOYS OF SUMMER:

Somebody Nobody is thesecret admirer in

Tell Me Three Things.



30/76

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product

of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright 2016 by Julie R. Buxbaum, Inc.

Jacket art copyright 2016 by Getty Images

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of

Random House Childrens Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of

Penguin Random House LLC.


Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools,

visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com


Buxbaum, Julie.Tell me three things / by Julie Buxbaum.

pages cm

ISBN 978-0-553-53564-8 (trade hc) ISBN 978-0-553-53565-5 (library binding)

ISBN 978-0-553-53566-2 (ebook) ISBN 978-0-399-55293-9 (intl. tr. pbk.)

[1. High schoolsFiction. 2. SchoolsFiction. 3. Moving, HouseholdFiction.

4. StepfamiliesFiction. 5. GriefFiction. 6. Los Angeles (Calif.)Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.1.B897Tel 2016

[Fic]dc23

2015000836

The text of this book is set in 11.5-point Dante.

Jacket design by Ray Shappell

Interior design by Trish Parcell


10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

First Edition

Random House Childrens Books

supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.



31/76

CHAPTER 1

Seven hundred and thirty-three days after my mom died,forty-five days after my dad eloped with a stranger he met

on the Internet, thirty days after we then up and moved to

California, and only seven days after starting as a junior at

a brand-new school where I know approximately no one, anemail arrives. Which would be weird, an anonymous letter

just popping up like that in my in-box, signed with the bizarre

alias Somebody Nobody, no less, except my life has become so

unrecognizable lately that nothing feels shocking anymore. It

took until nowseven hundred and thirty-three whole days

in which Ive felt the opposite of normalfor me to discover

this one important life lesson: turns out you can grow im-

mune to weird.

31


32/76

To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])

From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])

Subject:your Wood Valley H.S. spirit guide

hey there, Ms. Holmes. we havent met irl, and Im not

sure we ever will. I mean, we probably will at some point

maybe Ill ask you the time or something equally mundane

and beneath both of usbut well never actually get to

know each other, at least not in any sort of real way that

matters . . . which is why I figured Id email you under the

cloak of anonymity.

and yes, I realize Im a sixteen-year-old guy who just

used the words cloak of anonymity. and so there it is

already: reason #1 why youll never get to know my real

name. I could never live the shame of that pretentious-

ness down.

cloak of anonymity? seriously?

and yes, I also realize that most people would have just

texted, but couldnt figure out how to do that without tell-

ing you who I am.

I have been watching you at school. not in a creepy

way. though I wonder if even using the word creepy

by definition makes me creepy? anyhow, its just . . .

you intrigue me. you must have noticed already that

our school is a wasteland of mostly blond, vacant-eyed

Barbies and Kens, and something about younot just

your newness, because sure, the rest of us have all been

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33/76

going to school together since the age of fivebut

something about the way you move and talk and actually

dont talk but watch all of us like we are part of some bi-

zarre National Geographic documentary makes me think

that you might be different from all the other idiots at

school.

you make me want to know what goes on in that head

of yours. Ill be honest: Im not usually interested in the

contents of other peoples heads. my own is work enough.

the whole point of this email is to offer my expertise. sorry

to be the bearer of bad news: navigating the wilds of

Wood Valley High School aint easy. this place may look all

warm and welcoming, with our yoga and meditation and

reading corners and coffee cart (excuse me: Koffee Kart),but like every other high school in America (or maybe

even worse), this place is a freaking war zone.

and so I hereby offer up myself as your virtual spirit

guide. feel free to ask any question (except of course

my identity), and Ill do my best to answer: who to be-friend (short list), who to stay away from (longer list),

why you shouldnt eat the veggie burgers from the caf-

eteria (long story that you dont want to know involv-

ing jock jizz), how to get an A in Mrs. Stewarts class,

and why you should never sit near Ken Abernathy (flatu-

lence issue). Oh, and be careful in gym. Mr. Shackleman

makes all the pretty girls run extra laps so he can look at

their asses.

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34/76

that feels like enough information for now.

and fwiw, welcome to the jungle.

yours truly, Somebody Nobody

To:Somebody Nobody ([email protected])

From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])

Subject: Elaborate hoax?

SN: Is this for real? Or is this some sort of initiation prank, la

a dumb rom-com? Youre going to coax me into sharing my

deepest, darkest thoughts/fears, and then, BAM, when I least

expect it, youll post them on Tumblr and Ill be the laughing-

stock of WVHS? If so, youre messing with the wrong girl. I

have a black belt in karate. I can take care of myself.

If not a joke, thanks for your offer, but no thanks. I want

to be an embedded journalist one day. Might as well get

used to war zones now. And anyhow, Im from Chicago. I

think I can handle the Valley.


From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])

Subject: not a hoax, elaborate or otherwise

promise this isnt a prank. and I dont think Ive ever even

seen a rom-com. shocking, I know. hope this doesnt re-

veal some great deficiency in my character.

you do know journalism is a dying field, right? maybe you

should aspire to be a war blogger.

34


35/76


From:Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])

Subject:Specifically targeted spam?

Very funny. Wait, is there really sperm in the veggie burgers?


From:Somebody Nobody ([email protected])

Subject:you, Jessie Holmes, have won $100,000,000 from a Nigerian prince.

not just sperm but sweaty lacrosse sperm.

Id avoid the meat loaf too, just to be on the safe side. in

fact, stay out of the cafeteria altogether. that shit will give

you salmonella.


From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])Subject:Will send my bank account details ASAP.

who are you?

To:Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])


Subject:and copy of birth certificate & drivers license, please.

nope. not going to happen.

To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])


Subject:And, of course, you need my social security number too, right?

Fine. But tell me this at least: whats up with the lack of

capital letters? Your shift key broken?

35


36/76



Subject: and height and weight, please

terminally lazy.



Subject:NOW youre getting personal.

Lazy and verbose. Interesting combo. And yet you do take

the time to capitalize proper nouns?



Subject:and mothers maiden name

Im not a complete philistine.



Subject:Lazy, verbose, AND nosy

Philistine is a big word for a teenage guy.



Subject:lazy, verbose, nosy, and . . . handsome

thats not the only thing thats . . . whew. caught myself

from making the obvious joke just in time. you totally set

me up, and I almost blew it.

36


37/76

To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])


Subject: Lazy, verbose, nosy, handsome, and . . . modest

Thats what she said.

See, thats the thing with email. Id never say something like

that in person. Crude. Suggestive. Like I am the kind of girl who

could pull off that kind of joke. Who, face to face with an actual

member of the male species, would know how to flirt, and flip

my hair, and, if it came to it, know how to do much more than

kiss. (For the record, I do know how to kiss. Im not saying Id

ace an AP exam on the subject or, you know, win Olympic gold,

but Im pretty sure Im not awful. I know this purely by way of

comparison. Adam Kravitz. Ninth grade. Him: all slobber and

angry, rhythmic tongue, like a zombie trying to eat my head.Me: all-too-willing participant, with three days of face chafing.)

Email is much like an ADD diagnosis. Guaranteed extra

time on the test. In real life, I constantly rework conversations

after the fact in my head, edit them until Ive perfected my

witty, lighthearted, effortless banterall the stuff that seems

to come naturally to other girls. A waste of time, of course, be-

cause by then Im way too late. In the Venn diagram of my life,

my imagined personality and my real personality have never

converged. Over email and text, though, I am given those few

additional beats I need to be the better, edited version of my-

self. To be that girl in the glorious intersection.

I should be more careful. I realize that now. Thats what

she said.Really? Cant decide if I sound like a frat boy or a slut;

either way, I dont sound like me. More importantly, I have

no idea who I am writing to. Unlikely that SN truly is some

37


38/76

do-gooder who feels sorry for the new girl. Or better yet, a se-

cret admirer. Because of course thats straight where my brain

went, the result of a lifetime of devouring too many romantic

comedies and reading too many improbable books. Why do

you think I kissed Adam Kravitz? He was my neighbor back in

Chicago. What better story is there than the girl who discovers

that true love has been waiting right next door all along? Of

course, my neighbor turned out to be a zombie with carbon-

ated saliva, but no matter. Live and learn.

Surely SN is a cruel joke. Hes probably not even a he. Just

a mean girl preying on the weak. Because lets face it: I am

weak. Possibly even pathetic. I lied. I dont have a black belt

in karate. I am not tough. Until last month, I thought I was.

I really did. Life threw its punches, I got shat on, but I took it

in the mouth, to mix my metaphors. Or not. Sometimes it felt

just like getting shat on in the mouth. My only point of pride:no one saw me cry. And then I became the new girl at WVHS,

in this weird area called the Valley, which is in Los Angeles but

not in Los Angeles or something like that, and I ended up here

because my dad married this rich lady who smells like fancy

almonds, and juice costs twelve dollars here, and I dont know.

I dont know anything anymore.I am as lost and confused and alone as I have ever been.

No, high school will never be a time I look back on fondly. My

mom once told me that the world is divided into two kinds

of people: the ones who love their high school years and the

ones who spend the next decade recovering from them. What

doesnt kill you makes you stronger, she said.

But something did kill her, and Im not stronger. So go fig-

ure; maybe theres a third kind of person: the ones who never

recover from high school at all.

38


39/76

e. lockhartD E L A C O R T E P R E S S

PLEASE LIE:

WeWereLiars.com#WeWereLiars

@elockhart

FALL IN LOVE with

THE BOYS OF SUMMER:

Gat is the boy yourparents dont like in

We Were Liars.



40/76

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,

and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination

or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living

or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright 2014 by E. Lockhart

Jacket photograph 2014 Getty Images/kang-gg

Map and family tree art copyright 2014 by Abigail Daker

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by

Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Childrens Books,

a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and

the colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.

Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/teens

Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools,

visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com


We were liars / E. Lockhart. First edition.

pages cm

Summary: Spending the summers on her familys private island off the coast of

Massachusetts with her cousins and a special boy named Gat, teenaged Cadence

struggles to remember what happened during her fifteenth summer.

ISBN 978-0-385-74126-2 (hardback) ISBN 978-0-375-98994-0 (library binding)

ISBN 978-0-375-98440-2 (ebook) ISBN 978-0-385-39009-5 (intl. tr. pbk.)

[1. FriendshipFiction. 2. LoveFiction. 3. FamiliesFiction. 4. AmnesiaFiction.

5. WealthFiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.L79757We 2014

[Fic]dc23

201342127

The text of this book is set in 12-point Joanna MT.

Book design by Heather Kelly


10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

First Edition



Lock_9780385741262_5p_all_r4 indd vi 6/18/14 12:31 PM



41/76

4

ME, JOHNNY, MIRREN, and Gat. Gat, Mirren, Johnny, and

me.

The family calls us four the Liars, and probably we deserve

it. We are all nearly the same age, and we all have birthdays in

the fall. Most years on the island, weve been trouble.

Gat started coming to Beechwood the year we were eight.

Summer eight, we called it.

Before that, Mirren, Johnny, and I werent Liars. We were

41


42/76

nothing but cousins, and Johnny was a pain because he didnt

like playing with girls.

Johnny, he is bounce, effort, and snark. Back then he wouldhang our Barbies by the necks or shoot us with guns made of

Lego.

Mirren, she is sugar, curiosity, and rain. Back then she spent

long afternoons with Taft and the twins, splashing at the big

beach, while I drew pictures on graph paper and read in the

hammock on the Clairmont house porch.

Then Gat came to spend the summers with us.

Aunt Carries husband left her when she was pregnant with

Johnnys brother, Will. I dont know what happened. The fam-

ily never speaks of it. By summer eight, Will was a baby and

Carrie had taken up with Ed already.

This Ed, he was an art dealer and he adored the kids. That

was all wed heard about him when Carrie announced she wasbringing him to Beechwood, along with Johnny and the baby.

They were the last to arrive that summer, and most of us

were on the dock waiting for the boat to pull in. Granddad

lifted me up so I could wave at Johnny, who was wearing an

orange life vest and shouting over the prow.

Granny Tipper stood next to us. She turned away from theboat for a moment, reached in her pocket, and brought out a

white peppermint. Unwrapped it and tucked it into my mouth.

As she looked back at the boat, Grans face changed. I

squinted to see what she saw.

Carrie stepped off with Will on her hip. He was in a babys yel-

low life vest, and was really no more than a shock of white- blond

hair sticking up over it. A cheer went up at the sight of him. That

vest, which we had all worn as babies. The hair. How wonderful

that this little boy we didnt know yet was so obviously a Sinclair.

42


43/76

Johnny leapt off the boat and threw his own vest on the

dock. First thing, he ran up to Mirren and kicked her. Then he

kicked me. Kicked the twins. Walked over to our grandparentsand stood up straight. Good to see you, Granny and Granddad.

I look forward to a happy summer.

Tipper hugged him. Your mother told you to say that,

didnt she?

Yes, said Johnny. And Im to say, nice to see you again.

Good boy.

Can I go now?

Tipper kissed his freckled cheek. Go on, then.

Ed followed Johnny, having stopped to help the staff unload

the luggage from the motorboat. He was tall and slim. His skin

was very dark: Indian heritage, wed later learn. He wore black-

framed glasses and was dressed in dapper city clothes: a linen

suit and striped shirt. The pants were wrinkled from traveling.Granddad set me down.

Granny Tippers mouth made a straight line. Then she

showed all her teeth and went forward.

You must be Ed. What a lovely surprise.

He shook hands. Didnt Carrie tell you we were coming?

Of course she did.Ed looked around at our white, white family. Turned to Car-

rie. Wheres Gat?

They called for him, and he climbed from the inside of the

boat, taking off his life vest, looking down to undo the buckles.

Mother, Dad, said Carrie, we brought Eds nephew to

play with Johnny. This is Gat Patil.

Granddad reached out and patted Gats head. Hello, young

man.

Hello.

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44/76

His father passed on, just this year, explained Carrie. He

and Johnny are the best of friends. Its a big help to Eds sister

if we take him for a few weeks. And, Gat? Youll get to havecookouts and go swimming like we talked about. Okay?

But Gat didnt answer. He was looking at me.

His nose was dramatic, his mouth sweet. Skin deep brown,

hair black and waving. Body wired with energy. Gat seemed

spring-loaded. Like he was searching for something. He was

contemplation and enthusiasm. Ambition and strong coffee. I

could have looked at him forever.

Our eyes locked.

I turned and ran away.

Gat followed. I could hear his feet behind me on the wooden

walkways that cross the island.

I kept running. He kept following.

Johnny chased Gat. And Mirren chased Johnny.The adults remained talking on the dock, circling politely

around Ed, cooing over baby Will. The littles did whatever lit-

tles do.

We four stopped running at the tiny beach down by Cuddle-

down House. Its a small stretch of sand with high rocks on ei-

ther side. No one used it much, back then. The big beach hadsofter sand and less seaweed.

Mirren took off her shoes and the rest of us followed. We

tossed stones into the water. We just existed.

I wrote our names in the sand.

Cadence, Mirren, Johnny, and Gat.

Gat, Johnny, Mirren, and Cadence.

That was the beginning of us.

* * *

44


45/76

JOHNNY BEGGED TO have Gat stay longer.

He got what he wanted.

The next year he begged to have him come for the entiresummer.

Gat came.

Johnny was the first grandson. My grandparents almost

never said no to Johnny.

5

SUMMER FOURTEEN, GAT and I took out the small motor-

boat alone. It was just after breakfast. Bess made Mirren play

tennis with the twins and Taft. Johnny had started runningthat year and was doing loops around the perimeter path. Gat

found me in the Clairmont kitchen and asked, did I want to

take the boat out?

Not really. I wanted to go back to bed with a book.

Please? Gat almost never said please.

Take it out yourself.I cant borrow it, he said. I dont feel right.

Of course you can borrow it.

Not without one of you.

He was being ridiculous. Where do you want to go? I

asked.

I just want to get off-island. Sometimes I cant stand it

here.

I couldnt imagine, then, what it was he couldnt stand, but

I said all right. We motored out to sea in wind jackets and

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46/76

bathing suits. After a bit, Gat cut the engine. We sat eating pis-

tachios and breathing salt air. The sunlight shone on the water.

Lets go in, I said.Gat jumped and I followed, but the water was so much

colder than off the beach, it snatched our breath. The sun went

behind a cloud. We laughed panicky laughs and shouted that it

was the stupidest idea to get in the water. What had we been

thinking? There were sharks off the coast, everybody knew

that.

Dont talk about sharks, God! We scrambled and pushed

each other, struggling to be the first one up the ladder at the

back of the boat.

After a minute, Gat leaned back and let me go first. Not be-

cause youre a girl but because Im a good person, he told me.

Thanks. I stuck out my tongue.

But when a shark bites my legs off, promise to write aspeech about how awesome I was.

Done, I said. Gatwick Matthew Patil made a delicious

meal.

It seemed hysterically funny to be so cold. We didnt have

towels. We huddled together under a fleece blanket we found

under the seats, our bare shoulders touching each other. Coldfeet, on top of one another.

This is only so we dont get hypothermia, said Gat. Dont

think I find you pretty or anything.

I know you dont.

Youre hogging the blanket.

Sorry.

A pause.

Gat said, I do find you pretty, Cady. I didnt mean that the

46


47/76

way it came out. In fact, when did you get so pretty? Its dis-

tracting.

I look the same as always.You changed over the school year. Its putting me off my

game.

You have a game?

He nodded solemnly.

That is the dumbest thing I ever heard. What is your

game?

Nothing penetrates my armor. Hadnt you noticed?

That made me laugh. No.

Damn. I thought it was working.

We changed the subject. Talked about bringing the littles to

Edgartown to see a movie in the afternoon, about sharks and

whether they really ate people, about Plants Versus Zombies.

Then we drove back to the island.Not long after that, Gat started lending me his books and

finding me at the tiny beach in the early evenings. Hed search

me out when I was lying on the Windemere lawn with the

goldens.

We started walking together on the path that circles the

island, Gat in front and me behind. Wed talk about booksor invent imaginary worlds. Sometimes wed end up walking

several times around the edge before we got hungry or bored.

Beach roses lined the path, deep pink. Their smell was faint

and sweet.

One day I looked at Gat, lying in the Clairmont hammock

with a book, and he seemed, well, like he was mine. Like he

was my particular person.

I got in the hammock next to him, silently. I took the pen

47


48/76

out of his handhe always read with a penand wrote Gaton

the back of his left, and Cadenceon the back of his right.

He took the pen from me. Wrote Gaton the back of my left,and Cadenceon the back of my right.

I am not talking about fate. I dont believe in destiny or

soul mates or the supernatural. I just mean we understood each

other. All the way.

But we were only fourteen. I had never kissed a boy, though

I would kiss a few the next school year, and somehow we didnt

label it love.

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Discover More Bright Places At:

AlltheBrightPlaces.com

#AlltheBrightPlaces #BeLovely365 #YouStartHere

FALL IN LOVE with

THE BOYS OF SUMMER:

Finch is therebel with a cause in

All The Bright Places.



50/76


THISISABORZOIBOOKPUBLISHEDBYALFREDA. KNOPF

This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters (with

the exception of the creators of the Worlds Largest Ball of Paint and the BlueFlash and Blue Too roller coasters), are products of the authors imagination.Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright 2015 by Jennifer NivenJacket photographs (flowers) copyright 2015 by Neil Fletcher and MatthewWard/Getty ImagesHand-lettering and illustrations copyright 2015 by Sarah Watts

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, animprint of Random House Childrens Books, a division of Random HouseLLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks ofRandom House LLC.

Excerpt from Oh, the Places Youll Go!by Dr. Seuss, TM and copyright by Dr. Seuss Enterprises L.P. 1990. Used by permission of Random HouseChildrens Books, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin RandomHouse Company, New York. All rights reserved.

Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/teens

Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us atRHTeachersLibrarians.com


Niven, Jennifer.All the bright places / Jennifer Niven.1st ed.p. cm.Summary: Told in alternating voices, when Theodore Finch and VioletMarkey meet on the ledge of the bell tower at schoolboth teetering on theedgeits the beginning of an unlikely relationship, a journey to discover thenatural wonders of the state of Indiana, and two teens desperate desire toheal and save one another.Provided by publisherIncludes bibliographical references.ISBN 978-0-385-75588-7 (trade) ISBN 978-0-385-75589-4 (lib. bdg.) ISBN 978-0-385-75590-0 (ebook) ISBN 978-0-553-53358-3 (intl. tr. pbk.)[1. FriendshipFiction. 2. SuicideFiction. 3. Emotional problemsFiction. 4. IndianaFiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.N6434Al 2015[Fic]dc232014002238

The text of this book is set in 11-point Simoncini Garamond.

Printed in the United States of AmericaJanuary 201510 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

First Edition

Random House Childrens Books supports the First Amendment and

celebrates the right to read.


51/76

I am awake again. Day 6.

Is today a good day to die?

This is something I ask myself in the morning when I wake

up. In third period when Im trying to keep my eyes open while

Mr. Schroeder drones on and on. At the supper table as Im

passing the green beans. At night when Im lying awake because

my brain wont shut off due to all there is to think about.Is today the day?

And if not todaywhen?

I am asking myself this now as I stand on a narrow ledge six

stories above the ground. Im so high up, Im practically part of

the sky. I look down at the pavement below, and the world tilts.

I close my eyes, enjoying the way everything spins. Maybe thistime Ill do itlet the air carry me away. It will be like floating

in a pool, drifting off until theres nothing.

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Jennifer Niven4

I dont remember climbing up here. In fact, I dont remem-

ber much of anything before Sunday, at least not anything so

far this winter. This happens every timethe blanking out,

the waking up. Im like that old man with the beard, Rip Van

Winkle. Now you see me, now you dont. Youd think Id have

gotten used to it, but this last time was the worst yet because I

wasnt asleep for a couple days or a week or twoI was asleep

for the holidays,meaning Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New

Years. I cant tell you what was different this time around, only

that when I woke up, I felt deader than usual. Awake, yeah, but

completely empty, like someone had been feasting on my blood.

This is day six of being awake again, and my first week back at

school since November 14.

I open my eyes, and the ground is still there, hard and per-

manent. I am in the bell tower of the high school, standing on

a ledge about four inches wide. The tower is pretty small, with

only a few feet of concrete floor space on all sides of the bell

itself, and then this low stone railing, which Ive climbed over

to get here. Every now and then I knock one of my legs against

it to remind myself its there.

My arms are outstretched as if Im conducting a sermon

and this entire not-very-big, dull, dull town is my congregation.

Ladies and gentlemen, I shout, I would like to welcome you

to my death! You might expect me to say life, having just

woken up and all, but its only when Im awake that I think

about dying.I am shouting in an old- school-preacher way, all jerking

head and words that twitch at the ends, and I almost lose my

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5ALL THE BRIGHT PLACES

balance. I hold on behind me, happy no one seems to have no-

ticed, because, lets face it, its hard to look fearless when youre

clutching the railing like a chicken.

I, Theodore Finch, being of unsound mind, do hereby be-

queath all my earthly possessions to Charlie Donahue, Brenda

Shank-Kravitz, and my sisters. Everyone else can go f--- them-

selves. In my house, my mom taught us early to spell that word

(if we mustuse it) or, better yet, not spell it, and, sadly, this has

stuck.

Even though the bell has rung, some of my classmates are

still milling around on the ground. Its the first week of the

second semester of senior year, and already theyre acting as if

theyre almost done and out of here. One of them looks up in

my direction, as if he heard me, but the others dont, either be-

cause they havent spotted me or because they know Im there

and Oh well, its just Theodore Freak.

Then his head turns away from me and he points at the sky.

At first I think hes pointing at me, but its at that moment I

see her, the girl. She stands a few feet away on the other side

of the tower, also out on the ledge, dark-blond hair waving in

the breeze, the hem of her skirt blowing up like a parachute.

Even though its January in Indiana, she is shoeless in tights, a

pair of boots in her hand, and staring either at her feet or at the

groundits hard to tell. She seems frozen in place.

In my regular, nonpreacher voice I say, as calmly as possible,

Take it from me, the worst thing you can do is look down.Very slowly, she turns her head toward me, and I know

this girl, or at least Ive seen her in the hallways. I cant resist:

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6 Jennifer Niven

Come here often? Because this is kind of my spot and I dont

remember seeing you here before.

She doesnt laugh or blink, just gazes out at me from behind

these clunky glasses that almost cover her face. She tries to take

a step back and her foot bumps the railing. She teeters a little,

and before she can panic, I say, I dont know what brings you

up here, but to me the town looks prettier and the people look

nicer and even the worst of them look almost kind. Except for

Gabe Romero and Amanda Monk and that whole crowd you

hang out with.

Her name is Violet Something. She is cheerleader popular

one of those girls you would never think of running into on

a ledge six stories above the ground. Behind the ugly glasses

shes pretty, almost like a china doll. Large eyes, sweet face

shaped like a heart, a mouth that wants to curve into a perfect

little smile. Shes a girl who dates guys like Ryan Cross, baseball

star, and sits with Amanda Monk and the other queen bees at

lunch.

But lets face it, we didnt come up here for the view. Youre

Violet, right?

She blinks once, and I take this as a yes.

Theodore Finch. I think we had pre-cal together last year.

She blinks again.

I hate math, but thats not why Im up here. No offense if

thats why you are. Youre probably better at math than I am,

because pretty much everyones better at math than I am, butits okay, Im fine with it. See, I excel at other, more important

thingsguitar, sex, and consistently disappointing my dad, to

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name a few. By the way, its apparently true that youll never use

it in the real world. Math, I mean.

I keep talking, but I can tell Im running out of steam. I need

to take a piss, for one thing, and so my words arent the only

thing twitching. (Note to self: Before attempting to take own life,

remember to take a leak.)And, two, its starting to rain, which,

in this temperature, will probably turn to sleet before it hits the

ground.

Its starting to rain, I say, as if she doesnt know this. I

guess theres an argument to be made that the rain will wash

away the blood, leaving us a neater mess to clean up than

otherwise. But its the mess part thats got me thinking. Im not

a vain person, but I am human, and I dont know about you,

but I dont want to look like Ive been run through the wood

chipper at my funeral.

Shes shivering or shaking, I cant tell which, and so I slowly

inch my way toward her, hoping I dont fall off before I get

there, because the last thing I want to do is make a jackass out

of myself in front of this girl. Ive made it clear I want crema-

tion, but my mom doesnt believe in it. And my dad will do

whatever she says so he wont upset her any more than he al-

ready has, and besides, Youre far too young to think about this,

you know your Grandma Finch lived to be ninety-eight, we dont

need to talk about that now, Theodore, dont upset your mother.

So itll be an open coffin for me, which means if I jump, it

aint gonna be pretty. Besides, I kind of like my face intact likethis, two eyes, one nose, one mouth, a full set of teeth, which,

if Im being honest, is one of my better features. I smile so she

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8 Jennifer Niven

can see what I mean. Everything where it should be, on the

outside at least.

When she doesnt say anything, I go on inching and talking.

Most of all, I feel bad for the undertaker. What a shitty job

that must be anyway, but then to have to deal with an asshole

like me?

From down below, someone yells, Violet? Is that Violet up

there?

Oh God, she says, so low I barely hear it. OhGod-

ohGodohGod. The wind blows her skirt and hair, and it

looks like shes going to fly away.

There is general buzzing from the ground, and I shout,

Dont try to save me! Youll only kill yourself! Then I say,

very low, just to her, Heres what I think we should do. Im

about a foot away from her now. I want you to throw your

shoes toward the bell and then hold on to the rail, just grab

right onto it, and once youve got it, lean against it and then lift

your right foot up and over. Got that?

She nods and almost loses her balance.

Dont nod. And whatever you do, dont go the wrong way

and step forward instead of back. Ill count you off. On three.

She throws her boots in the direction of the bell, and they

fall with a thud, thudonto the concrete.

One. Two. Three.

She grips the stone and kind of props herself against it and

then lifts her leg up and over so that shes sitting on the railing.She stares down at the ground and I can see that shes frozen

again, and so I say, Good. Great. Just stop looking down.

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She slowly looks at me and then reaches for the floor of the

bell tower with her right foot, and once shes found it, I say,

Now get that left leg back over however you can. Dont let go

of the wall. By now shes shaking so hard I can hear her teeth

chatter, but I watch as her left foot joins her right, and she is

safe.

So now its just me out here. I gaze down at the ground one

last time, past my size-thirteen feet that wont stop growing

today Im wearing sneakers with fluorescent lacespast the

open windows of the fourth floor, the third, the second, past

Amanda Monk, who is cackling from the front steps and swish-

ing her blond hair like a pony, books over her head, trying to

flirt and protect herself from the rain at the same time.

I gaze past all of this at the ground itself, which is now slick

and damp, and imagine myself lying there.

I could just step off. It would be over in seconds. No more

Theodore Freak. No more hurt. No more anything.

I try to get past the unexpected interruption of saving a life

and return to the business at hand. For a minute, I can feel it:

the sense of peace as my mind goes quiet, like Im already dead.

I am weightless and free. Nothing and no one to fear, not even

myself.

Then a voice from behind me says, I want you to hold on to

the rail, and once youve got it, lean against it and lift your right

foot up and over.

Like that, I can feel the moment passing, maybe alreadypassed, and now it seems like a stupid idea, except for picturing

the look on Amandas face as I go sailing by her. I laugh at the

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10 Jennifer Niven

thought. I laugh so hard I almost fall off, and this scares me

like, really scares meand I catch myself and Violet catches

me as Amanda looks up. Weirdo! someone shouts. Amandas

little group snickers. She cups her big mouth and aims it sky-

ward. You okay, V?

Violet leans over the rail, still holding on to my legs. Im

okay.

The door at the top of the tower stairs cracks open and my

best friend, Charlie Donahue, appears. Charlie is black. Not

CW black, but black-black. He also gets laid more than anyone

else I know.

He says, Theyre serving pizza today, as if I wasnt standing

on a ledge six stories above the ground, my arms outstretched, a

girl wrapped around my knees.

Why dont you go ahead and get it over with, freak? Gabe

Romero, better known as Roamer, better known as Dumbass,

yells from below. More laughter.

Because Ive got a date with your mother later, I think but

dont say because, lets face it, its lame, and also he will come up

here and beat my face in and then throw me off, and this defeats

the point of just doing it myself.

Instead I shout, Thanks for saving me, Violet. I dont know

what I wouldve done if you hadnt come along. I guess Id be

dead right now.

The last face I see below belongs to my school counselor,

Mr. Embry. As he glares up at me, I think, Great. Just great.I let Violet help me over the wall and onto the concrete.

From down below, theres a smattering of applause, not for me,

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but for Violet, the hero. Up close like this, I can see that her

skin is smooth and clear except for two freckles on her right

cheek, and her eyes are a gray-green that makes me think of fall.

Its the eyes that get me. They are large and arresting, as if she

sees everything. As warm as they are, they are busy, no-bullshit

eyes, the kind that can look right into you, which I can tell even

through the glasses. Shes pretty and tall, but not too tall, with

long, restless legs and curvy hips, which I like on a girl. Too

many high school girls are built like boys.

I was just sitting there, she says. On the railing. I didnt

come up here to

Let me ask you something. Do you think theres such a

thing as a perfect day?

What?

A perfect day. Start to finish. When nothing terrible or sad

or ordinary happens. Do you think its possible?

I dont know.

Have you ever had one?

No.

Ive never had one either, but Im looking for it.

She whispers, Thank you, Theodore Finch. She reaches

up and kisses me on the cheek, and I can smell her shampoo,

which reminds me of flowers. She says into my ear, If you

ever tell anyone about this, Ill kill you. Carrying her boots,

she hurries away and out of the rain, back through the door

that leads to the flight of dark and rickety stairs that takes youdown to one of the many too-bright and too-crowded school

hallways.

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12 Jennifer Niven

Charlie watches her go and, as the door swings closed be-

hind her, he turns back to me. Man, why do you do that?

Because we all have to die someday. I just want to be

prepared. This isnt the reason, of course, but it will be

enough for him. The truth is, there are a lot of reasons, most

of which change daily, like the thirteen fourth graders killed

earlier this week when some SOB opened fire in their school

gym, or the girl two years behind me who just died of cancer,

or the man I saw outside the Mall Cinema kicking his dog, or

my father.

Charlie may think it, but at least he doesnt say Weirdo,

which is why hes my best friend. Other than the fact that I ap-

preciate this about him, we dont have much in common.

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62/76

Illustrations2016Shutters

tock

New fromJENNIFER NIVEN

New York Timesbestselling author of

You are wanted.

You are loved.See the truth inside 10.4.16

JenniferNiven.com #HoldingUpTheUniverse


63/76

OFF

PAGE

THE

Jodi Picoult

Samantha van Leer&

#OffThePage


FALL IN LOVE with

THE BOYS OF SUMMER:

Oliver is areal-life Prince Charming.

in Off The Page.


64/76

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the

product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright 2015 by Jodi Picoult and Samantha van Leer

Interior illustrations copyright 2015 by Scott M. Fischer

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Ember, an imprint of

Random House Childrens Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

Originally published in hardcover with additional artwork in the United States by

Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Childrens Books, New York, in 2015.

Ember and the E colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.


Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-553-53559-4 (tr. pbk.) ISBN 978-0-553-53558-7 (ebook)


10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

First Ember Edition 2016

Random House Childrens Books supports the First Amendment

and celebrates the right to read.


65/76

DELILAH

Ive been waiting my whole life for Oliver, so youd think an-other fifteen minutes wouldnt matter. But its fifteen minutes

that Oliver is alone on a bus, unmonitored, for the first time,

with the most ruthless, malicious, soul-sucking creatures on

earth: high school students.

Going to high school is a little like being told you have to get

up each morning and run headlong at sixty miles an hour into

the same brick wall. Every day, youre forced to watch Darwins

principle of survival of the fittest play out: evolutionary advan-

tages, like perfect white teeth and gravity- defying boobs, or a

football team jacket keep you from falling prey to the demons

that grow to three times their size when they feed on the fearof a hapless freshman and bully him to a pulp. After years of

public school, Ive gotten pretty good at being invisible. That

way, youre less likely to become a target.

But Oliver knows none of this. He has alwaysbeen the center

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6 JODI PICOULT & SAMANTHA VAN LEER

of attention. Hes even more undeveloped socially than the boy

who enrolled last year after nine years of being homeschooled

in a yurt. Which is why Im actually breaking a sweat, imagin-ing everything Oliver could be doing wrong.

At this point, hes probably ten minutes into a story about

the first dragon he ever encounteredand while he might think

its a great icebreaker, the rest of the bus will either peg him as

the new druggie in town, who puts shrooms in his breakfast

omelet, or as one of those kids who run around speaking Elvish,

wearing homemade cloaks, with foam swords tucked into their

belts. Either way, that kind of first impression is one that sticks

for the rest of your life.

Believe me, I know.

Ive spent my entire school career as thatgirl. The one whowrote VD Rocks!on all her second-grade valentines and who

literally walked into a wall once while reading a book. The one

who recently reaffirmed her subterranean spot on the social-

status totem pole by accidentally punching out the most popu-

lar girl in school during swim practice.

Oliver and I make afabulouscouple.

Speaking of which . . . I kind of still cant believe we areone.

Its one thing to have a boyfriend, but to have someone who

looks like he just stepped out of a romantic comedywell, it

doesnt happen to people like me. Girls spend their lives dream-

ing of that perfect guy but always wind up settling when theyrealize he doesnt exist. I found minebut he was trapped in-

side a fairy tale. Since thats the only world hes ever lived in,

acclimating to this one has been a bit of a challenge. How he

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7OFF TH E PAGE

came to be realand mineis a long story . . . but its been the

biggest adventure of my life.

So far, anyway.Delilah! I hear, and I turn around to see my best friend,

Jules, barreling toward me. We hug like magnets. We havent

seen each other all summershe was exiled to her aunts house

in the Midwest, and I was totally preoccupied with Olivers ar-

rival. Her Mohawk has grown out into an Egyptian bob, which

shes dyed midnight blue, and shes wearing her usual thick

black eyeliner, combat boots, and a T-shirt with the name of

her favorite band du jour: Khaleesi and the Dragons. So where

is he? she asks, looking around.

Not here yet, I tell her. What if he called the bus his

trusty steed again?Jules laughs. Delilah, youve been practicing with him the

whole summer. I think he can handle a fifteen-minute bus ride

without you. Suddenly she grimaces. Oh crap, dont tell me

you guys are going to be Gorilla-glued together, like BrAngelo,

Jules says, jerking her head toward Brianna and Angelo, the

schools power couple, who seem to have an uncanny ability to

be making out on my locker at the exact moment I need to get

inside. I think its great that you have a hot new boyfriend, but

you better not ditch me.

Are you kidding? I say. Im going to need your help. Being

around Oliver is like when youre babysitting a toddler and yourealize the entire house is a potential danger zone.

Perfect timing, murmurs Jules as Olivers bus pulls up to

the front of the school.

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8 JODI PICOULT & SAMANTHA VAN LEER

You know

Boys of Summer Chapter Sampler

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