tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029131921955260562024-03-08T04:58:36.588-08:00Eternally MortifiedThis is my diary. If I find out you are reading it I will have to burn it.
Natasha Friendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01724196043779284859noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502913192195526056.post-60765645745618802102014-07-31T13:35:00.002-07:002014-07-31T13:35:27.163-07:00The Sequel That Wasn't, Part IV
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EVYN</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Evyn
was sixteen years old and she had never had a boyfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This, she thought, was pathetic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe even tragic. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sum total of Evyn’s “experience” with boys
was one disastrous make-out session the night of eighth grade graduation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day, Travis Piesch told everyone
that Evyn was a bad kisser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was “flat.”
And, insult to injury, she had “boy hair.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Evyn
would admit that being skinny and having a short haircut for most of her life
had worked against her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was every
guy’s friend and nobody’s girlfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
this summer would be different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For one
thing, over the past year a miracle had happened: she grew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, when Evyn wore a bikini she actually
looked like a girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d also grown out
her hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t as long as
Isabelle’s or as blond as Sam’s, but it was an improvement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A nice, shiny brown, shoulder length.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Already she’d gotten compliments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she stepped on the bus at South Station,
Sam and Isabelle had both screamed and told her she looked awesome. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coop had used the phrase “hotter than
Tennessee asphalt,” making Evyn smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If
anyone knew what guys wanted it was Coop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because look at her: she had the hair of a rock star and the body of a
supermodel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last summer, Coop had all
the best-looking counselors—Dan Carraro (head of waterskiing), Jake Pope
(soccer staff), and Reid Toomey (archery)—lusting over her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last summer, Coop taught Evyn, Sam, and
Isabelle many useful things about boys. She answered their questions about the
male anatomy. She even used a banana from the dining hall to demonstrate a proper
hand job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meredith Cooper was the best counselor
Evyn had ever had. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Was
there anything Coop couldn’t do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
played the banjo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She rode horses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She read palms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She could put both feet behind her head,
apply lipstick with her cleavage, tie a knot in a cherry stem using just her
tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had that Tennessee accent
all the Manhattan kids tried to imitate but none could master. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some nights, instead of going out drinking
with the other counselors, Coop stayed in the cabin with Evyn, Sam, and
Isabelle, playing Truth or Dare and I Never.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Later, Coop would take <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">them</i>
out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Night tripping, she called it<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As in, “Y’all, we’re goin’ night trippin’.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
first time, Evyn was nervous—afraid Uncle Don would catch them wandering around
camp at 2:00 AM and kick them out, like he’d kicked Margo Mallet out for sneaking
into Boys’ Side during rest hour. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uncle
Don trusted Evyn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t want to let
him down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Evyn
was six years old the summer Uncle Don invited her to camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he told Evyn’s dad, Birdie, that tuition
would be covered for both Evyn and her brother, Evyn thought she’d won the
lottery (it was really more like the barter system, since Birdie had been doing
carpentry work for Matokwa for as long as Evyn could remember, but still—camp
was expensive.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe Uncle Don felt
sorry for her and Mackey, growing up without a mom, and that’s why he did
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even after Birdie married Eleni
and they finally had money, Uncle Don still refused to let Birdie pay for camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s the kind of man he was, generous and
decent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which is why the first time Coop
snuck them out, Evyn had thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shit</i>.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uncle Don would hit the roof if he knew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, Evyn told herself, they weren’t
really doing anything bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t as
though they were smoking crack and chugging tequila.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were just walking around in the dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This would be Evyn’s defense if they got
caught, but they never did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coop was that
good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
summer, Evyn had her own ideas for nighttime entertainment, and those ideas
included The Boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Star gazing on the
upper field, swimming in the lake, eating raw s’mores at the outpost behind the
adventure shed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the dark, Evyn would
be confident, embodying Coop’s motto: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Party
right under my shoes.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like Coop,
Evyn would bring the party with her wherever she went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would not be “one of the guys.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would not challenge Dorf to burping
contests, or arm wrestle Benji, or trade dirty jokes with Jono.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would not answer to “Dude.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This summer she would act like a girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This summer, there would be kissing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Warm, wet, soft, hard, pulse-pounding,
heart-thumping, knee-buckling, earth-shattering kissing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Kissing!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Evyn
had thought about nothing but kissing since the New York bus arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since she first saw Aidan Glass walking down
the hill in his checkerboard Vans, so beat up that both his big toes stuck
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they hugged hello, Evyn wondered
if Aidan felt anything close to what she was feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wondered, for the thousandth time, if he had
a girlfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had IM’d each other
over the winter, and shared Facebook posts, but there was no hard
evidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last summer, Aidan had slow danced
with Kelsey Schottenstein at the final social, but he had not, according to
Evyn’s sources, hooked up with her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aidan
wasn’t a player.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike Jono and Benji
and Dorf, Aidan didn’t talk non-stop about tits and woodies and “getting some.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Evyn
wondered if Aidan could be gay, and if he was, would he still let her kiss him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a pathetic thought, but since Evyn had
loved Aidan Glass for the better part of a decade, pathos was nothing new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Evyn’s
favorite memory of Aidan was from their first summer, when she was six and he
was seven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had been out on the
pontoon boat, learning to fish. Aidan, she remembered, was wearing a yellow slicker
and red, fire engine rain boots, even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evyn found this adorable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything about Aidan was adorable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His sand colored hair; his big, hazel eyes; the
way his tongue stuck out between his teeth as he baited his hook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While the other junior boys were chucking
worms at each other or dropping them down the junior girls’ shirts, Aidan just fished.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Steady and silent, he held the pole
above the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He reminded Evyn of Ferdinand the bull, sitting under the cork tree
while all the other bulls ran around, butting their heads together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evyn couldn’t take her eyes off him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
had been a sunfish he’d caught—a tiny one—not more than four inches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the look on his face when he reeled it in
. . . that gap-toothed smile . . . God, Evyn could picture it even now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aidan didn’t smile often, but when he did, he
rearranged the air molecules around him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everyone noticed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Which
was, of course, the problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Girls noticed
Aidan Glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he could kiss anyone
this summer, and he could—did Evyn stand a chance?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sam had the blond hair, incredible boobs, and
boyfriend credentials.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isabelle was
smart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really smart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She read Steinbeck and Maya Angelou for fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Ashley?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Well, Evyn wasn’t sure what to make of Ashley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was the dark horse of the summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Earlier, when Isabelle was introducing her to
everyone, Evyn overheard Dorf ask Benji what he thought of the new girl. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Smokin’,”
Benji said. “Angelina Joli in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Salt</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jealousy
flared in Evyn’s heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although Aidan
hadn’t spoken the words, he did have eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whatever Benji saw in Ashley, Aidan could see it too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And while Evyn might be an improved version of
herself this summer, she was no Angelina Joli. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
Evyn was getting sidetracked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She needed
to lose the defeatist attitude and focus on facts: it was only the first
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Camp was long, and Evyn was
patient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d already waited ten summers
for Aidan Glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it took her one more
to get him to fall in love with her, so be it.</div>
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Natasha Friendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01724196043779284859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502913192195526056.post-67167496026133768662014-06-18T10:37:00.002-07:002014-06-18T10:37:13.458-07:00The Sequel That Wasn't, Part III
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
SAM</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Samantha
Gwynn was outside the Spruces’ cabin, sending her last text.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was to Charlie—<span style="font-family: "Andale Mono";">luv u miss u</span>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d
only been at camp for ten minutes, and already Uncle Don was taking away her
phone, her lifeline. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How would she
survive eight weeks?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just this morning she
and Charlie had been in the tree fort in her backyard, fooling around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, Luke had followed them up
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally, she wouldn’t have
minded her little brother horning in, but today was different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wanted Charlie to herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wanted to savor every minute.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Charlie
rode the “T” with her into the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They kissed goodbye at the bus depot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Will you write to me?” Sam said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
know I will,” Charlie said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He swept the
bangs off his forehead and handed her his basketball jersey, number 13.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I want you to take this.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His
lucky jersey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would wear it to bed
every night, she promised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all
Charlie had done for her, she owed him that much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She owed him everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did he even realize how grateful she was?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sam!”
Evyn was grabbing her arm, snapping her to attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The New York bus!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sam said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">So?</i>”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evyn stared at her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Boys are here!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
Boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jono Hollander, Aidan Glass, Benji
Steiner, and Seth—“The Dorf”—Dorfman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Super Senior Boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their Boys.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jono
was walking toward them, leading the pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> Jono, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This boy with dark hair and faded jeans who
looked like Jono—but he was taller and broader, with biceps bulging under his white
t-shirt, straining from the weight of his duffel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ev!”
He dropped his bag and lifted Evyn like she was a feather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spun her around while she laughed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What’s
up, Iz?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He fist-bumped Isabelle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sammy.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now he was looking at Sam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was this really Jono?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Skinny little Jono Hollander who juggled
oranges in every talent show?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That crooked smile, dimple on the left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the five summers she’d known him, Jono had
been smiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the summer she was a
bitch—her angry summer, the summer her dad started drinking again and she was mad
at the world—Jono still smiled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey,”
Sam said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey
yourself.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>was looking at her face, but now he was
looking at her chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was not new,
because Sam had had boobs since she was twelve and boys were always staring at
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was used to it, so why was the
heat rising up her neck?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She couldn’t
believe she was blushing here, now, in front of Jono Hollander—but a part of
her was intrigued that he was so obvious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He wasn’t even trying to be subtle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yo,
ladies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you miss me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Just
like that, the moment passed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Dorf
was upon them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seth Dorfman—with his pink
cheeks and crazy curls and Pillsbury Dough Boy body—had Sam, Evyn, and Isabelle
in four-way hug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Aidan joined in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Benji.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was a Super Senior love fest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Who’s
the new girl?” Dorf wanted to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“She’s hot.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There
were supposed to be seven of them: Sam, Evyn, and Isabelle; Jono, Aidan, Benji,
and Dorf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All veterans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All choosing camp over Teen Tours or summer
jobs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ashley was the surprise—which is
to say the shock—Isabelle brought from home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sam had heard about Ashley, obviously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everyone at camp shared stories from home and taped photos of their
friends on the cabin walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Ashley
looked nothing like Sam remembered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
was all Goth and badass, black hair and biker boots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knew?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sam had tried making conversation on the bus from Boston, but Ashley
wasn’t a big talker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She mostly listened
to music and stared out the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Which was fine with Sam, who mostly texted Charlie.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now,
on the patch of grass between Boys’ Side and Girls’ Side, Isabelle made
introductions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Boys, this is Ashley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ashley,
these are The Boys. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></i>Dorf was already working his
moves, throwing an arm around Ashley, asking what she did for fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was there anyone Dorf didn’t<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>hit on?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sam had to laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Boys were so
sweet and harmless, like puppies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everyone at camp loved those four.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There would be hookups this summer, for sure, and drama, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Sam wouldn’t miss being part of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had Charlie, and that’s all that
mattered.</div>
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Natasha Friendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01724196043779284859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502913192195526056.post-60735040287868695722014-04-22T11:55:00.000-07:002014-04-22T11:55:50.514-07:00The Sequel That Wasn't, Part II<style>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
ASHLEY</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Before
she left for camp, Ashley dyed her hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The label on the box did not lie: this was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blackest Black</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before, her
hair had been the color of whipped butter. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, it was the color of tar. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ashley’s
mother had freaked when she saw it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s what she wanted to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Was this some act of rebellion?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some adolescent attempt to embarrass their
family? </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></i>Ashley felt compelled to give
her mother an answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I needed a change</i>, she said—the
understatement of the century. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now,
she was stepping off the Greyhound bus with Isabelle, entering Camp Matokwa,
where she would live like Laura Ingalls Wilder for eight weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isabelle hadn’t said much about Ashley’s
hair, except to mention her eyebrows, which were still blond. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You might want to do something about those, </i>Isabelle
said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So
Ashley had bought a makeup pencil, a dark, waxy brown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It made the skin under her eyebrows itch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She felt like an imposter, a little girl
playing dress-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For
the past forty-three days, Ashley had been trying to forget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David said, “What happens at Sigma Chi stays
at Sigma Chi,” so that is what Ashley had been telling herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David was Ashley’s brother, a sophomore at
Colgate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her other brothers, Craig and
Jonathon, had gone there before him, and played hockey, and pledged Sigma Chi just
like their father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before her visit,
Ashley had thought she would go to Colgate, too—carry on the Barnum family tradition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
now she knew she wouldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would
never go back to that place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Every
time she closed her eyes, there He was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She was trying to forget, but she couldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That night was lodged in Ashley’s memory like
a popcorn kernel stuck between her teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She couldn’t shake it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
so, she ate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Doritos
and Oreos and White Cheddar Bugles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cookie
dough and Cool Whip and whole canisters of rainbow sprinkles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Food helped, while she was eating it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Food numbed her senses like a drug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But afterward, when her stomach was empty and
her mind was clear, she knew that she was only hurting herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d done this shit when she was thirteen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bingeing and barfing, the whole vicious
cycle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d gotten help and she’d stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, she was regressing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was, in fact, acting like a baby.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cut the crap, </i>Ashley told herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So why hadn’t she stopped?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She, Ashley Joy Barnum, had always been
lucky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had what every girl wanted:
she was pretty, she was well liked, and she was successful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ashley’s life was a perfect, red, shiny
apple, plucked from the highest branch—but then you took a bite and discovered
the truth. The apple was brown, rotten to the core.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You gagged, and you spit the whole thing out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ash?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isabelle said. “You okay?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ashley
had been so distracted that she hadn’t realized they were walking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ashley, Isabelle, Sam, Evyn, and a whole
bunch of people she didn’t know, loaded with duffel bags and teddy bears and
sleepsacks, shlumping across the field like a herd of buffalo.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
fine,” Ashley said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
sure?” Isabelle didn’t sound convinced.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Did
Ashley want to lie to her best friend?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No, she did not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But to tell Isabelle
the truth was to tell her about that night, and Ashley did not want to tell
anyone about that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so, Ashley
smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She willed her pretty lips skyward
and opened her blue eyes wide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was
good at this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I’m sure.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
*<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>*<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>*</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
For the past
forty-three days, Ashley had been trying to follow Trish’s advice. Trish had
been the leader of the eating disorder group Ashley had attended when she was
thirteen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t eat your feelings,”
Trish would say, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">write</i> your
feelings.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Journaling was Trish’s thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever emotion Ashley was experiencing, Trish
told her to “identify it” and “journal it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Was she hungry?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Angry?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lonely?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tired?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Putting her feelings on
paper, Trish said, would let some air out of Ashley’s “stress balloon.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Trish was a
cheeseball, no doubt, but Ashley had liked going to Group. Trish had helped
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now, trying to “identify her
feelings” was like trying to read Sanskrit or decipher hieroglyphs on the walls
of an Egyptian cave.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Ashley felt like
she was going crazy, so this was what she had written in her journal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I feel crazy.” (Followed by two pages of the
word “why” written in purple pen.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Writing in her favorite color, Trish had said, would help the process.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
So far, purple had
not helped the process.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The journal was
stuffed inside the massive canvas duffel that was now hanging from Ashley’s
shoulder, digging into her skin and bumping against her leg with each step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Whywhywhywhywhywhy?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ashley
could feel Isabelle glancing at her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Isabelle, her best friend since eighth grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isabelle, who had been begging her to come to
Camp Matokwa from the moment they met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Ashley had agreed
in a rebellious moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was January 1<sup>st</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ashley had, just seconds before, hung up the
phone on her mother, who had called Isabelle’s house to ream Ashley out for
leaving the Davenports’ New Year’s Eve party early the night before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ungrateful</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Selfish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Those
were her mother’s words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay yes,
Ashley had left the party without saying goodbye or thank you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay yes, Ashley had realized that Roland and
Alicia Davenport were important clients of her father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But did her mother realize that she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">would have</i> said goodbye and thank you if
she had not mistaken the coat closet for a bathroom and found her father and
Mrs. Davenport doing it against the wall?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ashley had told her mother gently, but her mother had accused her of
lying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Lying, despite the fact that
Ashley’s father had been caught in such positions before, by Ashley’s mother
herself.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So Ashley had hung up the
phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was sick of the drama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Isabelle suggested she come to Maine
this summer, to get away from her parents, Ashley had agreed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Camp would be good for her, she thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Camp would be an escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Ha!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The strap of the
duffel was ripping into her skin, the sun was burning her eyes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They seemed to be walking forever, like
prisoners on a chain gang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Looking at
Isabelle now, joking, laughing, Ashley barely recognized her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was chipper and ponytailed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had a bounce in her step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every so often she stopped to bump hips with
Sam or Evyn and do some complicated hand slap routine that ended in a
whoop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At school, Isabelle would never
act like this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was serious and
studious, a quiet observer, the yin to Ashley’s yang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The peanut butter to Ashley’s jelly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Iz?”
Ashley said, reaching for Isabelle’s arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ashley
could tell Isabelle—right here, right now, while the other girls marched on —she
could tell her about that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
what if Isabelle didn’t believe her? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if, like when Ashley told her mom about
Mrs. Davenport, Isabelle thought she was a liar?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, worse, that she’d gotten what she asked
for?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ashley had, after all, gone to a
fraternity party at her own volition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’d worn heels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d drunk
beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What happens at Sigma Chi stays at Sigma Chi. </i>Her brother’s words
thrummed in Ashley’s ears.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nothing,”
Ashley said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Isabelle
raised her eyebrows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Just thanks,”
Ashley said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“For bringing me here.”</div>
Natasha Friendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01724196043779284859noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502913192195526056.post-68588740662014102632014-01-30T10:35:00.003-08:002014-04-22T11:55:32.656-07:00Why I Never Throw Anything OutI had to transcribe this: a note given to me in eighth grade. I just found it in the bottom of a box. This is why I save everything. <br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Tasha, Tasha, I want you to know</i><br />
<i>that the feelings that I show</i><br />
<i>are not always true</i><br />
<i>like the times when I'm kind of mean to you</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Don't think that I hate you, I'm never mad</i><br />
<i>and I'd NEVER make you sad</i><br />
<i>because you're great, not bad</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>There is no one I place above</i><br />
<i>it's only you that I love</i><br />
<i>you're one person I could never hate</i><br />
<i>on a 1-10 scale, 10 is what you rate</i><br />
<i>if boys were fish you'd be the bait</i><br />
<i>every guy wants to be your date</i><br />
<i>don't ever change because you're GREAT</i><br />
<br />
<i>You, I never intend to hate or mock</i><br />
<i>I don't mean to come to the door and knock, knock</i><br />
<i>I'm glad you said you don't hate me because</i><br />
<i>the love that I have for you is a lock</i><br />
<i>that could: never be broken!</i>Natasha Friendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01724196043779284859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502913192195526056.post-74638982249611150442014-01-21T10:28:00.000-08:002014-01-22T06:30:27.558-08:00The Sequel That Wasn'tFor a writer, there are few things more mortifying than having a book rejected. For me, that book is <i>Lake Girls: </i>the sort-of sequel to <i>Perfect</i>, <i>Lush</i>, and <i>Bounce</i>, that brings Isabelle, Ashley, Sam, and Evyn together at summer camp.<br />
<br />
My ego may be bruised, but my literary spirit is not broken. So, for my readers who have been clamoring for a sequel, here is the first installment, book deal or no book deal:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
ISABELLE</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pulling
into camp, Isabelle saw everything through fresh eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, at the entrance, was the Matokwa sign
with its cockeyed “M.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was Uncle
Don in his khaki shorts and tube socks, fist pumping the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was the soccer field with its bald
patch that never, ever grew grass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Already the drama counselors were dorking out, chorus-lining on the
theater deck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Isabelle
felt Ashley’s fingers on her knee, squeezing, digging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was she nervous?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Excited?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For years, Isabelle had been begging her to come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eight
weeks in Maine!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No parents!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cute boys!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></i>Every time, Ash would say no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She wasn’t a “camp person.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Translation: Ashley Barnum couldn’t survive a day without a blow
dryer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To which Isabelle would say that no
one cared about hair at camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You just
wore a baseball cap, and anyway, half the time your hair was wet—an argument that
got her nowhere.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But back in January, Ashley’s
dad had another affair, and she and her mom started fighting all the time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ash practically lived at Isabelle’s house, which
was when Isabelle embarked on a full-court press.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She brought out the Matokwa photo albums.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Listen,”
Isabelle had said, as the two of them sipped hot chocolate in Isabelle’s
kitchen, “your parents are crazy now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Imagine how much crazier they’ll be by June.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Camp is the perfect escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll love it, I promise you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While they’re tearing each other’s hair out
you’ll be canoeing and bumper tubing and kissing boys in the woods.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isabelle swept her hand over the photos, like
a QVC saleswoman. “This could be your summer.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
couldn’t live with all those people,” Ashley said, and Isabelle had to
laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ashley Barnum was captain of the
field hockey team, secretary of the student council, and homecoming queen—as a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sophomore</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You didn’t get those things just by being
beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You had to be a people
person. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
don’t have to live with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everyone</i>,”
Isabelle said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just me, Sam, Evyn, and
Coop.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Isabelle
was referring to her two closest camp friends, Evyn Linney and Samantha Gwynn, and
Meredith Cooper, the best counselor ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Coop wasn’t just Uncle Don’s niece, Isabelle explained to Ashley; she
was a legend in her own right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inventor
of Smack the Rat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Winner of the
pie-eating contest at Carnival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best
M.C. of a Matokwa talent show Isabelle had ever seen. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Won’t
I be a fifth wheel?” Ashley said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are
you kidding me?” Isabelle said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They’ll
love you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Ashley was so
pretty, so high achieving, that you wanted to hate her, but you couldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was too nice to hate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was one of life’s great paradoxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Isabelle
had tried to explain their relationship to Coop once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How she’d idolized Ashley all through
elementary school, and how, in eighth grade, when they finally became friends,
she felt so lucky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the genesis of
their friendship was like a bad TV movie: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Popular
Girl and Fringe Girl meet in eating disorder therapy group, barf together,
bond.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, there was a confidence
between them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ashley Barnum had secrets no
one knew about but Isabelle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ashley
Barnum threw up her lunch, Ashley Barnum took Ex-Lax, chink in the armor, chink
in the armor.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not
that Isabelle should talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had
flaws, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who didn’t?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For starters, Isabelle wasn’t the best
sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was the time she had taken
a pair of scissors to April’s favorite mohair sweater and sliced the arms clean
off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had done this for revenge, pure
and simple, after April had taken a pair of Isabelle’s earrings without asking
and dropped one down the drain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had the violation
of the mohair sweater been justified?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Possibly, but still, April was her <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">little
sister</i>. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
her mother had first started dating Jim, Isabelle had behaved horribly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had accused her mother of desecrating her
father’s memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had told Jim to go
to hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as the words left her
mouth, Isabelle regretted them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
thought, I am the worst daughter ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t even want my own mother to be happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Over time, Isabelle discovered that Jim was actually a good guy; he was
good for her mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But those first few
months had not been Isabelle’s finest.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
There was the time
last summer when Isabelle had slutted it out, sneaking into the woods with
Benji Steiner and dry humping him against a tree while the rest of the senior
campers roasted marshmallows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the
last two weeks of camp Isabelle had ignored Benji completely for no other
reason than that she was embarrassed by how much she’d enjoyed their time
together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She once stole a copy
of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Forever</i> from the library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She avoided green vegetables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She hardly ever flossed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She still cried for her father every few weeks,
even though he had been dead for five years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And then there was this: the sad fact that while she loved Ashley so, so
much, she recently—only recently—wished they had never met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No,
Isabelle wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but at least she could admit it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least she wasn’t pretending to be someone
she wasn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If
Isabelle were to be very honest right now she would have to admit that inviting
Ashley to camp might have been a mistake.</div>
<span style="color: blue;">
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span>
Natasha Friendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01724196043779284859noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502913192195526056.post-26802259925508573792013-12-07T08:19:00.000-08:002013-12-08T11:58:59.402-08:00Mortification Survival Guide<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
These five easy steps will come in handy when you are, say,
riding your 10-speed through the school parking lot and the cute boy you have a
crush on waves to you and you crash into a school bus (true story):</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1) BREATHE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before
you say or do anything that will mortify you further, oxygenate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Take a moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regroup.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2) LAUGH.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little
self-deprecation goes a long way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
can’t laugh at yourself, smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
simple act of smiling will make you look better and feel better in the face of humiliation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(This is not your mother talking; this is
a scientific fact).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3) QUOTE SOMEONE AWESOME.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I am not having a day of power.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>-Anne Lamott . “Jump into my nightmare; the water’s warm.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-Jerry Maguire</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4) OWN IT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, you
are the girl who rode your bike into a school bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5) MOVE ON.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one
act defines your life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the words of
the late, great F. Scott Fitzgerald, <span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Never confuse a
single defeat with a final defeat.”</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>Some day, this
singular, mortifying moment may jumpstart a great cocktail party conversation—or
even a best-selling Y.A. novel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The 5 Steps to
Surviving Mortification also apply nicely to parenthood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you go to pick up your daughter from
school and she is, say, on all fours under the snack table, barking like a dog
while the other nice little children are sitting in a circle (true story),
breathe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Say, “Yup, that’s my girl.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Give her a hug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take her out for ice cream (or a dog biscuit).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the good stuff, people.</div>
Natasha Friendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01724196043779284859noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502913192195526056.post-67207370869145011222013-12-05T06:06:00.004-08:002014-01-22T07:32:08.060-08:00Prize-winning Challenge<style>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Be the first person to match each mortifying moment
with the correct character, and I will send you a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Perfect</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lush</i>, or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bounce</i> t-shirt.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mortifying moment:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>“I am left in the dust, still holding a brown
bag with my name on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would feel
like a loser right now if anyone in the cafeteria were looking at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no one is.”</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>“My tongue feels like sandpaper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, my Saturday night feels just as
casual and meaningless as all the other grist for the rumor mill.”</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>“I am painfully aware that I am wearing
a reflector vest and a bike helmet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
everyone else arrived in cars.” </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>“I was on speaker phone, listening to my friends
talk about how they didn’t want to talk to me.”</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>“Staggering through the woods like a rabid bear,
unzipping my jeans and squatting, before I even find a tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Making noises that no human being should
make.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 8;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Characters:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">A)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Isabelle (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Perfect</i>)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">B)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Sam (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lush</i>)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">C)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Evyn (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bounce</i>)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">D)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Josie (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">For
Keeps</i>)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">E)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Lexi (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My
Life in Black and White</i>)</div>
Natasha Friendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01724196043779284859noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502913192195526056.post-54143818526868846432013-12-03T09:57:00.002-08:002013-12-07T12:03:29.640-08:00Dear 13-year-old self<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear 13-year-old self,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know that eighth grade is a torture chamber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trust me; I was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember the movie date with M.S. where a
certain unmentionable event took place and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he
told everyone</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day your
locker was decorated with toilet paper and the words “Pepe Le Pew” written in
black sharpie. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the night T.W. plied you with half a purple
passion wine cooler, a certain unmentionable event took place in your backyard,
and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he told everyone</i>. The next day the hockey team serenaded
you, in front of the entire cafeteria, with “I Get Around” by the Beach Boys.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the school dance to which you wore a homemade
skirt (intentional) and a see-through shirt (unintentional).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When H.H. pointed out that he could see a
certain unmentionable body part, you announced, “I’m not interested in
sex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m interested in romance.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took years for you to live down those
words.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, 13-year-old self, your moments of mortification were plentiful. It’s a wonder you survived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Y</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ou</i>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>You are still here.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>And while life as a grown
up hasn’t become any less mortifying, it has become a whole lot easier to laugh
at yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, some of the
coolest, smartest, most functional adults you will meet have the most cringe-worthy
stories from their youth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So my message from the future isn’t so much “it gets better”
as “it gets funnier.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please don’t burn
your Judy Blume diary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your older, wiser self</div>
Natasha Friendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01724196043779284859noreply@blogger.com0