Meredith Zeitlin
G. P. Putnam’s Sons
An Imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
division of Penguin Young Readers Group.
Published by The Penguin Group.
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Copyright © 2012 by Meredith Zeitlin.
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Published simultaneously in Canada. Printed in the United States of America.
Design by Annie Ericsson. Text set in Meridien.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Zeitlin, Meredith.
Freshman year & other unnatural disasters / Meredith Zeitlin.
p. cm.
Summary: Smart, occasionally insecure, and ambitious Brooklyn fourteen-year-old Kelsey
Finkelstein embarks on her freshman year of high school in Manhattan with the intention
of “rebranding” herself, but unfortunately everything she tries to do is a total disaster.
[1. Self-acceptance—Fiction. 2. Self-perception—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction.
4. Family life—New York (State)—New York—Fiction. 5. High schools—Fiction.
6. Schools—Fiction. 7. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction. 8. Humorous stories.]
I. Title. II. Title: Freshman year and other unnatural disasters.
PZ7.Z395Fr 2012 [Fic]—dc22 2011005690
ISBN: 978-1-101-56050-1
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
This book is dedicated with love to my mother,
the indefatigable Marcia Arnold Zeitlin Bloch,
who has long believed that someone should
dedicate a book to her.
And to my splendid sister, Joanna,
who is a one-eyed pirate.
Table of Contents
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1
Here it is, practically mid-September, and it’s still too hot to live. I’m in the den trying to find anything worth watching on TV (fat chance on a Sunday night), and I can feel myself melting all over the couch. I love how my parents spend a million dollars putting in central air and then don’t want to use it because it’s “technically fall.” Everyone in the tristate area is wearing shorts, and my delusional parents seem to think a cold front is going to hit Brooklyn in the next five minutes. Um, global warming, anyone?
My three best friends—Em, JoJo, and Cassidy—are on their way over here right now, so all I can do is hope that they’re prepared for the Sahara-like conditions. Of course, they’ve been to my house about a zillion times, so they’re familiar with the endless cycle of injustice that is my life.
I give up on the TV and head upstairs to the kitchen to get some snacks ready—and to make sure I’m closest to the front door. That way I can guarantee that my friends aren’t intercepted by any nosy family members. Tonight is the last time we’re all getting together before the first day of school on Tuesday, and I can’t risk letting our important strategy session get sidetracked by my dad wanting to know if Em’s dad is free for a thrilling racquetball game next Saturday, or my mother telling Cassidy she just loves her new earrings and had some just like them when she was our age and who wants to see pictures of her back in the glory days?!
Seriously, the things I deal with.
Em and Cassidy arrive just as I’m fishing a giant bag of Twizzlers from the back of a cupboard. They toss their overnight bags on the floor in the kitchen and pull up stools at the breakfast counter. “I thought you guys were meeting JoJo at the train,” I say.
“We were,” Cass explains, ripping into the Twizzlers with relish. “She texted that she was—”
“Running late?” I chime in simultaneously. JoJo is always running late.
“Yep.” Em grins. She gets a can of root beer out of the fridge and takes a long sip. “Maybe it’s time to give up on her. I mean, we’ve only been friends for a decade. Maybe enough is enough?”
It always amazes me how Em is sarcastic and silly around us but so sweet and shy at school. I wish more people got to see this side of her—but of course, she’s been my very best friend since nursery school, so I know her better than anyone.
Cass adds, “Maybe we should start telling her we’re meeting half an hour before we really are so she’ll show up on time.” She grabs a handful of Wheat Thins from a box on the counter. “Think that would work?”
“You guys have so little faith in me!”
JoJo suddenly appears in the door frame. Her hair has new turquoise streaks in it, which means she’s been hanging out with her dad today. He was a guitarist with a semi-famous band when he was young and refuses to let go of the dream. He has a Mohawk and lots of tattoos and is always encouraging JoJo to express herself. And he doesn’t believe in rules, which works out great for the four of us when we go to her house.
Of course, right now we’re at my house, and my mother absolutely cannot resist putting in an appearance. “Hi, girls! Eating us out of house and home for a change, I see?”
Ugggghhh. “Mom! Can you not?”
“Kelsey, have you been
fiddling with the downstairs television set again? We put those parental controls on there for a reason, and it’s a pain in the neck to keep resetting them all the time.”
“I was just trying to—”
“Ooh, I like the new hair, JoJo. Very hip. And Em, I hear you had quite the romance at summer camp this year—I want to hear all about the lucky guy!”
As usual, the woman is unstoppable in her efforts to embarrass me in front of my friends. I start scooping up our snacks, saying, “Mom, we’d love to chat, but we have a lot to do tonight, so we’ll just relocate upstairs, if you don’t mind….” The girls and I start heading for the stairs.
“Big day on Tuesday, huh?” she calls, following us. “I know, I know, you don’t want to talk to your horrible mother. Tell me, do you girls treat your mothers like this?”
I herd my friends into my room and close the door, but not before we hear: “No, that’s fine, just ignore me—I’m used to the Typical Adolescent Behavior around here!”
She is seriously more annoying than any other person on the planet, including my dad. “Sorry, guys—you know how she is,” I groan, flopping onto the floor.
“Yeah, exactly like everyone’s mom. Except JoJo’s,” Cass points out. “And mine, obviously. But that’s because I only see her, like, once a year.”
Cass’s mom decided one day that she felt like living in Paris and left, so now Cass lives with her dad and older brother a few blocks from me in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Some people have all the luck, I tell you.
“Twizzler, please!” JoJo sings, holding out a hand. Em passes her a fistful. “Thanks. I’d’ve gotten them myself, but I’m working on my Typical Adolescent Behavior.”
“You didn’t really tell her about James, did you?” Em asks me. James is the guy Em has been dating from camp for the last two months.
“Em, are you crazy?” I gasp. “Of course not! She sneakily read one of your letters—I left it on the kitchen table for about eight seconds, and by the time I got back it was too late. She’s like the Secret Service.”
“Hey, I know!” JoJo says, pausing to swallow a mouthful of licorice. “Let’s spend all night talking about Kelsey’s mom. Oooor … we could talk about Tuesday.”
“Seriously. You only get one first day of high school, guys,” adds Cass. “What’s the plan?”
“Um, not get lost?” Em suggests. Em is brilliant, but she has the world’s worst sense of direction.
“Not get expelled?” JoJo offers.
“Wow, we’re really setting our sights on glory here,” I say. “Way to aim high, you guys.”
“Well, what did you have in mind, Kels? Like, streak through the cafeteria?”
“Yeah, Cass. That’s it exactly—I thought we could streak through the caf.”
I roll my eyes at her and she shrugs. “Well, just let me know what day so I can be sure to shave my legs.”
I’ll say this for Cass—she may be a little slow to catch up sometimes, but no matter what any of the three of us wants or needs, she’s behind us one hundred percent. Of course, as our resident drama queen, she’d probably love the attention we’d get if we did streak the caf.
Cassidy grabs the Wheat Thins and lies down with her back on the floor and her legs straight up against the wall. It’s part of a theater exercise or something—she’s been doing it since she started taking acting classes in sixth grade. I’m used to it by now, but it’s always fascinating to watch her eat upside down. And gross.
JoJo gives me a raised eyebrow. “What’s going on, Kels? You have some big plan in mind or something?”
“No, not really. Just … well, we’re in high school now. Obviously. And … it’s time to defy expectations! To … change people’s perceptions of us! I mean, I just feel like this year could be—”
“High school is still school, you know,” JoJo scoffs. “Lame, unlikely to result in anything useful, and—”
“Anyway, I’ve decided to really … do something this year. To make a mark. Stand out. Revamp myself for a new era. You know, like Lady Gaga.”
“You want to start wearing wigs and plastic bodysuits?”
“What? No. Okay—better example: Joan of Arc. You know, she wouldn’t settle for the expec—”
“Wasn’t she burned at the stake?!”
I sigh. “You’re killing me, Cass.”
“I’m just trying to understand what you mean!” She frowns.
“We might be here all night, then,” JoJo says.
Cassidy sits up and swats her playfully on the arm. “Seriously, though, what are you going to do to make your big mark?”
“Well … I was thinking I’d start with soccer. I mean, really take it seriously this year, work out on my own time …”
JoJo grins. “Hmm … I think I see where this is going now. Isn’t there a certain star of the guys’ soccer team that would be awfully impressed by that? Who could it be … ?”
Okay. It is true that Jordan Rothman, on whom I have had the world’s biggest crush since approximately birth, is an amazing soccer player—he’ll definitely make varsity, even as a freshman. And it’s also true that guys who play soccer tend to hang out with girls who play soccer. But that is not the reason I decided to go in this direction. Come on—I’m not that pathetic.
Seriously.
Seriously!
“JoJo, playing soccer happens to be very important to me, and it has nothing to do with Jordan. I want to make JV and play left wing. And I’m going to do it!”
“I’m going to get a lead in the spring musical,” Cass announces, upside down again. “I just started with a new vocal coach and she’s amazing.”
“See? This is the attitude I’m talking about!”
Em adds, “I think we should all follow your example, Kels. A positive attitude can make good things happen! And no,” she continues, cutting off a smirking JoJo, “I’m not just saying that because my mom made me read The Secret for Teens. Although … it wasn’t actually that bad.”
Cass and I exchange a look and try not to laugh. Em really is the cutest—especially when she gets all earnest and turns bright red, like she is now.
JoJo starts digging through her bag for the shirt she brought to sleep in. “I think if you want to play soccer, then play soccer. Wear your uniform to school every day and do push-ups in the hall or … whatever. But I think there’s an issue with your big plan. Like, a big one.”
Cass jumps in before I can say anything. “Geez, JoJo! Why don’t you just kick her in the shins while you’re at it?”
“Well, no offense to Kelsey, she’s a good player, but come on.” JoJo turns back to me. “You can’t start as left wing, as much as I want you to, obviously. Aren’t you forgetting something? Or should I say some one?”
I scowl at her. Of course I know exactly who JoJo is talking about, but I’m trying to be positive, for crying out loud.
“Nope,” I say firmly. “I don’t think I’m forgetting anything.”
“Um, Jemma Bradley? The girl who has beaten you out of that position every year since fourth grade?”
“And, also, well … you know. Jordan’s girlfriend for the last three years,” Em adds softly.
I squash a perfectly good mini Three Musketeers in frustration. Even thinking about Jemma Bradley—the most popular, prettiest, and nastiest girl in our grade—makes me crazy. But I’m determined not to let her ruin my year.
“This is a whole new ball game, ladies. The days of Jemma lording it over everyone are over. I can feel it! I will be chosen for left wing this year, and she will be … well, maybe she’ll decide to play field hockey instead. And we are not discussing Jordan, so don’t even start,” I add, sensing JoJo is about to reintroduce the subject of my lifelong obsession with one J. Rothman.
“Fine, fine, you win,” she concedes. “I will try to fight my cynical nature for one evening, okay? So, what’s everyone wearing on—”
Suddenly my bedroom door is flung wide open, and there’s my nine-year-old si
ster, Travis. She’s clutching the revolting blanky she should’ve been forced to throw away when she was four, and smirking. Very suspicious.
“Um, hello? Adults only. Go back to bed,” I tell her.
She says, “I’m not going to bed—it’s only nine o’clock! Besides, you aren’t an adult. Get real.”
Do you see how the little monster talks to me?!
“Trav, I loooove your pj’s,” Cass coos. She actually thinks Travis is cute, for some reason. “You look so adorable! Want a Twizzler?” Oh, lord. My sister is like a spaniel—once you feed her, she’ll never leave. Thanks, Cassidy.
Travis stands there munching on the Twizzler, getting strawberry spit all over her hand. Blech. I’m just about to throw up in my own lap when she wipes her mouth with the already filthy blanky and chirps, “Hey, Kelsey?”
“What?”
“Guess what?”
“What?” This is ridiculous. Doesn’t she understand that I have company?
“Remember that time when Mom brought me to visit you at camp?” She snags another Twizzler and a mini Snickers, too. Unbelievable.
“Uh, no? Can you go to bed now, please? Or go bug Mom or something?”
“Remember we watched your soccer game and you tripped over your own foot and your team lost?”
“Travis! Stop eavesdropping! Have you ever heard of privacy?”
“Whatever. You suck at soccer!” she yells, sticking out her tongue. I lunge in her direction, but she’s gone, leaving only a crumpled wrapper in her wake.
The girls are unsuccessfully smothering their laughter.
“That isn’t the whole story, you know. You’ve all seen me play! I should not have to defend myself against the ravings of a bratty little … Besides, that was two years ago. And we would’ve lost anyway, because this one girl kept shooting in the wrong goal and—aaaauuuugh!” Now I’m laughing, too.
We spend the rest of the night sifting through my wardrobe, which, as it turns out, is almost completely useless. I’d be lying if I said there aren’t a few prank calls that get made—reining in JoJo Andover is not a task for the faint of heart, or even her best friends. All in all, it’s a great night with my three favorite people in the world … even if I’m not completely sure they totally get my “defying expectations” idea.
Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters Page 1
