Book Description:
When V’s life crumbles
around her, she has two options: let it take her down with it or dive straight
in
around her, she has two options: let it take her down with it or dive straight
in
Virginia “V” Dunn is alone
when her dog is hit by a car. Lucky’s back leg is shattered, and when she
comforts him, his blood is wet on her hands. Suddenly, the monotony of V’s
suburban life dissolves: Lucky is in a cast; her best friend, Eileen, is
avoiding her; her mother’s drinking is getting worse; and her father is sick
with a mysterious illness. Although V is surrounded by family, she is the
loneliest girl in town.
when her dog is hit by a car. Lucky’s back leg is shattered, and when she
comforts him, his blood is wet on her hands. Suddenly, the monotony of V’s
suburban life dissolves: Lucky is in a cast; her best friend, Eileen, is
avoiding her; her mother’s drinking is getting worse; and her father is sick
with a mysterious illness. Although V is surrounded by family, she is the
loneliest girl in town.
As V begins
to question everything—death, friendship, family, betrayal—she finds there are
few easy answers. The people she thought she knew are strangers, and life’s
meaning eludes her. Into this mystery walks the captivating Jane, and V soon
realizes that the only way forward seems to break every rule, and go beyond all
limitations.
to question everything—death, friendship, family, betrayal—she finds there are
few easy answers. The people she thought she knew are strangers, and life’s
meaning eludes her. Into this mystery walks the captivating Jane, and V soon
realizes that the only way forward seems to break every rule, and go beyond all
limitations.
Excerpt:
Sometimes the night
never ends; it just breaks into light and we pretend. I am alive, though I tend
to forget that when I’m
pretending, and I’m fifteen. I have sweeping dark hair and hazel eyes
that turn green when I cry. Sometimes
I rub my hands together, maybe just to see if it’s really me. I wear the
glasses I’m supposed to wear when
I’m in the mood
and when- ever I remember my
sunglasses because the day hurts my eyes.
Maybe the pretending has torn the edges of who I am, so the result is a frayed
and sensitive me.
never ends; it just breaks into light and we pretend. I am alive, though I tend
to forget that when I’m
pretending, and I’m fifteen. I have sweeping dark hair and hazel eyes
that turn green when I cry. Sometimes
I rub my hands together, maybe just to see if it’s really me. I wear the
glasses I’m supposed to wear when
I’m in the mood
and when- ever I remember my
sunglasses because the day hurts my eyes.
Maybe the pretending has torn the edges of who I am, so the result is a frayed
and sensitive me.
If the night never
ends, who can see? The day boils down to pretending what is and is not there.
Because she does not want me to, I do not see the black eye on my mother’s face
as the bruise changes, fades a blotchy red to a tattered purple, then spreads
to flat green.
ends, who can see? The day boils down to pretending what is and is not there.
Because she does not want me to, I do not see the black eye on my mother’s face
as the bruise changes, fades a blotchy red to a tattered purple, then spreads
to flat green.
Because he assumes
nobody does, I do not see the increasingly
bloodshot eyes of my brother as he stares past me at dinner. And I do not see the raised
eyebrows on Baby Teeth’s
face that settle more
frequently into surprise as she watches and help-lessly learns this pretending
game. I wish I could tell her she doesn’t
have
to play, though
if she’s to survive
life in this house,
she will.
nobody does, I do not see the increasingly
bloodshot eyes of my brother as he stares past me at dinner. And I do not see the raised
eyebrows on Baby Teeth’s
face that settle more
frequently into surprise as she watches and help-lessly learns this pretending
game. I wish I could tell her she doesn’t
have
to play, though
if she’s to survive
life in this house,
she will.
So I do not notice that on the days that we do not go to the hospital, she spends every afternoon at other people’s
houses now. And I especially do not see the absence of my father at dawn when
he does not kiss the sleeping Baby Teeth good-bye before he climbs down the stairs in his
solid brown shoes and goes to work. And I do not see his absence as I pass his
empty chair at night when I walk into the kitchen to feed my dog. The last
thing I do not see is my tilting, limping
Lucky as he waits by his
empty bowl, or the image of the vile green VW that hit him.
houses now. And I especially do not see the absence of my father at dawn when
he does not kiss the sleeping Baby Teeth good-bye before he climbs down the stairs in his
solid brown shoes and goes to work. And I do not see his absence as I pass his
empty chair at night when I walk into the kitchen to feed my dog. The last
thing I do not see is my tilting, limping
Lucky as he waits by his
empty bowl, or the image of the vile green VW that hit him.
So what do I see?
That I have learned to pretend so well, I can do it with my eyes open. April
has ended, and its cruelty too, I hope, when we weren’t looking,
or were busy pretending, or maybe while we slept.
That I have learned to pretend so well, I can do it with my eyes open. April
has ended, and its cruelty too, I hope, when we weren’t looking,
or were busy pretending, or maybe while we slept.
So it’s May. And what does it bring?
April showers bring
May flowers. Well, really. I
try to remember, uncertainly, if there was a lot of rain last month. No. But
please flower anyway, all over me. I’ll keep my eyes open. Maybe
it won’t happen all at
once, the way change seems to. Now that’s something. Change blooms.
April showers bring
May flowers. Well, really. I
try to remember, uncertainly, if there was a lot of rain last month. No. But
please flower anyway, all over me. I’ll keep my eyes open. Maybe
it won’t happen all at
once, the way change seems to. Now that’s something. Change blooms.
Stacey
Donovan is a critically acclaimed author of fiction and nonfiction for adults
and young adults. She is the founder of Donovan Edits, and has edited
or ghostwritten more than twenty-five books, including three New York
Times bestsellers and several nonfiction titles that have
become leading works in their respective fields. Donovan lives in New York,
where she continues to write and edit.
Donovan is a critically acclaimed author of fiction and nonfiction for adults
and young adults. She is the founder of Donovan Edits, and has edited
or ghostwritten more than twenty-five books, including three New York
Times bestsellers and several nonfiction titles that have
become leading works in their respective fields. Donovan lives in New York,
where she continues to write and edit.
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