Antisocial
What if your biggest secrets became public?
(Sprache: Englisch)
What if your greatest secrets became public? For the students at Alexandria Prep, a series of hacks leads to a scandalous firestorm--and the students are left wondering whose private photos and messages will be exposed next. Dark secrets are exposed, and...
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What if your greatest secrets became public? For the students at Alexandria Prep, a series of hacks leads to a scandalous firestorm--and the students are left wondering whose private photos and messages will be exposed next. Dark secrets are exposed, and lives are shattered. Sometimes we share too much.
Klappentext zu „Antisocial “
What if your greatest secrets became public? For the students at Alexandria Prep, a series of hacks leads to a scandalous firestorm and the students are left wondering whose private photos and messages will be exposed next. It s Pretty Little Liars meets WikiLeaks.ONE HACK. EVERY SECRET. EXPOSED.
Alexandria Prep is in total social chaos. Someone no one knows who has hacked into the phones of the school s social royalty and leaked their personal messages and photos. At first it was funny everyone loved watching the dirty private lives of those they envied become public. But when things escalate, the students realize anyone could be a target.
When Anna returns to school for senior spring, she s initially grateful that all eyes are on everyone else s problems...and not on her humiliating breakup with her basketball-star boyfriend. But as the hacks begin to shatter lives and threaten futures, Anna races to protect those she loves as well as her own devastating secrets.
If only the students of Alexandria Prep could turn back the clock so they knew then what they know now: sometimes we share too much.
"This debut novel is timely, cautionary, and compelling." VOYA, starred review
"In an age of adult anxieties over digital privacy, this book is #relevant." Kirkus Reviews
Lese-Probe zu „Antisocial “
1If I seem a little wired or high strung or just plain off, don t worry. I m not nuts. I just have a tendency to overthink every single thing that comes my way, ever. I suffer from what s known as social anxiety disorder, sometimes called social phobia. Big deal. So do fifteen million other people in America, or at least they will at some point in their lives, according to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America. I ll spare you the psychobabble. Basically, a good number of my social interactions, both online and IRL, do bad, bad things to my nerves.
So you can probably guess how I m feeling right now, in the dining hall at Alexandria Preparatory Academy, less than two weeks after my boyfriend dumped me and the whole world remembered that I m socially irrelevant. That I m not even close to being the cool, collected girl I ve been passing for over the last three months.
My palms are so slippery that the tray I m clutching like a religious offering may pop right out of my hands and fly across the room, trailing lunch behind it. I can hear the screams of laughter already. I close my eyes for a second and inhale through my nose.
Go somewhere calming in your mind, my therapist, Dr. Bechdel, would say in her soothing voice. I picture the volcanic black-and-snowy-white landscape of Vatnajökull Park in Iceland, feel the icy wind, not another soul in sight. Exhale, then open my eyes. One thing at a time. I ve been working with Dr. Bechdel on it for months.
Sup, Anna? I hear at my three o clock.
I turn just in time to see Dylan Johnson whiz by me. Then, as Dylan passes, another word comes out of his mouth. The word I spent all of Christmas break dreading, the word I ve heard six times already today. That I can t stand hearing anymore.
Sorry, he says without
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looking.
It s the first day back from winter break. The beginning of the end. Last semester of my high school career. It s an enviable position to be in, and you d think that by now I d have a million choices for where to sit in the Prep dining hall. But I don t have a million choices. I m not sure I have any choices.
My old table--the one I sat at all of sophomore and junior years--is on the far left side of the dining hall. Nikki, Jethro, and Haven are yapping away, laughing and gesturing. Whatever they re talking about, I d give my left ovary to be in on it. This is my mission now--to get back there. Someday I ll convince them that I am not the biggest jerk in the history of Prep. I have to believe that.
Today I ll settle for sitting anywhere that people won t say That Word to me. And hopefully where people won t even look in my direction. The plan is simple: get to an empty table, take a few bites, get my blood sugar up, and show the world that I m still here. That I m down but not out.
I ve run through this scene in my head--play by play, shot for shot, all possible outcomes--approximately 2.4 billion times since Christmas. But right now, bolting through the cafeteria is so tempting.
Stick to the plan, Anna. The plan is the only friend you have left.
I spot a table at the back. I can do this.
Mr. Fortini, the PE teacher, gives me a crinkly-eyed smile as he walks by. Great. Pitying looks from my teacher. At least he spared me an It Gets Better speech.
The first table I pass on my way to my I am woman, hear me eat alone home on the other side of the dining hall is the table of the drama crew, also known as the Thesbos. Most of them are run-of-the-mil
It s the first day back from winter break. The beginning of the end. Last semester of my high school career. It s an enviable position to be in, and you d think that by now I d have a million choices for where to sit in the Prep dining hall. But I don t have a million choices. I m not sure I have any choices.
My old table--the one I sat at all of sophomore and junior years--is on the far left side of the dining hall. Nikki, Jethro, and Haven are yapping away, laughing and gesturing. Whatever they re talking about, I d give my left ovary to be in on it. This is my mission now--to get back there. Someday I ll convince them that I am not the biggest jerk in the history of Prep. I have to believe that.
Today I ll settle for sitting anywhere that people won t say That Word to me. And hopefully where people won t even look in my direction. The plan is simple: get to an empty table, take a few bites, get my blood sugar up, and show the world that I m still here. That I m down but not out.
I ve run through this scene in my head--play by play, shot for shot, all possible outcomes--approximately 2.4 billion times since Christmas. But right now, bolting through the cafeteria is so tempting.
Stick to the plan, Anna. The plan is the only friend you have left.
I spot a table at the back. I can do this.
Mr. Fortini, the PE teacher, gives me a crinkly-eyed smile as he walks by. Great. Pitying looks from my teacher. At least he spared me an It Gets Better speech.
The first table I pass on my way to my I am woman, hear me eat alone home on the other side of the dining hall is the table of the drama crew, also known as the Thesbos. Most of them are run-of-the-mil
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Jillian Blake
JILLIAN BLAKE grew up in New England, where she kept her deepest, darkest secrets password-protected. Antisocial is her first novel.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Jillian Blake
- Altersempfehlung: Ab 14 Jahre
- 2018, 256 Seiten, Maße: 13,9 x 20,8 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Penguin Random House
- ISBN-10: 1101938994
- ISBN-13: 9781101938997
- Erscheinungsdatum: 29.05.2018
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
"This debut novel is timely, cautionary, and compelling." VOYA, starred review"In an age of adult anxieties over digital privacy, this book is #relevant." Kirkus Reviews
"A compelling read...readers will be double-checking their own passwords." Booklist
"Antisocial is nothing short of an eye-opening wakeup call...a fast-paced, intriguing and emotional story...and a heartfelt look at true friendship and love." Justine magazine
Antisocial stands somewhere between a warning and a wake-up call, reminding readers that unlikely victims and villains are everywhere, but more importantly, that it is never too late to lend a helping hand." TheYoungFolks.com
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