Summer Unscripted
(Sprache: Englisch)
A "bright and breezy romance" (PW) about missed connections and how not to miss out on the love of your life. For fans of Deb Caletti, Sarah Dessen, and Jenny Han.
Girl looks for a sign. Enter: boy.
Rainie doesn t have a passion...
Girl looks for a sign. Enter: boy.
Rainie doesn t have a passion...
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Klappentext zu „Summer Unscripted “
A "bright and breezy romance" (PW) about missed connections and how not to miss out on the love of your life. For fans of Deb Caletti, Sarah Dessen, and Jenny Han.Girl looks for a sign. Enter: boy.
Rainie doesn t have a passion like her friends do. She s more of a dabbler quick to give up and move on. But as graduation approaches, she wishes she had more direction. So when gorgeous Tuck gives a monologue that literally puts into words exactly how she s been feeling lately, it s a sign! Tuck is her passion. How could she not have seen it before?
Girl follows boy. Enter: second boy.
Rainie convinces her ex-BFF to let her work at the same summer job as Tuck. She s got a foolproof plan to date him. But when she arrives, Rainie discovers things aren't that simple. And she meets Milo, a super-cute boy who also works with her. A boy with a complicated past.
Girl needs to figure stuff out. Enter: drama.
"Klein breathes new life into the classic story of a girl chasing the wrong boy. . . . Will deeply satisfy readers." --SLJ
Lese-Probe zu „Summer Unscripted “
Chapter 1When the lightning strikes, I m a bored rose between two snoring thorns. The thorns are my best friends, Marin and Sarah, who are crashed out on either side of me, and the lightning is #nofilter-perfect Tuck Brady, sauntering across the stage of our high school auditorium. I--Rainie Langdon, the bored rose--am planted in row J. It s not a place where one usually encounters lightning.
But it s the final week of the school year, which at Dobbs High means roughly a zillion mandatory assemblies designed to highlight talent in every discipline. Sarah delivered a science lecture on Monday. Marin was part of the art show on Tuesday. Now here it is Thursday--and, true to form, I have yet to set foot on the stage.
Today s festival of shame is theater, which means the entire junior class has earned the endless joy of slumping in a too-warm auditorium while drama kid after drama kid trots onto the stage to deliver handcrafted monologues intended to punch us right in the angst.
It s the worst.
Until Tuck.
He clears his throat, runs his fingers through his golden-blond hair, and turns to the audience. More specifically, he turns to me. Across the rows of disinterested classmates, through the dim lighting of the auditorium, Tuck Brady s sky-on-a-sunny-spring-day eyes lock right onto mine.
Which can t really be happening, because that would be crazy. If Tuck and I happen to run into each other out in the real world--say, at a gas station or a hot-dog stand--we definitely say hello, and that s definitely it. When we see each other in the halls or the cafeteria at school, we generally don t even make eye contact, because he s too busy with his drama-head friends or his soccer friends or his music friends, and I m too busy gabbing with Marin and Sarah. What I m saying is--we do not run
... mehr
in the same circles, so there s no way he s looking at me.
Yet . . . he is.
I ve tuned out the last six hundred monologues, so I have no idea how different this one is, but it must be different because . . .
Because Tuck isn t just talking to me.
He s talking about me.
You re a canoe, Tuck says to me (and, presumably, the rest of the auditorium). You re floating. Aimless. You re drifting. Getting knocked askew by the waves of speedboats rocketing past you. They all know where they re going. They all have a plan. But you . . . you don t.
I glance at Sarah. She s a speedboat with big plans. Neurosurgery plans. She s got her next fifteen years mapped out to the minute. Then there s Marin. She s spent every summer since eighth grade at a different art program and already knows she s doing undergrad at Pratt, and Glasgow for her master s. Me, however . . .
Tuck is right. I m a canoe. No effing idea where I m going. Nary a paddle to be found.
Floating is easier. Tuck s gaze drifts to the balcony overhead, and I slowly relax. I was right the first time. Tuck is just being an actor, and I m just being my usual: the girl without a country. You don t have to be brave if you re not the one steering. It s the current making choices, not you.
Tuck s eyes suddenly dart back to my own. He sends a smile blazing across the seats at me, and--because I can t believe what I m seeing--I throw out both elbows. They connect solid with my friends. Marin only waves a hand at me and huffs a little, flopping her head to the other side and g
Yet . . . he is.
I ve tuned out the last six hundred monologues, so I have no idea how different this one is, but it must be different because . . .
Because Tuck isn t just talking to me.
He s talking about me.
You re a canoe, Tuck says to me (and, presumably, the rest of the auditorium). You re floating. Aimless. You re drifting. Getting knocked askew by the waves of speedboats rocketing past you. They all know where they re going. They all have a plan. But you . . . you don t.
I glance at Sarah. She s a speedboat with big plans. Neurosurgery plans. She s got her next fifteen years mapped out to the minute. Then there s Marin. She s spent every summer since eighth grade at a different art program and already knows she s doing undergrad at Pratt, and Glasgow for her master s. Me, however . . .
Tuck is right. I m a canoe. No effing idea where I m going. Nary a paddle to be found.
Floating is easier. Tuck s gaze drifts to the balcony overhead, and I slowly relax. I was right the first time. Tuck is just being an actor, and I m just being my usual: the girl without a country. You don t have to be brave if you re not the one steering. It s the current making choices, not you.
Tuck s eyes suddenly dart back to my own. He sends a smile blazing across the seats at me, and--because I can t believe what I m seeing--I throw out both elbows. They connect solid with my friends. Marin only waves a hand at me and huffs a little, flopping her head to the other side and g
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Jen Klein
JEN KLEIN is the author of Shuffle, Repeat. When she s not writing YA novels, Jen is an Emmy-nominated television writer, currently writing on the series Grey s Anatomy. She lives in Los Angeles. Visit her online at jenkleinbooks.com and follow her on Twitter at @jenkleinbooks.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Jen Klein
- Altersempfehlung: Ab 12 Jahre
- 2017, 320 Seiten, Maße: 14,1 x 21,6 cm, Gebunden, Englisch
- Verlag: Random House Books for Young Readers
- ISBN-10: 1524700045
- ISBN-13: 9781524700041
- Erscheinungsdatum: 29.05.2017
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
"Give this novel to readers who love stories about the bonds of friendship with a side of romance. VOYA"This is a bright and breezy romance." Publishers Weekly
"An entertaining and even touching romance." --Publishers Weekly (for Shuffle, Repeat)
"Addictive. Fans of Deb Caletti and Sarah Dessen will enjoy this sweet romance." --SLJ (for Shuffle, Repeat)
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