Dear Teen Me

by Miranda Kenneally

  Elizabeth Miles is the debut author of Fury (2011), the first book in the Fury series. Fury is a paranormal thriller that’s been compared to Stephen King, ‘80s horror movies, and Gossip Girl. (Elizabeth can’t decide which of those comparisons she likes best.) A journalist by day, Elizabeth lives in Portland, Maine, with her boyfriend and two cats. She and Lauren have been besties since eighth grade. Learn more at ElizabethMilesBooks.com or TheFurySeries.com.

  JUST BE YOURSELF!

  Stephanie Pellegrin

  Dear Teen Me,

  Psst! Hey! You in the corner of the library with your nose stuck in a book. Yes, you. Don’t recognize me without that awful perm, do you? (Remind me again why you thought that was a good idea?)

  Anyway, I hope you don’t mind if I sit with you for a minute, but we need to talk. Don’t worry about the “no talking in the library” rule. I’m sure we’ll be fine. Librarians aren’t as bad as they seem.

  Judging from the hair and braces I’d have to guess you’re in your junior year. Yes? Thought so. I’d forgotten how many lonely lunch hours you spent in the school library. You have some friends in the cafeteria that you could sit with, but you don’t feel like you really fit in, do you? That’s why you joined every school club you could. I just counted and you’re in eighteen, not to mention the numerous after-school activities you’re involved in. I mean honestly, you joined the ROTC. You don’t even like ROTC! And I won’t even bother bringing up that time you tried ballet. I’m still having nightmares about the fifth position!

  Let me ask you, how’s it all working out? Not very well, am I right? By spending so much time trying to find yourself, you’re slowly losing yourself. We don’t all have one single rock-star talent, and honestly, I think those of us who don’t are the lucky ones. Life isn’t about finding the one thing you’re good at and never doing anything else; it’s about exploring yourself and finding out who you really are on your own terms and in your own way. You don’t have to exhaust yourself to do that.

  Oh, don’t be so down in the dumps about it. You’ll eventually find something you’re good at, I promise. It’s a long, winding road to get there, but you’ll find it. Being able to spend all day doing what you love (or one of the things that you love) is the most amazing feeling in the world. And no, I won’t tell you what it is, so don’t even ask me. Just remember to always be yourself, because there’s nobody else who can do it for you. I think E. E. Cummings put it best when he said, “It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”

  Looks like the bell is about to ring so I’ll leave you to your book. What are you reading, anyway? Oh, The Last Battle by C. S. Lewis. I should have guessed. You should give those Harry Potter books a try. I saw you roll your eyes! I know they seem like just another fad, but trust me, they’re better than you think. They’ve got a real future!

  Stephanie Pellegrin wrote her first novel in second grade. It was about a boy heart who falls in love with a girl heart only to find out her “heart” belongs to another. She now writes young adult and middle-grade fiction. She is involved in the Austin, Texas, chapter of Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, and is a cofounder of Literary Lonestars, a Facebook group dedicated to Texas bloggers and authors. Stephanie currently lives with her husband in Austin.

  FIRST KISS

  Mitali Perkins

  Dear Teen Me,

  I know you’ve liked him—adored him, really—for full-on two years now. But somehow, nobody knows about it, not even friends who share their crushes in intimate detail. You pour the truth only into journals stashed deep in desk drawers.

  He’s a basketball star with strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes. You? The only dark-skinned girl in school—a straight-A nerd, trying to obey traditional Hindu parents and squandering babysitting money on trendy jeans.

  But you both play tennis. And he needs help in English class. So you’re friends.

  Now it’s junior year. You’re losing hope. You think there’s no way he’s going to like you. Not in that way, not a chance. When you’re standing in a group of white girls, the guys look right past you.

  But wait. Be patient. Let me show you something….

  “Want to go to the amusement park with a bunch of us this Saturday?” he asks, passing your table on the way to eat lunch with his basketball buddies.

  You’re with your regulars, but he’s looking at you. Right at you. Only at you.

  “Sure,” you say, managing to keep your voice as easy and relaxed as his.

  The regulars are quiet, but only for a bit. You see them shrug and shake it off. A blip, for sure. Guys ask them out in front of you, not vice versa, right? You’re the confidante they trust around that boyfriend with a wandering eye: You’re not quite invisible but you are safely neutered. Loveless but beloved.

  Saturday dawns, a breezy, summery Santa Cruz–perfect day. You chat with the others on the drive, but once you get into the park and ride the carousel twice, everybody else disappears.

  I promise this will happen. Don’t give up.

  Your head buzzes with the nearness of him as you twist and turn on the roller coaster. You almost taste the sweetness of his smile as he wins a stuffed bear and hands it to you. But you’ve become an expert at hiding your passion. The buddy banter continues and you avoid his eyes.

  On the ride home, tired and squashed in the back with the others, you won’t talk. But he rests an arm along the back of the seat, his T-shirt soft against your neck. Your ponytail brushes his skin. Will he feel how fast your heart is beating? You pretend to watch the scenery. He closes his eyes after the sunset.

  One by one, the others get dropped off. Now it’s just the two of you in the backseat, but he won’t slide to the other window. No, he stays close, denim leg against yours, his free-throwing arm still stretched out behind you. You make yourself not lean into him in the darkness.

  As the car stops in front of your house, his eyes flick to the rearview mirror. You open the door and swing a leg out. “Thanks so much,” you say.

  In one quick move, as smooth and agile as when he scores a layup at the buzzer, he leans over and kisses your cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

  The car pulls away.

  You won’t remember how long you stand outside the house.

  You’ll forget if the night was starry or if the plums on the tree were ripe.

  But you’ll never forget that kiss, soft on your cheek. Those words, spoken low in your ear. And the dizzy, overwhelming sweetness of being seen, known, and wanted—all for the first time.

  Mitali Perkins is the author of several books for teens, including Monsoon Summer (2006), Secret Keeper (2010), Bamboo People (2010), and the First Daughter books. She and the guy in this letter went their separate ways during college, where she met and married the love of her life. The Perkins family lives in Massachusetts with a chubby black Labrador. Visit her at MitaliPerkins.com.

  HOLD ON TIGHT

  Cheryl Rainfield

  Dear Teen Me,

  I know you dream of escape, of being rescued, of never being hurt again. I know you think your pain will never end, and sometimes you don’t know how to go on. And I know you think about killing yourself. You’re good with blades, and you know that you could do it. But something stops you. And that something is good: It’s hope. Hope, tenacity, and your fighting spirit.

  I know that when your pain feels unbearable, when every second seems like torture, you cut yourself in secret, then carefully hide the evidence beneath long sleeves. But you wish someone would see the truth and ask “why?” You wish someone could see past your parents’ facades, their “protectiveness,” and their tight smiles, and see how cruel they really are.

  I know it seems like it will never end—the rape, the torture—and so you push it down as hard as you can and try to forget, but fragments keep slicing into your mind. Somehow, you’re sure that remembering is the only way to get safe. And you’re right. Remembering and telling your story is
the key to your safety.

  You will escape. You’ll run away from home, and when they find you again, you’ll have to endure even more abuse. But you’ll keep building up your inner strength so that you can find a way to break away again and again and again. Each and every time that you cut off contact with your abusers, you liberate yourself a little bit more, until you are finally and completely free.

  You’ll find a good therapist, one who gives you empathy, compassion, and love. She will be a lifeline for you, and you’re right to seek her support. It’s too hard to do it alone. All those experiences and your own intuition will help you figure out exactly who you can trust. You’ll fight your abusers’ attempts to break you down by creating your own counter messages, and by finding other people who will appreciate and support you. You’ll break through your abusers’ mind control, lies, and threats, and you’ll find your voice in writing. You’ll write books! And they’ll reach other teens who need them. You will touch lives.

  I know you feel like you can’t hang on. I know you feel like you can’t survive. But you will, and you’ll be glad that you did. You’ll have moments of quiet happiness, and later, joy. You’ll find true friends who treasure you. It won’t always hurt like this. It won’t always be like it is right now. The pain will lessen.

  Stop hating yourself. The hatred doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to the ones who torture you. Try to let it go, and to be gentle with yourself. Try not to hurt yourself. You don’t deserve it. Believe in yourself—in your vision and your goodness—and trust yourself. You know what you need. Just keep holding on. Good things are coming, I promise.

  So keep hold of your strength. You are so much stronger than you know. Keep hold of your compassion, your intuition, and your intelligence. They can’t take those things away from you. Keep writing, keep creating art, keep reading, and keep finding your way through the darkness. You’ll make a good life for yourself. And you will find safety, happiness, and love. So hang on until then, my girl.

  Cheryl Rainfield is the author of Hunted (2011) and Scars (2010), a Top 10 YALSA Quick Pick for Reluctant Readers and a Governor General Literary Award Finalist. Visit CherylRainfield.com, Twitter.com/CherylRainfield, and Facebook.com/CherylRainfield.

  Dave Roman is the creator of Astronaut Academy: Zero Gravity (2011), and has written several graphic novels including Jax Epoch and the Quicken Forbidden (cocreated with John Green and self-published in 2003, while they were students at the School of Visual Arts) and Teen Boat! (2012). Dave was a comics editor at Nickelodeon Magazine for eleven years. He collaborated with his wife, Raina Telgemeier, on X-Men: Misfits (2009), which was a New York Times best-seller. His website is YayTime.com.

  STOP OBSESSING, KISS THAT GUY, AND PARTY LIKE IT’S 1999

  Jess Rothenberg

  Dear Teen Me,

  Greetings from the future! So I know you’re super busy with studying, college apps, tennis practice, memorizing your lines for Peter Pan, backing your new car into a tree, trying (and failing) to tame that totally frizz-tastic hair of yours, and watching Titanic for the eightieth time—but I have to ask you for a small favor. (Hint: The favor involves backing away from the “I ♥ Leonardo DiCaprio” chat room for just a quick second.)

  So being that I am you—except ten or twelve years from now—I wanted to pop in with a few pointers on how to make the next phase of life a little less painful and a little more fun. I’m not going to give you ALL the answers, since (a) that would be cheating and (b) I’m still searching for most of them myself, but there are a few specific words of wisdom I’d love to share.

  1. Never, ever try cutting your own bangs. So there’s this movie called 500 Days of Summer that will come out in 2009 and make you/every girl in the universe want bangs more than anything. But trust me, just because bangs look amazing on Zooey Deschanel does NOT mean they will look good on you. When you make that fateful snip, you’ll discover the horrible truth: You have not one, but TWO cowlicks on either side of your forehead! No amount of product will save you, Teen Jess. And you will spend YEARS waiting for that shit to grow out. So do us both a favor and back away from the scissors! You’ve been warned.

  2. Shake it like a Polaroid picture. Take advantage of your teenage hotness! Dance it up! Sing it up! Live it up! Flaunt that bikini and buy that hot pink miniskirt you’ve been eyeing at T. J. Maxx. It all looks amazing on you, so show off that gravity-free bod while you can! In a few years when you’re slaving/daydreaming in an office cubicle, you’ll so wish you had.

  3. Sha-la-la-la-la-la, don’t be shy, go on and kiss that guy! (Like in The Little Mermaid, but reversed!) Don’t be scared of guys, Teen Jess. You may have spent years at an all-girls’ school, but I’m here to report boys aren’t all that different from your average household pest (hungry, hairy, and helpless)! And trust me, they’re JUST as scared of you as you are of them.

  4. Party like it’s 1999. When you move to New York, a wise person will tell you: RSVP yes to EVERYTHING. So true! Unless you’re literally dying of malaria, never skip out on a party—even one you think will be lame. Why? Because you never know who you’re going to meet! I won’t spoil the surprise, but believe me, one of those parties will change your life more than you could possibly imagine…in a good way!

  5. Stop obsessing. It’s totally normal to worry about what other people think of you. But I swear, the only people whose opinions truly matter are your best friends and family. Forget about the rest! In a few years, high school will feel like forever ago. The world is enormous, and you’ve got lots of awesome adventures ahead of you. Sure, you’ll make some mistakes along the way. (Thank goodness, because otherwise life would get pretty boring!) So in those stressful moments, just take a deep breath, chillax, and do your best to ENJOY THE RIDE. You’ll be glad you did.: )

  Jess Rothenberg grew up in Charleston, South Carolina, graduated from Vassar College, and spent most of her twenties editing books for teens and middle-grade readers (like New York Times best-sellers Vampire Academy, Strange Angels, and I am a Genius of Unspeakable Evil & I Want to Be Your Class President, to name a few). She lives in Brooklyn, where she writes full-time, dances interpretively, and dreams of one day owning a sheepdog named Leo. The Catastrophic History of You and Me (2012) is her first novel. Visit JessRothenberg.com.

  Q and A:

  WHERE WAS YOUR FIRST KISS?

  “Summer camp, after a bonfire.”

  Elizabeth Miles

  “In a plastic ‘cozy cottage’ from Toys ‘R’ Us in my backyard. (I closed the plastic windows!)”

  Jessica Burkhart

  “Basement. Spin the Bottle. Kim H.”

  Geoff Herbach

  “My first kiss was when I was 15 and at a roller rink. It was cheesy and amazing…I was majorly crushing on the guy. The kiss didn’t happen on the rink though—he was playing a video game and I just walked up and did it. I know how to make the magic happen, people.”

  Rhonda Stapleton

  “Stuffed between smelly overcoats in a closet at a party.”

  Sean Beaudoin

  “Church camp!”

  Sarah Ockler

  “In my bedroom while watching wrestling on TV. My brother kept interrupting because he wanted to watch wrestling with the guy I had over. But I wanted to kiss!”

  Miranda Kenneally

  “In the front seat of a pick-up truck—being careful of the stick shift. No pun intended.”

  Bethany Hegedus

  “Behind my cabin at sleep-away camp—where my entire bunk watched (and cheered) through the whole humiliating thing, 1994”

  Jess Rothenberg

  “Backstage. I was wearing makeup to make me look like an old woman.”

  Hannah Moskowitz

  “In a closet.”

  Marke Bieschke

  “My first real kiss—a kiss with a girl I both cared about and was attracted to—didn’t take place until my freshman year in college. It was in the front seat of my ‘59 Plymouth just before I said goodnigh
t after a date at the movies. And, no, I am not going to tell you her name.”

  Joseph Bruchac

  “I never kiss and tell”

  Riley Carney

  ALL ROADS LEAD SOMEWHERE

  Jennifer Rush

  Dear Teen Me,

  In the fall of 2001, your friend will call you late at night and ask you to go for a ride. She doesn’t have a destination. She’s just bored and wants to hang out.

  Here’s my first bit of advice: Go.

  Around 2:00 am, your friend will take the highway back into town. The road stretches on for twenty miles, but you know that somewhere on that road your cousin owns a house. To pass the time, you look for his vehicle in the slide of headlights. Since he just recently moved there, you’re mostly curious to see what the place looks like.

  Ten minutes from the main road, when you’ve given up the search, you’ll see flashing red and blue lights.

  Here’s my next bit of advice: Sit up.

  There’s an ambulance in a dirt driveway. A cop car. You twist around as you pass.

  “Something crazy’s going down there,” your friend says.

  Don’t look away.

  An hour later, back at home, the phone will ring. “I need to talk to your mom,” your aunt says in a voice so strained you can barely hear her.

  “She’s sleeping—”

  “Wake her up. Please.”