Why you’re wrong: You’ll make amazing friends in college and in your twenties, and you’ll become even closer friends with them than you were with your high school friends, albeit in different ways. And they’ll make you laugh just as hard as you did before. They’ll all be additions, not replacements, so stop worrying about losing old friends.
You’ll never be as popular as Lisa Shipley.*
Why you’re right: In the context of the Chapel Hill High School hallways, she will always have more social cred.
Why you’re wrong: I mean, who cares? She posts professional photos of her cats all over this thing called Facebook. I’d be willing to bet you that even in high school, when you envied her boyfriends and her loud laugh and her seemingly golden life, she felt the same way you do: inadequate, insecure, and worried that someone would find the chink in her armor. Hint: EVERYONE FEELS THIS WAY.
You’ll move to New York City and become a writer.
This one, you’re just plain right about. It took a lot of work to get there, but you’re putting in the time because you love what you do. Nice job.
Now, in your thirties, you have a whole new set of things that you think you’re absolutely right about. But you realize that you’re probably wrong about a lot of them too. You’ve come to accept the idea that it’s okay to be unsure of the future. It might even be better that way.
*Name changed, because we’re Facebook friends
Melissa Walker is the author of six books including Lovestruck Summer (2009), Small Town Sinners (2011), Unbreak My Heart (2012), and the Violet on the Runway trilogy. She grew up in Chapel Hill, North Carolina (go Heels!), and now lives in Brooklyn with her husband and baby girl. She likes iced coffee that tastes like coffee ice cream and has saved every single mix tape from high school (for research purposes, of course). Visit MelissaCWalker.com to say hi.
Tracy White grew up in and still lives in New York City. Her first graphic novel, How I Made it to Eighteen: An Almost True Story was a YALSA Great Graphic Novel, and an American Library Association recommended book for 2011. Her next book is mostly fictional, but this comic is 100 percent true. Find out more than you may want to know about Tracy at Traced.com. Yes, there are many more comics there.
ALL KINDS OF SEXY
Jo Whittemore
Dear Teen Me,
Right now you’re dabbing on Charlie perfume and hiking your jeans all the way up—only inches away from camel-toe status. You’re smart enough, thank God¸ to know that camel toe isn’t sexy, but for some reason you think that supertight jeans are. Never mind that your pockets can’t hold anything thicker than a stick of gum or that your legs hurt when you sit down.
You think you’re sexy. And we can blame Janet Jackson for that.
She’s all the rage at the moment, with “Rhythm Nation” and “Black Cat” topping the charts, and her music videos are hot. She’s sexy, and you want to be sexy, too.
This means lace-up boots, tight clothes, and killer dance moves. Your specialty? The box step. You even diagrammed the moves, because nothing says “take me now” like drawings of feet and arrows. Unfortunately, you won’t learn until years later that the box step is for ballroom dancing, but it explains why people at prom thought you were a complete dork. (There’s now a reality show that makes ballroom dancing cool. You were simply ahead of your time.)
Looking back, I cringe at the other ways you’ll try to be sexy: practicing a sultry lip bite (with buck teeth, you resemble a rabbit), hitting guys playfully on the shoulder (you hit harder than you think), and crossing your legs slowly à la Basic Instinct (you look like you have pelvic arthritis).
At one point, you’ll even make sexy eating noises because you saw a woman do it in a yogurt commercial. The guy you’re dating will laugh—hard—and ask why you’re trying to be sexy with a rotisserie chicken. Even though he turns out to be a douchebag, he was right about the chicken. Don’t eat poultry like that.
Then a strange thing will happen. You’ll give up trying to be sexy, because the attitude that goes with it just isn’t you. And you’ll miss being able to carry stuff in your pockets.
This attitude shift makes me proud.
What doesn’t make me proud is how far in the opposite direction you’ll go, with hoodies and backward ball caps, like you’re gangsta for life.
“Why bother at all?” you’ll think. “Nobody will ever find me sexy.”
And it’s just not true.
Once your best friend convinces you to throw away the ball cap and brush your hair, you’ll discover a happy medium. You’ll grow more comfortable in your own skin and start showing your sense of humor. Clever one-liners will be your way to break the ice with strangers. Funny anecdotes about your past will turn these strangers into friends.
And guys will start to notice you more.
Because, apparently, humor is also sexy. A girl who can laugh at her own shortcomings and be herself is just as hot as one who can synchronize her arm and leg movements.
In fact, there are all kinds of sexy: smart, funny, sporty, tough…
And it fits all sizes, all shapes. Sexy is you, the real you. Why be anyone else?
Plus, in ten years, Janet Jackson shows her boob at the Super Bowl. Do you really want that much exposure?
Jo Whittemore is the author of the humor novels Front Page Face-Off (2010), Odd Girl In (2011), and D Is for Drama (2012), as well as the Silverskin Legacy fantasy trilogy. She maintains a committed level of awkwardness that gets her invited to parties but never to the White House. When she isn’t writing, Jo spends her time with family and friends in Austin, Texas, dreaming of the day she can afford a chocolate house with toffee furniture. And her own rhythm nation.
WHAT IS A FRIEND?
Sara Zarr
Dear Teen Me,
So you learned how to make friendship bracelets. Cool. They’re very cute, and making them will keep your hands busy during those late-night babysitting gigs when the only other option is raiding the fridge. (Speaking of Things to Do While Babysitting, please stop watching movies like Poltergeist and The Amityville Horror when you’re alone in a dark house! Just because this family has HBO doesn’t mean you have to watch it.)
I just want you to think about this: What is a friend?
It can be hard to know sometimes. The nature of friendship changes as you move toward adulthood.
Childhood friendships were often based on proximity, what you like to do for fun, how your moms feel about each other. Don’t get me wrong—a couple of those childhood friendships were great, memorable, so much fun, and so important. Rachel, for example. And of course Christine, who you’ll still be in touch with when you’re forty—and even though you aren’t best, best friends like you were in childhood, it feels so good to still be known by someone who knew you when you were four.
As you get older, what you’re really looking for is someone who understands you, with whom you feel a flash of recognition and a sense of home. And Sara? I’m going to tell you this, and it’s not a criticism: You are not a person who is easily understood—by yourself or by others. But being understood matters enough to you that you’ll go through a lot of pain and work to know yourself, and you’ll make some missteps in your efforts to be known by others.
I’m not going to tell you about those missteps, though, or warn you against them. Each misstep shows you something about yourself that you needed to know, and refines your vision of what you want in a friend, which brings you closer to finding those people, that person.
As for what makes a friend, there’s no ultimate definition. Friendships come in a lot of shapes and sizes. There are friends that are perfect for eating lunch with, friends you meet in a mutual endeavor—like at work or in theater or music—friends to party and play with, friends who are good companions on road trips. The longevity of these types of friendships tends to be limited by their context, but there’s no shame or failure in that.
If there is any definition of a True Friend, maybe it’s
this: a person who understands the kind of person you want to be, and whose words and actions toward you are always guided by that understanding.
I do want to tell you what a friend isn’t, though I know you’re going to have to do the work of figuring this out on your own: A friend isn’t a person whose attention and approval you depend on to feel okay about yourself.
This is a hard one to work out. Because Dad rejected you—not outright, not intentionally, but through neglect and the effects of alcoholism—some injured part of you is always going to be looking for someone (usually a man but not always) to make you feel okay. Even if everyone in the world tells you that you’re okay (and you are going to have a great career that earns you a lot of attention and approval), sometimes it’s not going to feel like enough.
This is going to lead to pain.
I sort of wish I could save you from that pain, but to paraphrase C. S. Lewis, the pain now is part of the joy later. And there’s going to be joy, too, in the very midst of pain, because you are going to be blessed with a number of very meaningful friendships—some of which began from that place of needing approval but then grew beyond that and became real.
However, not all of them are lasting, and even though you’ll think you’re going to die when some of those friendships come to an end, you won’t. You’ll come out alive, stronger, better for the years that you had together, full of self-knowledge you wouldn’t have discovered any other way. And self-knowledge is going to be really important for the work that you’ll end up doing.
No, I can’t save you from pain. But maybe you could at least think about these words from Naomi Shihab Nye when you’re trying to discern who to share yourself with:
You Have to Be Careful.
You have to be careful telling things.
Some ears are tunnels.
Your words will go in and get lost in the dark.
Some ears are flat pans like the miners used looking for gold.
What you say will be washed out with the stones.
I do have good news for you. Despite that injured part of you that sometimes gives too much of yourself away to the wrong people, despite being gun-shy because of past friendship debacles, when you’re—no, you know what, I’m not going to tell you when or how or with whom this is going to happen. The utter unexpectedness of it all is part of what you will love, part of what will be so—I’m sorry, I know this sounds kind of woo-woo—so healing.
I’ll just say: It’s going to be sweet. There may even be friendship bracelets involved. And here’s the rest of that poem, my promise from me to you. Me.
You look a long time till you find the right ears.
Till then, there are birds and lamps to be spoken to,
a patient cloth rubbing shine in circles,
and the slow, gradually growing possibility
that when you find such ears,
they already know.
Sara Zarr is the acclaimed author of three novels for young adults: Story of a Girl (2008, a National Book Award Finalist), Sweethearts (2009, a Cybil Award Finalist), and Once Was Lost (2009, a Kirkus Best Book, Utah Book Award winner, and INSPY winner). Her short fiction and essays have appeared in Image, Hunger Mountain online, Response, and several anthologies. Sara’s fourth young adult novel, How to Save a Life, was published in fall 2011. She lives in Salt Lake City with her husband. You can find her online at SaraZarr.com.
FACING FACTS: MAKEOVERS DON’T CHANGE A THING
Jennifer Ziegler
Dear Teen Me,
Back away from the curling iron! Back away now!
I know, I know. You’re going for the über-tousled Belinda Carlisle look. Wild random curls that will reveal a confidence you don’t yet possess and a madcap personality you’ll never have. Why do you bother? You know very well that by your 10:00 am history class, your hair will be as limp as a mop’s head.
Your tenacity is to be admired, however. You’re like a physicist, experimenting day after day, trying to hit upon that magical combination of heat and hair spray that will allow your dishwater-blond locks to defy gravity—and genetics. But believe me, nothing will work.
You have straight hair, sweetie. Not sleek, shiny Pocahontas straight either. Straight meaning that it just hangs there, curl-free, but with enough kink to thwart the Indian princess look. At least you’re not alone in your failings. Your school is full of fine-haired girls drooping out of their Madonna headbands.
What? What’s that you’re saying? A home perm?!
Dear God, no! Their toxic contents will mutate you into a longwool sheep! On especially humid days, your hair will have lift without curl. You’ll be a walking Chia Pet! Put it down! Put it down, I say!
Now let’s talk makeup.
Again, you’re going for the look of an MTV pop star—but the end result is more…scary clown. Boy George instead of Pat Benatar.
Since you started kindergarten at age four, you’ve been a year younger than your classmates, and you were baby-faced to begin with. But smearing your lids with four different eye shadow shades and wearing dark lipstick doesn’t make you seem older—it makes you look like a Madam Alexander doll someone marked up with crayons.
Here’s the deal: You mistakenly believe that perfect looks will translate into a perfect, problem-free life. Only there’s no such thing as a perfect face. And everyone has difficulties—always. But guess what? You can still be happy.
Poise doesn’t come out of a bottle. True confidence comes from succeeding as yourself—wilted hair and all. Soon you’ll recognize that your real friends love you no matter what the day’s frizz factor may be. And those guys you like? They really don’t care about your hairstyle. (Well, there is that one guy in drama class who loves to discuss beauty products with you. He’s cute, yes, but trust me—he’s not for you.)
So instead of trying to copy celebrities, just…be you. Put away the styling tools and twenty-five-color eye shadow kit. Make peace with your hair and let your real face show (or at least go light and neutral with the makeup).
Here are some bonuses to taking my advice:
You won’t have to get up at 6:00 am to battle your hair and do your twelve-step cosmetic routine.
You’ll save money.
The boys will appreciate not getting Revlon “Cherries in the Snow” on their lips when they kiss you. (And they will kiss you.)
Remember, I believe in you. In a sense, then, you already do, too. So act like it!
Jennifer Ziegler is still no good at wearing makeup, still has bad hair days, and still has burn marks on her hand from high school curling wands. In college her hairstylist talked her into a “subtle red rinse” and she resembled an Irish setter for months. She even tried the all-black-wearing, raccoon-eyed look—only to find that she’s too giggly to be goth. She now channels her disillusionment into YA novels about identity and acceptance, including the titles How Not to Be Popular (2008) and Sass & Serendipity (2011). Please visit her at JenniferZiegler.net.
Acknowledgments
I’ve been writing the acknowledgements page for my first book in my head for so long now that I’m terrified of leaving someone out in the real thing. Dear Teen Me is a project that begins and ends as a community project. We couldn’t have done this on our own.
First I want to thank Miranda Kenneally, without whom this whole thing would have been just a pile of disorganized emails and a neon Tumblr. Seriously. This lady is so talented and I’m so privileged to work with her.
And then I want to thank every single author who said “yes” when I sent that first email. Without your willingness to share your stories on the Real Live Internets, we would have had a very bright but also very empty Tumblr feed.
Of course, I have to also thank the authors I was with at Spider House café in Austin when I sent out that initial email: P.J. Hoover, Jessica Lee Anderson, and K.A. Holt. Thank you so much for encouraging me (and convincing me that Dear Teen Me wasn’t a crazy idea in the first place). You’ve got my back! Than
ks also to all of the other writers at #THEPLACE who have supported me throughout this project: Madeline Smoot, Stephanie Pellegrin, Mari Mancusi, Cory Putman Oakes, Jennifer Ziegler, and Bethany Hegedus. You’re amazing.
Thanks to Hallie Warshaw, who found me in the exhibit hall at ALA and thought our blog sounded like it would be a great book. The rest of Team Zest, too! Not to mention Sara Megibow, who has guided us so thoughtfully throughout this process. Sara, you’re a gem!
And where would I be without my home team? Nikhil, my heart, my number one support—thank you for staying up late with me, for bringing home junk food, for tolerating the paperback takeover of our home. Thank you for listening to me read aloud, for keeping the lights on, and for holding my hand. Misha and Tim, you’re the best friends a girl could ask for. And Ali and Megan, too! Thank you all for being as excited about this book as I am, and for pretending to be interested even when I talk about the boring parts of publishing. Emma, Sarah, Amber, my online critique partners—your support means the world to me, no matter where in the world you are!
Last but not least, my family. I wouldn’t be doing what I love today without the love and encouragement I was given as a child, as a teen, and as a young woman. I’m lucky to have had family who nourished my wild dream of becoming an author. Mom, Dad, Joe, Allie, Nini, Papa, and Grammy—I can’t wait to share this book with you.
—E. Kristin Anderson
First, thank you to E. Kristin Anderson (Emily) for all her hard work on Dear Teen Me. The Dear Teen Me project was her vision and I am grateful for her creativity, energy, and great attitude.
Also, Dear Teen Me wouldn’t exist without the incredible authors who have contributed to the blog and anthology—thank you for sharing your stories with teens everywhere. I am also most grateful to the fans who read the Dear Teen Me blog on a daily basis.
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