“Like the flowers they are named after . . . these are the kind of memorable
characters you want to gather close.” —Instructor magazine
“Myracle displays a shining awareness of and sensitivity to the highly
textured society of tween girls.” —Booklist, starred review
“I really liked Luv Ya Bunches. I liked it even better than Lauren Myracle’s
others, and that’s saying a lot!” —Kaylin
“I just read Luv Ya Bunches and I looooooove it! Now my two best friends
are reading it!” —April
“I felt like I could really relate to it, and I was so happy to find a book
about pre-teen girl friend problems. I really loved it!!!” —Brianna
“I just looove Luv Ya Bunches and how it has IMing in it, but for kids my
age!!! It has all the real pressures of school, but the power of friendship
wins. Yay!!!” —Luv Ya Bunches Luver
“I come from a pretty ethnic, religious family, just like Yasaman, and I
wanted to thank you for depicting her life so well. For a girl who actually
does wear a headscarf to school (yup! that’s ME!!), her experiences are a
lot like mine, and I LOVED the book. Can’t wait to read the next!”
—Habiba (which means “the loved one”!)
“I DID NOT like to read, but I solemnly swore to read 50 pages of
Luv Ya Bunches, and guess what? I did and . . . I LOVED IT!!!!!!!! It is my
world now. I am like all of the girls: Yasaman because she is spazzy,
Katie-Rose because she is so funny and doesn’t go with the crowd, Violet
because I would be afraid to give Tally the turtle back, too, and Milla
because she has an awesome style. I LOVE it!!!! Thank you for bringing
it into my world. *angels sing hallelujah*” —Andrea
ALSO BY LAUREN MYRACLE
Violet in Bloom: A Flower Power Book
Bliss
Rhymes with Witches
ttyl
ttfn
18r, g8r
bff
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Thirteen Plus One
Peace, Love, and Baby Ducks
Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances
(with John Green and Maureen Johnson)
How to Be Bad
(with E. Lockhart and Sarah Mylnowski)
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition of this book as follows:
Myracle, Lauren, 1969–
Luv ya bunches / by Lauren Myracle.
p. cm.
Summary: Four friends named Katie-Rose, Yasaman, Camilla, and Violet navigate
the ups and downs of fifth grade. Told through text messages, blog posts,
screenplay, and straight narrative.
ISBN 978-0-8109-4211-0 (Harry N. Abrams, Inc.)
[1. Friendship—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title. II. Title: Love ya bunches. III.
Title: Luv ya bunches.
PZ7.M9955Lu 2009
[Fic]—dc22
2009012585
Paperback ISBN 978-0-8109-8982-5
The text in this book is set in 11-point The Serif Light. The display typefaces are
Annabelle, Chalet, FMRustlingBranches, RetrofitLight, Shag, and TriplexSans.
Text copyright © 2009 Lauren Myracle
Book design by Maria T. Middleton
Originally published in hardcover in 2009 by Amulet Books, an imprint of
ABRAMS. This edition published in 2010. All rights reserved. No portion of this
book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form
or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,
without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet
Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
Printed and bound in U.S.A.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity
for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special
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www.abramsbooks.com
(Shot from Katie-Rose’s sunshine-yellow video camera)
FADE IN:
EXTERIOR KATIE-ROSE’S HOUSE—BACKYARD SUNDAY AFTERNOON
KATIE-ROSE (off-screen)
Wave at the camera, Max! Say hi!
MAX, a ten-year-old wearing glasses, sits solidly on a rope hammock, his feet planted on the ground.
MAX
Katie-Rose, I already said hi. I’m not saying hi again. And why are you filming me?
KATIE-ROSE
(exasperated)
Because. We have gone over this, Max.
Max’s expression doesn’t change AT ALL. It is freaky how the boy can be utterly without nerves on such a nervous-making day.
MAX
Oh. Right. It’s our last day of summer, so you’re filming it.
KATIE-ROSE
Not just our last day of summer. Our last day before fifth grade, Max. We’ll be fifth graders—do you not get how BIG this is? And we need to practice your social skills so you won’t be stuffed in a locker, ’kay?
MAX
You’ve been watching too much Nickelodeon. We don’t even have lockers at Rivendell.
KATIE-ROSE
Well, you still need to practice how not to be socially awkward, and how can I give you tips if you don’t let me film you?
Max shakes his head. His hair, which is chlorine-bleached and pouffy, is in desperate need of a trim. How is it that boys can’t see these things about themselves? He’s even wearing pink argyle socks pulled straight up. How can Max not know that pink argyle socks pulled straight up spells W-R-O-N-G?
MAX
Guys don’t need social skills, Katie-Rose. We just talk about Pokémon. Or dominoes. Like the elusive reverse domino effect, which I’ve been working on for a year, and which I still haven’t mastered.
KATIE-ROSE
Oh good Lord in heaven, this is worse than I thought.
MAX
Want me to tell you what the elusive reverse domino effect is?
KATIE-ROSE
No.
MAX
It’s the opposite of how dominoes normally fall. Instead of each domino falling forward and knocking over the next, a “revermino” is when the dominoes get tripped from the bottom and collapse backward.
KATIE-ROSE’s expression can’t be seen on the film, as she’s the one behind the camera. Nonetheless, it’s a fair assumption that she radiates a complete lack of enthusiasm.
MAX
Like, okay, imagine you’re a domino.
KATIE-ROSE
I’m not a domino.
MAX
In a normal setup, the domino behind you would fall forward and knock you over, so that you land on your nose.
KATIE-ROSE
Unless I put my hands out to catch myself. I would put my hands out, Max. Sheesh.
MAX
Only, dominoes don’t have hands. But, in a revermino—
KATIE-ROSE
Stop talking about dominoes! Agggg! You are being SO ANNOYING
!!!
KATIE-ROSE SHUTS THE CAMERA OFF.
Lowering it to her side, she marches over to Max on the hammock and shoves his thigh with her hip. This means scooch, and Max obeys. Max pretty much always obeys Katie-Rose, because:
a) Katie-Rose is a bossy-boots;
b) Katie-Rose could beat him up in less time than it takes to slurp down an Orange Dream Machine Jamba Juice, even though Katie-Rose is tiny; and
c) Max is just the obeying sort. Or maybe the agreeable sort. Either way, he scoots.
As Katie-Rose wiggles onto the weathered rope cords of the hammock, she says, “Max, lie down. No, over—No, your head at that end, stupidhead.”
“Stupidhead,” when Katie-Rose says it, isn’t actually intended as an insult. Or not as a mean insult, not when she says it to Max. Katie-Rose and Max have been friends since the dawn of time. Friends like that can call each other “stupidhead.”
But if Medusa called Katie-Rose “stupidhead”? That would not be fine. In fact, it would be so far from fine that if “fine” were here in Thousand Oaks, California—where Katie-Rose and Medusa live—then the “un-fine” would be way off at the coldest, icebergiest pinnacle of the North Pole. That’s how far from fine it would be.
Katie-Rose is anti-Medusa. Medusa, whose real name is Modessa, is equally anti-Katie-Rose. But, lucky them! They both go to Rivendell Elementary School! They get to see each other every day!!!!!
Katie-Rose sighs, and the hammock sighs with her, rocking Max off balance.
“Whoa,” he says, gripping the sides.
“Sorry,” Katie-Rose says. But seriously, she really hopes Medusa doesn’t end up in Ms. Perez’s class. It’s bad enough Katie-Rose has to go to school with her. Do they have to be in the same class, too?
Katie-Rose is also afraid she’ll slip up and call Modessa “Medusa” to her face one day. Oh, man, that would be bad.
Max jostles to get better situated, and his pink-socked feet end up inches from Katie-Rose’s face. She wrinkles her nose.
“Max?” she says.
“Yes?”
“You need to change socks.”
Max flexes his feet. “I do?”
“You do. And, not to be rude, but . . .”
Max waits.
Katie-Rose blows air out of her mouth and gazes straight up. The sky is so blue, it’s translucent. She’d like to film that sky one day—but not now.
“The thing is, Max, Pokémon is not interesting. To me. Or to any girl at Rivendell except maybe Natalia Totenburg.”
“Natalia played Pokémon Battle Revolution for twelve hours straight,” Max says admiringly. “She would have played longer, but her mom made her quit.”
“And dominoes are kind of interesting”—Katie-Rose has seen the complicated courses Max sets up, with twists and turns and sometimes even marbles that roll down chutes to trigger the next part of the formation—“but not to the people who matter.”
Max furrows his brow. “I don’t know what that means.”
Of course you don’t, Katie-Rose thinks. She feels defeated already, and only partly because she knows that, really, all people matter. But the person who matters to her, the girl she wants to become friends with . . . Well, Katie-Rose feels sure Milla wouldn’t go all googly-eyed over the elusive-reverse-whatever.
And maybe Katie-Rose isn’t worried about Max’s social life.
Maybe she’s worried about her own.
Her body grows heavy. Max is a good friend, but he’s a boy. She wants a friend who’s a girl, who she can do girl things with. Fun girl things, not dumb girl things. And who wouldn’t snicker if Katie-Rose had unpolished nails, or wore her knit cap pulled down low. After all, shouldn’t people be allowed to wear whatever they want? And if someone thinks nail polish is gross and smells like floor wax, is that such a crime?
What Katie-Rose wants is a real friend, the kind that lasts forever. And she knows exactly who it should be.
“Camilla Swanson,” she says softly.
“Huh?” Max says.
Katie-Rose looks at him, but her mind is elsewhere. She and Milla have been sort-of friends since last year, when they were PE partners. “Yoga with Maggie” was one of their units, and neither of them could prop their knees on their elbows and balance their whole bodies on their hands. That’s how it started, with mucho giggling about their failure at the crane pose, and how someone should invent a “toppled egg” pose, which they would both excel at.
Then, after school got out and summer started, Milla and Katie-Rose ended up in Pioneer Camp together. It was a miracle. Katie-Rose had wondered if she’d feel dorky wearing a pioneer dress and apron and scattering corn for the chickens, but with Milla there, it was a blast. They never got together outside of Pioneer Camp, but they did exchange email addies and screen names. Camilla’s screen name is MarshMilla. She has an AOL account just like Katie-Rose. Katie-Rose hasn’t IMed her yet, but she wants to.
Maybe she will this afternoon. They could talk about school starting, a perfectly legitimate reason to IM. Plus, on the off chance that Milla has forgotten Katie-Rose, IMing her would remind Milla of Katie-Rose’s existence.
“Milla has pretty eyes,” Max says, startling Katie-Rose. She’d forgotten he was there.
“Yes, Max,” she says. She blushes, and doesn’t know why, except maybe from wanting something so much that she got lost in her own head. “But you’re not supposed to say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s random. I don’t know. Like when we’re skateboarding, and you start talking about hexagons, and I have to say, ‘Max, I don’t need to know that! It’s skateboarding time, not math!’”
“Oh,” Max says.
But since Max did bring up the issue of pretty eyes, Katie-Rose is curious.
Do I have pretty eyes? she wants to ask.
Max sits up, making the hammock jounce. “Give me the camera. I’ll video you.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay.”
“You said you wanted to work on your social skills.”
“Your social skills. Not mine.”
Max’s left foot swings over the rope cords and lands on the grass. Once anchored, he grabs Katie-Rose’s camera from her hand, which has gone noodley and helpless.
“You can exist without your camera in your hand for five minutes,” Max says. “My mom says you’re addicted, by the way.”
“To my camera?” Katie-Rose says, getting a sweaty feeling. She thought Max’s mom liked her. All those times Max’s mom offered her a cookie, or a Coke, was she secretly thinking that Katie-Rose had a camera addiction?
“She says you hide behind it,” Max continues.
“Shut up!” Katie-Rose says hotly. She tries to grab her camera back from Max. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and anyway, how could I? It’s a Sony Cybershot. The only way I could hide behind it is if I were a mouse, and even then my tail would stick out!”
“Ready?” Max says, pressing the On button.
FADE IN:
EXTERIOR KATIE-ROSE’S HOUSE—BACKYARD—SUNDAY AFTERNOON
Katie-Rose, a tiny half-Chinese girl with hair in two high pigtails, scowls and scoots farther back on the hammock.
KATIE-ROSE
Turn it off.
MAX
(from behind the camera)
So . . . what’s your favorite color?
Katie-Rose rolls her eyes.
KATIE-ROSE
Don’t ask that. That’s boring.
MAX
It is?
KATIE-ROSE
Yes, Max. Milla is not going to come up to me tomorrow and say, “Katie-Rose! Hiiii! What’s your favorite color?” If she comes up to me at all. Maybe she’ll be back with Quin and Modessa. Maybe they’re besties again, even though Quin put mud in Milla’s chocolate milkshake at Garden Hills Pool.
MAX
Quin put mud in Camilla’s milkshake?
KATIE-ROSE
Modessa told her to. Milla told me about it
the next day, while we churned butter. She pretended the butter was Quin’s head.
MAX
Why would someone put mud in someone’s milkshake? You would never put mud in someone’s milkshake.
KATIE-ROSE
Of course I wouldn’t, cuz I’m nice.
MAX
A whole lot nicer than Quin. Even when you’re bossy.
Katie-Rose’s eyes do something funny that makes her blink. She’s not teary. That would be ridiculous. And it doesn’t have to do with being called bossy, which she’s not, anyway. Or maybe sometimes, but only because she has good ideas.
But if her eyes were teary, which they’re not, it would be because she thinks she’s nicer than Quin, too. She knows she is. And she knows in her heart of hearts that she would be a much better best friend to Milla than Quin or Modessa . . . and yet she’s worried that she’ll go to school tomorrow and everything will be, like, BAM! No toppled-egg jokes. No churning-Quin’s-head jokes. Just Milla and Quin and Modessa giggling and whispering and not looking at Katie-Rose at all.
TIGHT ZOOM ON KATIE-ROSE’S FACE:
MAX
Katie-Rose . . . are you crying?
Katie-Rose lunges toward Max, and the image goes herky-jerky.
KATIE-ROSE
Interview over.
FADE TO BLACK.
stuff. Really really good. In July, she took a computer programming class at the Muslim Youth Center, and she learned how to make her own website. Actually, her own social utility network, which is a fancy way of saying a place where her girlfriends (one day) could go (one day) and chat and give each other virtual bling and stuff like that.
She didn’t have to pay for it or anything. Her baba paid for the class, and then Mr. Aslan directed the students to a “safe place for children” called Web Spinners. It’s password protected, but Yasaman herself got to create her password. Not Mr. Aslan.
What Yasaman was interested in is what practically every other girl in her computer class was interested in: Facebook. The boys were interested in Flash animation and making stick figures shoot each other. The girls, however, had older sisters or cousins or babysitters who were on Facebook all the time, and when Mr. Aslan wasn’t hovering about, they’d whisper about creating fake profiles by claiming to be older and in high school.
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