Firsts and Lasts: 16 Stories from Our World...and Beyond! - Hardcover

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0593523083 ISBN 13: 9780593523087

Verlag: Penguin Workshop, 2023

Inhaltsangabe

An exciting fiction YA anthology that celebrates the new experiences and final moments teenagers face on their journey into adulthood from editor Laura Silverman and a cast of spectacular contributors.

From first breakups and romantic vampire encounters to last band performances and the deadly end of a friendship, Firsts and Lasts is an anthology that is just as unpredictable as being a teenager. While each of these stories span different genres and styles, they all perfectly capture the big emotions—confusion, joy, uneasiness, and anticipation—that many teens experience as they grow up. 

Whether you are hopelessly in love and not sure how to tell your crush, going through loss and can't fully process it, or just trying to figure out where you belong in the world, this collection of sixteen stories has something for every reader.

Stories written by: Adi Alsaid, Keah Brown, Monica Gomez-Hira, Kika Hatzopoulou, Shaun David Hutchinson, Amanda Joy, Loan Le, Joy McCullough, Yamile Saied Méndez, Anna Meriano, Nina Moreno, Tess Sharpe, Laura Silverman, Rachel Lynn Solomon, Diana Urban, and Julian Winters.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Laura Silverman (she/her) is the author of Girl Out of Water, You Asked for Perfect, Recommended for You, and Those Summer Nights. She is also the editor and contributor of It's a Whole Spiel, Up All Night, and Game On. Girl Out of Water was a Junior Library Guild selection, and You Asked for Perfect was named to best teen fiction lists by YALSA, Chicago Public Library, and the Georgia Center for the Book. Laura has also been a freelance editor for several years.

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An exciting fiction YA anthology that celebrates the new experiences and final moments teenagers face on their journey into adulthood from editor Laura Silverman and a cast of spectacular contributors.

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The First Time I Dated a Vampire by Julian Winters

 
I’m certain of two things: I’m ready for this summer trip to end, and one more night in Santa Monica won’t change that.
 
“Tyrell? We’re here.”
 
I blink out of a daze. It happens a lot lately. Moments where I’m anywhere but the present. I jerk to face my mom, the seat belt strap digging into my neck at the sudden movement.
 
“What?”
 
Through the windshield, ribbons of gold from fairy lights hung outside glow across Mom’s face. We look alike. Warm brown skin with reddish undertones. Smallish noses and long necks. But my curls—­kept short with the sides of my head faded—­aren’t hers. Neither is my bow-­shaped mouth or awkward limbs.
 
Those are all Dad.
 
Are? Were? How do you describe something you inherited from a parent who’s now dead?
 
These days, I’d prefer not to discuss him. Mom hasn’t gotten the message yet.
 
She smiles wearily. “Do you really want to spend your last night watching a movie?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“We’ve been here a month. You’ve barely seen the city. Only the walls of the house we’re renting and . . .” Mom gestures to the building across the street.
 
Reagan’s Cinema is a movie theater with old-­school vibes: red-­velvet-­upholstered bucket seats. A giant marquee lit up in neon green and red. Big block letters advertising
 
FRIDAY NIGHT CLASSICS PRESENTS . . .
 
TWILIGHT!
 
“Is that really a classic?” Mom whines. “I’m so old.”
 
I don’t comment.
 
“I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yet,” she continues. “You’re so obsessed with supernatural things. Your dad loved vampires, too.”
 
“I don’t want to see the city,” I tell her, quickly avoiding the topic of Dad. “This is fine.”
 
“Ty,” she says, cupping my cheek, “there’s so much to experience here.”
 
She talks like she hasn’t lived in Decatur, Georgia, where we’re from, her whole life. As if this isn’t the first time for both of us in Santa Monica, where my dad grew up. She’s clinging to the brittle memories of who Dad was. Ever since they lowered his body into the ground 182 days ago, I’ve been pretending none of this is happening.
 
“Rumor has it”—­Mom wiggles her eyebrows—­“there are tons of cute guys around your age. Maybe you can—­”
 
“Ugh.” I scramble to unbuckle the seat belt strangling my flushed neck. “No, thanks. Just the movie.”
 
Before I can leap out into oncoming traffic, Mom’s coral pink nails, which match her sundress, dig into my forearm. She’s truly embracing the California aesthetic. Me? Scuffed Vans, black joggers, and a Rick and Morty graphic tee. Fitting in feels pointless.
 
“No curfew tonight.” Mom’s lips gentle into a grin. “Stay out after the movie.”
 
When I blink, she quickly corrects: “Within reason. You’re seventeen. College is around the corner, and—­” She pauses, clearing her throat. “Give yourself the chance to fall in love with this place.”
 
I ignore the urge to roll my eyes. “Mom—­”
 
“Do you have the list?”
 
The one she AirDropped to my phone the second we landed. A checklist of all the city sights Dad wanted to show me. The three of us were supposed to be here together. Dad planned the trip early last year. Then he got sick and, well . . .
 
I nod stiffly.
 
“Go do things,” she insists. “Maybe it’ll feel like . . . he’s here with you.”
 
It won’t, I want to tell her. Nothing does. Being in his hometown without him feels wrong. I don’t want to give it a chance. Problem is, I don’t want to go home either.
 
“Okay,” I lie through the thickness in my throat. “I’ll text you when I’m ready.”
 
Her smile widens. I wonder if she knows I’ll never be ready.
 
Friday nights at Reagan’s are like any other—­a butter-­scented ghost town. It’s three blocks from Third Street Promenade, where there are two AMCs less than half a mile from each other. But Reagan’s is my favorite spot to watch movies.
 
I check my phone. Ten minutes before start time. I ignore the pain needling behind my ribs at no new messages from my best friend, Kellan. His last text was days ago. An lol to a meme I sent, the extent of our communication now.
 
It’s another reason I don’t want to go home. I’m not the “Ty” Kellan’s known since middle school.
 
While I’m at the snack bar, contemplating my options, a throat clears. I lift my eyes and—­
 
Come on, universe, why now?
 
A boy in a black Reagan’s T-­shirt leans his elbows on the glass counter. His fair tawny complexion drinks in the bright overhead lights. We’re both scrawny, except he looks way more confident in his skin. Black fringe slices into his narrowed dark eyes.
 
If thunderclouds could take human form, they’d be Sean Kam.
 
His lips tilt up. “Why am I not surprised to see you?”
 
“I’m still deciding,” I say through my teeth.
 
“You didn’t answer my question.”
 
“Because you should’ve asked, ‘How can I help you?’ ” I snap. “Like a model employee.”
 
“You get the same thing every Friday.”
 
“What if I got Twizzlers?” I try. “And a Coke?”
 
More hair falls across his eyes. He scoops it away to say, flatly, “Are you?”
 
No. My nose wrinkles. “Nachos. Extra cheese.” A wicked smirk pulls at his lips. He’s waiting. “And a small blue raspberry slush,” I whisper.
 
“Now that we’ve established you’re basic and predictable,” he says, moving around the snack bar like there’s air under his soles, “Tell me you’re not here for . . . that movie.”
 
Here we go again. “I heard it’s good,” I say.
 
“From who?”
 
I don’t answer. Mom’s right. Supernatural stories are my favorite. Dad’s too. Secretly, we both believed in the unreal. That underneath this cruel and sometimes unexplainable world, things like monsters and myths must exist.
 
Not that I’ve ever seen one.
 
“The whole thing’s tragic.” Sean plonks a box of nachos and a large cup of slush on the counter, startling me. I raise an eyebrow when he doesn’t charge me for the bigger size. “It’s so . . . corny. Also, inaccurate.”
 
“It’s a movie,” I say while paying.
 
“Your point?”
 
His features are sharp, almost beautiful when he squints. Unexpected heat blooms under my cheeks. “My point is,” I say, “every Friday you give...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Workshop
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2023
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593523083
• ISBN 13: 9780593523087
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 368
• Herausgeber: Silverman Laura
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar