Wish You Weren't Here - Hardcover

Baldwin, Erin

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0593622693 ISBN 13: 9780593622698

Verlag: Viking Books for Young Readers, 2024

Inhaltsangabe

"A masterclass of a sapphic rom-com. Filled with hate-to-love perfection, swoony moments, and off-the-charts chemistry."  -Rachael Lippincott, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Five Feet Apart and She Gets the Girl

All's fair in love and Color War.

Juliette doesn't hate Priya Pendley.

At least, not in the way teen movies say she should hate the hot popular girl. They don't do cat fights, love triangles, or betrayal. To survive their intertwined small town lives, they’ve agreed to a truce. They complete group projects without fighting, never gossip to mutual friends, and stand on opposite sides of photos so it’s easy to crop each other out.

Priya seems to have everything during the school year—social media stardom, the handsome track captain boyfriend, and millions of adoring fans—and Juliette is at peace with that. Because Juliette has the summer, and the one place she never feels like “too much”: Fogridge Sleepaway Camp.

But her hopes for a few Priya-free weeks are shattered when her rival shows up at Fogridge on move-in day... as her cabinmate, no less. Juliette is determined to enjoy her final summer, even if it means (gag) tolerating her childhood rival, but everything that can go wrong, does.

If Juliette can’t find something to like about her situation—and about Priya—she risks hating the only home she’s ever had, right before she says goodbye to it forever.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Erin Baldwin was born in the Philippines, raised in Jersey City, NJ, and now lives in Colorado (where, tragically, there is no good pizza or Filipino food). One childhood Christmas morning, she peeled back gold wrapping paper to reveal Just Ella by Margaret Peterson Haddix, and she’s been an avid reader and writer ever since. Though her first love is fantasy, these days she’s much more interested in finding the magic and whimsy her goofball characters can create in everyday life. Wish You Weren’t Here is her debut novel.

You can find Erin and her ever-changing carousel of hobbies at erinbwrites.com and on social media as @erinbwrites.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1
Priyatopia
T
he day I started second grade, my teacher told me that Juliette Barrera--Wright was much too difficult a name for such a little girl.
“What about Julie? That’s pretty,” he said, probably smug and condescending, though I can’t picture him anymore.
Most of the memory has slipped through my fingers, but a part still lives in me, vivid enough to feel even now: the smallness.
I shrank, like Alice after eating the mushroom. Everyone was watching, waiting for me to agree with this adult just because he was an adult. Even though it wasmy name. And the longer they stared, the smaller I got. I was drowning in my desk, surrounded by all these giants with easy names. Despite ten years of distance from that classroom, my hands still sweat.
When I think of it, my chest still tightens.
Right as I began to taste the acceptance of “Julie” on the tip of my tongue, a girl I’d never met before said, “There’s no such thing as too--complicated names. My mama says only lazy people say that.”
Arthur pulling the sword from the stone. Gandalf and the Rohirrim arriving at Helm’s Deep. The little crowd in my brain goes wild.
There was no more discussion after that. Everyone’s called me Juliette since.
That is the one and only reason I don’t hate Priya Pendley.
Even after she told Milo DeMontes she thought I was obnoxious. Even after I begged for a different science fair partner because she was annoying and bossy. Even after I beat her in the spelling bee and she said it didn’t count because “of course Juliette can spell argumentative.”
Out of respect for our seven--year--old selves, I come to her ridiculous birthday party every year.
The first Priyatopia was very normal—-store--bought decorations and everything. After that, it escalated quickly. Carnival rides for her tenth. Mirror mazes and art installations at thirteen. Last year, Hozier performed a song he’d written specifically for Priya. Seventeen did a feature on this year’s party titled “Birthday Queen Turns Seventeen (We Ask Social Media Darling Priya Pendley How She Invented the Next Coachella).” Priya’s glossy glamour shot took up two pages.
Oh, wait. Sorry. Before we move on, can we talk about how she calls itPriyatopia? It’s plastered everywhere. I have a theory that if a guest stands still for more than two minutes, Priya herself comes over and spray--paints her name across their body. In white or gold, obviously.
And she had the nerve to call me obnoxious.
I feel distinctly impoverished as I pull through the Pendleys’ gates into their winding driveway, already lined with luxury cars on both sides. I maneuver my crappy old Honda Civic between a Mercedes and a BMW and begin the hike up to the house.
The Pendley Mansion sits on an ungodly large parcel of land. Impeccably manicured, but you already knew that. The house itself is a gleaming stone and glass monstrosity that I’ve spent entirely too much time in over the course of my sixteen short years, which is how I know to follow the path around back, past clusters of networking C--list celebrities.
Usually, I love this time of year—-the liminal space between final exams and the start of camp. Warm breezes linger after nightfall, and they always smell like a trip to the state fair. Well, minus the post--Gravitron corn dog vomit. I fear that one day I’ll begin associating this weather not with campfires and kayaking but with thumping dubstep and this gaudy arch of white -and -gold balloons spelling out priyatopia.
I step under the arch in question, led by the scent of barbecue to a row of trendy food trucks. While trying to decide between Burrito Boys and Holy Crepe, I’m swept into a warm hug that smells like vanilla and spice.
Before I turn, I know I’ll find Priya’s mom, Deepika, looking up at me with her big brown eyes. She’s an adorably short Indian woman with wavy hair, radiant dark skin, and the kind of carefree beauty only money can buy.
Unfortunately, I love Deepika. She isn’t just Priya’s mom; she’s everyone’s mom. When we were growing up, she chaperoned every class field trip and helped serve lunch when cafeteria workers called out sick. If anyone in town needs a place to stay, a meal to eat, or a shoulder to cry on, they can always turn to Deepika.
It’s almost unbelievable that Priya is her daughter and not her evil twin.
Deepika yells to be heard over the music, “Juliette, you’re more beautiful than ever! I bet you have to beat the boys off with a stick, hmm?”
I bite back a snicker. In this nosy town? After I spent years making it clear a romantic relationship is at the rock bottom of my priority list? Nobody is pursuing me, let alone “the boys,” and I like it that way.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Deepika frowns prettily, glowing in an embroidered yellow kurta. “No need to be modest, my love.” She flexes, but her twinkling eyes betray any chance she has of looking fierce. “A girl as gorgeous and smart as you should own it. Priya tells me you’re going to Yale, too!”
I cock my head. “I’m applying to Yale? But I won’t hear back for a while.” Neither of us will, but, unsurprisingly, the Pendleys are already counting their privileged chickens.
She swats at the air, as if the Yale admissions committee is a fly that simply needs to be redirected out of the house. “My darling, if they don’t take you, they’re out of their minds.” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper then, and she says, “And I’ll have Jack put in a good word with his golf buddies. They have connections everywhere.”
“Thank you,” I grit out, trying desperately to be grateful instead of bitter.
Deepika beams. “Of course! We’ll help however we can. Now, tell me about your summer plans. I didn’t realize so many of you kids were doing these special programs. I have to find something for this one”—-she jerks her chin at an ice sculpture of Priya—-“to do also.”
“No programs for me,” I say. “It’s my last summer at camp.” The words catch in my throat, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. Wow. Last summer.
She nods, chewing absently at her lower lip. “Frogbridge.”
Trying not to snort, I enunciate, “Fog. Ridge.”
“Ah, yes. That’s right. Fogridge.” Her brow furrows. “Why camp? Wouldn’t something academic look better to colleges?” she asks, like she didn’t just tell me I’m a shoo--in at Yale.
I’ve had this conversation with countless adults, and it’s infuriating every time. Why do teenagers always need to be reaching for someone else’s goal? At what age am I allowed to do things solely because they’re fun and I enjoy them?
Whatever age that is, it’s not sixteen, apparently.
“I love it” isn’t enough, so I give Deepika the kind of answer she wants. “Like you said, everyone’s in academic programs. Wilderness camp sets me apart. It makes me well rounded.” I form a circle with my hands.
“Hmm. I suppose so.” She looks ready to ask me something else, but then her thoughtful gaze snags on someone and she shouts, “Neha! You came!” Patting my shoulder, she whispers, “Excuse me, my love. It’s so much responsibility being the life of the party. Priya’s by the pool.”
She disappears in a whirlwind of Gujarati, leaving me alone on the lawn.
The waits for both Burrito Boys and Holy Crepe have...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Viking Books for Young Readers
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2024
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593622693
• ISBN 13: 9780593622698
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 304
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Zeitfracht Medien GmbH; info-medien@zeitfracht.de; ; Ferdinand-Jühlke-Straße 7; Erfurt; 99095; Deutschland