22 Jan

Another GSP release from Author of the Week: Charlotte Holley.


Gail is an average teenager with problems and a really big inferiority complex, trying to ignore the world so everyone will just leave her alone. The last thing she wants is to be singled out by the popular, ever-smiling and beautiful Nancy, but some things we don’t want are exactly what we need.
  When Gail finally becomes friends with Nancy, she learns life isn’t always what it seems and the beautiful, popular teen she has tried so hard to avoid has as many problems as she does . . . maybe even more . . .  


Later that afternoon, I slogged home in the rain. I was sopping wet when I got there, only to discover I had left my keys at home that morning. My dad was at work and Mom had gone out. No telling when she’d be home—most likely after midnight when the bars all closed. Dad might not be home for two or three days; that’s the way his job was.

    I put my books on the porch under the overhang where they wouldn’t get any wetter and went around to the back of the house. My mom frequently locked her keys inside, so we always left one of the back windows unlocked so I could crawl in.

    It was raining so hard the dog didn’t even greet me as I removed the screen and shoved open the window. I wondered if he would have bothered coming out, had I really been a prowler. The kitchen window was too high to climb into without standing on something, so I pulled a wooden crate over, climbed onto it and lifted one foot up into the opening.

    Just as I was about to shove off the crate, I heard it creak, then crack, and in another instant I was on the ground, one foot sticking through the splintered crate and the other scraped and bleeding from the knee down. I was muddy, cold, hurt and in tears.

    At that moment, I hated everything and everyone—the rain, the kids at school and most of all, my parents. They had no business leaving me out in the rain. Parents are supposed to take care of their kids—even fifteen-year-old ones. I took stock of my body, discovered I could still move and eased myself off the ground to find something else to stand on.

    In a few minutes, I was inside the warm, dry house, peeling out of my drenched, muddy clothes. I threw them into the washer and went to stand in a hot shower. After I cleaned and bandaged my wounds, I pulled on a robe and went out to get my books.

    I took the stack of textbooks, along with milk and cookies, to my room and crawled under the covers. I hated being alone. The house was so quiet and still—almost like a tomb. Life was miserable for me at school, but at home, it was even worse. I really had no one in the whole world. If I died, I supposed my mother would cry—mothers are supposed to—but I doubted she would really miss me. No one would, I thought.

   I sighed, knowing feeling sorry for myself would do no good, except to give me another sleepless night. I reached absently for the library book and opened it to the forgotten, perfectly folded pink paper—Nancy’s letter. I turned it in my hands and thought I should throw it away. It was probably a love letter to some boy—maybe to Jack.

    The thought stopped me from discarding it. I had never read a love letter before, and I reasoned I might never get another chance. I unfolded the paper, looked at length at the beautifully shaped words before their meaning began to come across to me. I thought about what a wonderful home life Nancy must have to be so beautiful and good at so many things. How I envied her. I sighed again and began to read:      





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