CONTEMPORARY
REALISTIC YA
Away from home, the perfect facade is beginning to shatter. When
Lily herself starts to break, it’s the support of an unlikely friend that
teaches her how much of a lie perfect really is – and how to be whole on her
own terms.
Release Date: December 12, 2014
(tentative)
Preorders to be available in
November unless something changes.
“My name’s Lily and James Naismith ruined high school for me,” I
offer.
It’s too hot in this room. The window fan is blowing nothing but
heat over us, along with some old dust or dirt from the window. It makes the
noise of plastic that is being asked to do more than plastic can do; the fan’s
cheapness makes it too weak to be a fan and it groans with its own failure.
I’m not good with social events. This is some kind of mandated
floor meeting for all new students and I’m sitting in the middle of my RA’s
room with ten other girls, all of us in pajama pants, and trying to sound
interesting.
“I mean, he didn’t personally. I think he died almost a hundred
years ago,” I stutter.
“So why don’t you explain how the inventor of basketball did ruin high school then?” one girl asks. She’s angry, but I don’t
know her. I don’t know anyone, except my roommate Kristen and so far all I know
about her is that she’s majoring in education, she brought the fridge, and
she’s decorated her side of our dorm room to look like the inside of a
Pepto-Bismol bottle. This girl doesn’t want to hear my story. She doesn’t want
to be here, but I don’t, either, and now that I’m here, I was the one dumb
enough to open my mouth.
“It was gym class,” I try to explain. “I don’t know. Something
about ed reform. We had homework and tests and all that in gym now and I’d been
up all night writing an essay about James Naismith. I hadn’t slept and I was in
a rush trying to make the bus that morning.”
It had been cold, the rushing towards winter that mirrors the
years that aren’t like this one. This is one where summer lingers and it
resists every attempt to make it yield to fall. I remember the leaves were
already falling that year, even though it was only early September. Some years
it seemed like they were in a greater rush to die. In the moments between life,
each leaf took its suicidal leap and fell slowly while no one noticed. We
always only notice when they’re all dead and suddenly the sky hangs on us and
we crave shade.
The bus was about to pull away from the curb near my house and I
cried out for it, running faster and slipping on a clump of leaves. The entire
patch was squishy. I wondered as I fell if I had taken out a small family of
worms in my descent. My outfit was ruined, but it wasn’t the clothes that
scared me…
“I tripped on leaves and fell on the driveway hard. The gravel
left a slash along my cheek and it looked like someone had punched me. That was
the day of school pictures, which we used for the yearbook and our IDs. Not to
mention the fact that my mom…” I can’t finish. I don’t want to take about my
mother. I certainly don’t feel like confiding in these girls about how
disappointed she was that I had ruined everything. It wasn’t my fault that fall
had come early, but I ruined the pictures and in her album of school photos, my
freshman year still remains a giant, empty black page. A constant reminder that
I will never be whole, never be perfect, never be what she wanted.
“What about your mom?” someone else asks.
“Nothing.” I don’t want to tell my story anymore. I want the fan
to stop trying. I want it to be tomorrow and the day after and any day when I
can start in the morning and get through to night without making a mistake.
It’s dropped, though, anyway, because Ellie, the RA, turns to
someone else who is pocketing a handful of condoms. “You don’t need to take
them all,” she barks. “I have plenty, but other people practice safe sex, too.
Unless you’re planning on having a massive orgy tonight, you can probably come
back and get some later.”
The condom hoarder blushes and returns half her pile and the
floor meeting turns back to pointless small talk and ice breakers that no one
wants to be a part of. The fan clicks another meaningless rotation. I’ve been a
college student for six hours now and I’ve never been so lonely in my entire
life.
Sarah Daltry is a YA author, hardcore gamer, sarcastic nerd, and
obsessive Anglophile who watches too much BBC TV. She is the author of Backward Compatible: A Gamer Geek
Love Story, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock: A Modern Reimagining, Bitter
Fruits, and the upcoming YA fantasy, Dust. No Such Thing as Perfect was inspired by Sarah's original Flowering series, but is
a completely different take on similar concepts.
When she's not writing, Sarah spends a lot of time with her Xbox
and her cats.
Yay Free Things! :)
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