Contents
*
Title Page
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Girls Like Me
Singular Reads
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 by Lola StVil
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.
www.hmhco.com
Cover illustration © 2016 by Noelle Stevenson
Cover design by Whitney Leader-Picone
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: StVil, Lola, author.
Title: Girls like me / written by Lola StVil.
Description: Boston : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2016. | Summary: Fifteen-year-old Shay is trying to cope with being overweight and getting bullied in school, but when she falls in love with mysterious Blake, insecure Shay needs the help of her two best friends to make love prevail.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015033387 | ISBN 9780544706743 (hardback)
Subjects: | CYAC: Novels in verse. | Self-esteem—Fiction. | Bullying—Fiction. | Love—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Humorous stories. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Stories in Verse. | JUVENILE FICTION / Love & Romance. | JUVENILE FICTION / Humorous Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Bullying. | JUVENILE FICTION / Girls & Women. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Adolescence.
Classification: LCC PZ7.5.S78 Gi 2016 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015033387
eISBN 978-0-544-86814-4
v1.0916
This book is for my family:
Ricaldo “I’m okay with takeout—again” Cherubin,
Cindy “The wheels are in motion” St. Vil,
Arnold “How much is this going to cost me?” St. Vil,
And most important, my mom, Marie “Did you eat?” St. Vil.
I love you.
O! be some other name:
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
—Romeo and Juliet
Aftermath
I whip out fake smile reserved for
Monday mornings, cheerleaders
Stepmoms
Kara stitches series of mom-esque words
Forming dubious praise
“Your face is so pretty this morning”
= You look fat
“I made egg white omelets and wheat toast”
= So you will no longer be fat
“It’s nice out. You should walk home today.”
= So you can be less fat
Kara is stuck
With me
Shay Summers: pretty-faced fat girl who
Reads. Writes. Thinks.
Too much
Dad died
Selfish, Dad, very selfish.
“Don’t be late for school”
= Don’t stay behind, pig out, get more fat
Flashes her best fake smile
The one she keeps in the freezer
So that it stays
Frozen
In
Place
“See you later”
Finally alone, I call on my friends:
Breakfast burrito. Banana cream pie. Butter.
They are all missing
There’s been a massacre
Kara’s soldiers:
Fat-free
Sugar-free
Reduced
Lite
Skim
Wiped out all my friends
Not even condiments
Remain
I recall
My love
Could it survive savage, unprovoked attack?
Scour area
Attempt rescue
No survivors
Rest in peace,
Apple-wood bacon
Flash of red packaging
Resembles my lover’s face
A prayer
A hope
Fragile but real
Pull in closer
Oscar Mayer Bacon!
Turkey bacon?
All is lost . . .
Betrayed
By the time I got to school I was
Fully enraged
I plotted various ways to get rid of Kara
Ways that were
Painful. Slow. Public.
Met up with my best friends
Dash and Boots.
Told them about
Horrific event
Expecting
Outrage. Anger. Protest.
M
A
R
C
H
E
S
Hell no, we won’t go! Hell no, we won’t go!
Followed by roar of rebels
Determined not to be subdued by
Fascist taste-free establishment!
Um . . . I kind of like turkey bacon
Dash is right; you should try it
And the (fat-free) cheese
Stands . . . alone.
And Here They Are
I mean my friends.
D A S H
And I became best friends in a matter of minutes
Two years ago
First day of school at
Chester A. Arthur High.
He walked into homeroom wearing a
Bedazzled T-shirt that said
I’m not gay but my blow-up doll is.
He was sent to the principal’s office
I would share
Similar fate
When
Teacher made us
Sit in
ABC order.
Shay Summers sits next to arch nemesis
Kelly Stokes
K E L L Y
Is what happens when Beauty sleeps with
Empty
We went to the same junior high.
At face value
Her face had
Value
Her eyes, cobalt-blue orbs of
Perfect
Her lips, heart-shaped
Masterpiece
Her skin, flawless
Radiance.
But Kelly was a road trip to the
Grand Canyon
No matter how much it promises to
Enchant. Amaze. Delight.
Once you get there
You realize
It’s just an empty hole
She never says anything that doesn’t come out of
Teen Cosmo
Popsugar.com
Never reads anything that doesn’t have
Super-high-gloss finish
And
I’m fairly certain her ego has its own
Orbit
Enough, Shay
Make an effort
Jump into the chasm . . .
Why?
Maybe she was
Miss Understood
Cool Chick
Deep Deep Deep
D
O
W
N???
So I Smiled
Turns out deep down
Is not that deep
After all
Kelly looks at me
Like I’m a hobo
Trying to pee on her
I have done the unthinkable
She mumbles loud enough for
E V E R Y O N E
&nbs
p; On the
P L A N E T
To hear
“Quick, get up, Shay! The chair can only hold
A ton”
Rage Bubbled
Up from throat
Prepared to erupt and melt the smug flesh off her
Perfectly sculpted bones
Prepared a litany of profanity that would make any
Truckers. Sailors. Mobsters.
Proud
I SHOUTED
“The Grand Canyon is just a hole!”
What???????
Where’s the alphabet soup
Of curses?
The string of profanity that’s supposed to wrap
Itself around her neck till she turns
Blue?
The Only Color in the World Now
Is tomato red
Spreading across my cheeks
Hands
Are frozen
Shaking
Shivering
No control over breathing
Can’t find rock to crawl under
The teacher sent me
To the principal’s office.
There I found
Dash waiting also
He was scribbling doodles and letters on scrap paper
I admired his M
It could have come out of a penmanship workbook.
Except he added more loops than were needed
He said, “That’s me: more loops than needed.”
I told him about my run-in with
Kelly Canyon
The principal/chef
Served us two boilerplates of
What-we-expect-from-our-students
I had a side of glazed
How-a-lady-should-act
And Dash had the stuffed
We-will-not-tolerate-tomfoolery
For dessert we both had the caramelized
Next-time-I-will-call-your-parents
Next morning, Canyon
Found a magazine cutout of a model
Taped to her locker
It said Feed Me
The M had an extra loop
Like I said
Friends for life.
My Other Best Friend
And I met at the nurse’s office
When I was there to avoid
Gym
I am the CEO of
Getting Out of Class Inc.
My excuses are
Prompt. Polished. Perfect.
And what’s more
I have amazing range
I’m not like your average
Teen going AWOL
I don’t kill off
Grandmothers or get cramps
My excuses come complete with
Actors. Script revisions. Dress rehearsals.
That day I was faking stomach pains
Had full written menu
Of all things that could have caused my
Pain
I did the well-rehearsed “brave face” so that they knew how much
I really wanted to stay in gym class.
The “suffer in silence face”
Is the meatloaf and mashed potatoes of excuses
I saw her as soon as I entered
She was beautiful. Beaming. Bald.
She wore
“Army” everything, including
Combat boots
“Punk rocker cool?” I asked.
“Brain tumor chic,” she said.
I looked around for a rock to crawl under
To hide shame
With no rock to be found anywhere
I sat a few chairs away from her
In my head
I played every sad song
I ever heard in the
Someone-I-love-is-dying
Movie
Genre
She stopped my soundtrack
“Don’t do the sympathy head tilt,” she said.
“How about the I’m-pulling-for-you shoulder pat?” I asked.
“No thanks,” she replied.
She asked what I was in for
“Shamelessness,” I admitted.
“Faking it? Yeah, me too,” she lied.
A smile slid onto my face
Then I met her eyes
She wasn’t joking
The tumor gave her
Headaches
She spoke casually about it
As if she was just asked about the time
Damn
I offered her my finest I’m so sorry face
But something told me she wouldn’t take it
Pity clashes with her kick-ass boots
The Three of Us
Have never figured out how to
Fit
Into the puzzle
Of
High school
We suck
At being like
Others
And while we
Hardly understand
Self
It’s all we know
Homeroom
Is where I sit and carve short strokes
On my desk
Like prisoners do on walls
Or
Do math homework I didn’t do the night before.
The teacher tells us what she thinks we need to know:
Upcoming
Trips. Fire drills. Tests.
She skips what we actually want to hear:
There
Is
No
Class today.
(A girl can dream.)
While I do
Homework
That
Should
Have
Been
Done
Night
Before
I invite you, take a tour
Inside
Minds
Of the student body . . .
AKA:
The White Noise
The Troublemaker
They can tell I’m wearing the same jeans
Again
Punch. Push. Pound.
Sent off to principal’s office
Suspension: one week
Good
Old jeans will be
New again
Head of Audio-Visual
Chess Club
Glee Club
No-One-
Likes-Me
Club
Gonna get good grades
Lead to great job. Make mad money.
And buy everyone
Afterschool Helper
Make copies. Stock books. Clean board.
It’s late. “Go home,” she says.
Smile. Don’t panic.
“Just a few more copies to make,” I lie.
“Okay,” she says.
Relief fills lungs
Can’t go home
Can’t go home
Head Cheerleader
They love me.
Love.
Me?
When?
Since teeth bleached, hair dyed
I died.
Hours hunting hot trends
Duties include but not limited to
Spirit crushing. Ball busting. Soul sucking.
Others.
Merely playing the role I was cast in by
Mom
Request script change
New words, same thoughts
Something peeks out: more words
Squatting, hiding behind other words
Yank them from behind, lay them out before my mirror
I am so lonely, I could die
Teacher’s Pet
Oh, oh, me, me!
Pick me! Pick me! Me!
I am her eyes in her absence
I want to do it. I need to do it. I have to do it.
Power. Ah, yes. Thank you.
Um . . . how do you do this?
Freak
Ink me.
Dragons. Demons. Blades.
Call me.
Freak. Crazy. Psycho.
See me.
Handle. Labels. Easy.
Why not?
Damage? Raid? Destroy?
My home:
Steady. Solid. Safe.
Been taught:
Love
Is only
Label that
Matters
The Slacker
They say I am not working hard enough.
I got dressed. Got on the bus, knowing it was headed for school.
My work is done.
Anyway, no one expects much.
Security Guard
Hey, kid, you look down. Need a pick-me-up? First fix free . . .
Five-Finger Discount
It’s not a cry for help; it’s just the only thing
I’m good at
Coach
That kid’s good, almost as good as I was.
Back when I . . . was
Teacher
She’s late. Again. Bet she doesn’t have her assignment.
I knew it!
He’s got the answers, the scores, and the aptitude
Won’t get girls, though!
New kid looks high . . .
I’m low
On yellow and blue pills
Wonder who his supplier is . . .
Bookworm in the corner
She needs to apply lip gloss or
Prep for life of cats, ratty sweaters, and can of soup for one
Oh, look who didn’t cut class today
Guess all the girls have been deflowered
Lucky his dad’s got old money and new cars
Principal
Love kids
Taught them for years
Promoted. Promoted. Principal.
Handle
Kids
Paperwork
That’s Not Everyone
But I have to get going
I have to navigate the crowded halls and get to history class
History: Someone did something back then
And we’re forced to
Act like it matters now.
In a Blur of Facts and Dates
History passes by
Head to science
Mr. Todd has never had a student say anything
Bad about him, but we keep expecting to see him on those
Predators-caught-on-tape shows
His episode would start when he
Arranges to meet a minor
Greets her with
Candy. Six-pack. Hard-on.
He looks like
Mr. Rogers
But the way he fondles the
Molecule orb sculptures on his desk
While licking his lips . . .
Makes me glad I don’t live in his neighborhood.
English Class Actually Doesn’t Suck
Putting together a story or reading some great American classic
Is almost as good as pie
To think a story could be written so well that it
Captivated the world, and is still being read centuries later.
Awesome.
I wonder if what I have written will last that long.
Doubt it. A hundred years from now who will want to know that