OMG UR A Teenager E-Book

Leslie. E Young

• Herausgeber: BQB Publishing
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

OMG UR a Teenager is a coming-of-age novel for the Me-Too generation. Full of Gen Z angst and humor and heart, it’s a revision of the classic story to highlight personal growth in a more feminist age.

 Poised on the brink of becoming a teenager, Kat Cruz rides waves of excitement and worry. Life’s possibilities are on the horizon: her first bra, perhaps a boyfriend, maybe a job as a journalist. It all seems so close but just out of reach, until her family moves to a ramshackle fixer-upper and Kat meets the neighbor’s son, Will Morris. Despite the sad state of the house and a rash of burglaries in the area, one look into Will’s golden-brown eyes makes Kat think that perhaps the move won’t be so bad.
  
Kat relies on her best friend Jen to help her navigate their new adolescent world, including surviving her little brother Max’s superhero antics and catching Will’s attention. Kat’s parents are distracted by their floundering gym business and her grandmother’s advancing Alzheimer’s, leaving Kat to fend for herself against school bully Maria. Then Kat’s editorials in the school paper offend Will’s mother. Worse, her dance at the school talent show shocks her, and she turns her frosty back on the entire Cruz family. With life unraveling at the seams, Kat must grow more quickly than expected—and in more ways than simply filling out a bra.

Leseprobe

OMG UR A TEENAGER

© 2024 Leslie E. Young. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or digital (including photocopying and recording) except for the inclusion in a review, without written permission from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published in the United States by BQB Publishing

(an imprint of Boutique of Quality Books Publishing Company)

www.bqbpublishing.com

ISBN: 979-8-88633-029-8 (p)

ISBN: 979-8-88633-030-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024934495

Book design by Robin Krauss, www.bookformatters.com

Cover design by Rebecca Lown, www.rebeccalowndesigns.com

Editor: Allison Itterly

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

About the Author

Chapter 1

“I got it!” Jen flew through my bedroom door.

“What?” I asked. “What did you get?”

My bestie sidled up beside me and smiled. “You know . . . what we’ve been talking about.”

“A boyfriend?” I giggled.

“I wish.” She waved me on. “Go again.”

“Uh . . . um . . .” I flopped down on my bed and gazed up at her, clueless.

“Duh! Kat, I got my period.”

“Period? What’s that?” a voice squeaked from my door.

My seven-year-old brother Max swooped in, superhero-style. His Spider-Man wings, cut from an old badminton net, spread wide to look like webs. He zoomed around the room, angling his wings to ensnare my desk chair and toppling a pile of magazines to the floor before skittering back to the door. My bratty brother always found a way to stick in his two cents.

“Get out of my room!” I hollered.

“I’m not in your room.” He poked out his tongue at me.

I quickly scurried Max all the way out and shut the door in his face. His footsteps pounded down the hallway, running to Mom, of course. Fine with me.

My parents’ gym, Cruz’s Athletic Club, hadn’t recovered after Silver’s Gym swept into the neighborhood and bit off a whole chunk of our regulars. Silver’s Gym was shiny and new with oodles of space for more equipment and classes, a basketball court, and even a swimming pool. Membership at our plain old gym slumped, and my parents had to lay off some employees. Dad was working at the gym nonstop. Mom was working there longer and longer hours, and I was stuck with Max. A TON.

Max’s superhero-fantasy life snowballed and my tween social life crashed. Seriously, I had almost no personal life. My friends were literally forced to come to me for urgent, in-the-flesh face time.

Thank God for my bestest pal, Jen. She lived in the same apartment building and popped in all the time.

“Sorry about the Spider-Man blitz,” I told her. I leaned back against my Barbie-pink headboard and cuddled my raggedy old Sleeping Beauty doll that still hung out on my bed.

“So, I’m dying to hear what happened.”

“Well,” she said, settling down in my desk chair and leaning in. “First, I had some cramping.” She let out a deflated sigh. “Ugh. Totally sucky.”

“Ouch,” I groaned.

“Then I felt something wet in my pants.” She scrunched up her nose. “So gross.”

“Eww.”

The truth? I wanted my period with all my heart. Yeah, it sounded awful. But it was the price we women paid to cross the bridge from childhood to adulthood. Jen had hers. I wanted to be next. Maybe then Mom would start treating me like the almost-teenager I was instead of the child that I was not.

Jen slouched down and raked her fingers through her carroty-red pixie. Then her green eyes lit up. “That’s not all.” She pulled up her T-shirt and stuck out her chest, showing off her new B-cup bra. It was Fourth-of-July themed, with red, white, and blue flags scattered all over.

“There’s more. Check it out.” She hopped up and pulled down her baggy boyfriend jeans just enough for the total reveal. “The matching panties!”

So lucky. No boyfriend yet, but the big P and a new bra.

For forever, we’d been practically identical in some ways. We were both five-three-ish, one-hundred-pound sixth graders at Grant Middle School. Then, all of a sudden, Jen had a growth spurt, shot up two-plus inches, added ten pounds—and curves. Now, one glimpse in a mirror punched out a whole different pic of us, with Jen all shapely lines and me a stick figure. Super awkward for me. To be honest, I felt a twinge of envy.

Figures, though. Jen actually started blossoming last summer, but my chest was still as flat as a board. I’d gone with her for her first fitting of an AA-cupper, so I totally knew how to get the straps and cups just right. When my time came for my bra fitting, I’d be ready. But worse luck, any growth spurt in me seemed pitifully slow. I was twelve going on thirteen, so I hoped my growth spurt would happen soon.

Turning thirteen, more than getting a bra or my period, was of course the absolute towering milestone I had my heart set on, when I would get all the recognition and privilege of teenhood. I imagined I would then feel just like Sleeping Beauty awakening or Cinderella transforming from a scullery maid into a princess.

I was deep in thought when the door whooshed wide open. Jen and I yanked our heads around. Mom and Max stood there, saucer-eyed. Jen covered her flags, and I sucked in a deep breath.

“Ever hear of knocking?” I asked as patiently as I could.

Mom shot me her frowniest look. “Max wants to know when he’ll get his period,” she said, all breathless. She flashed me a look that said: I need an answer, and it better be good.

I rolled my eyes, my signature response for Fine. Whatev.

Max propped his spider-web arms on his non-hips.

Mom pinched her lips. “Why did he ask?”

I raised a brow. “I dunno.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as if she’d mustered her last shred of patience. Her voice grew screechy. “He’s seven!”

Max was still playing the baby card like it was a get-out-of-jail-free pass. So, to throw some shade on his tattling, I launched my defense. I arched my eyebrows and made one of those throat-clearing ahem sounds to turn the full spotlight on my case. Then I dramatically tossed my inky-black curls behind me and narrowed my dark eyes on Mom.

“Well,” I said, “I’m almost a teenager. And, FYI, someone did get her period!”

Now Mom has to notice I am on the threshold of womanhood. And Max is a meddler.

Mom lowered her glasses, considering. “Who got her period?”

Jen grinned.

Mom blinked as the truth blazed into sight. “Ooooooh,” she said. She pushed her glasses back up. “Max, stay out of Kat’s room.” She turned to me. “Stop being so mean to your little brother. And—”

She raved on, chewing me out as if I were a child. As if. I tuned her out.

Finally, I was saved by the ringing of the phone. Mom jumped at the sound. Worry lines cut between her eyes. “Probably Gran again,” she muttered.

I loved my gran, but lately she’d been calling about a lot of silly stuff. Yesterday, it was how to set a table, even though I’d seen her do it just fine a jillion times before.

Mom turned her crinkled brow on Max. “Honey,” she said in a syrupy-sweet voice. “Go play with your marbles while Mommy talks to Gran.” She flashed her worry frown at me and sighed. Then she stomped out of the room, dragging Max with her.

Really, there is no justice in this family.

Soon after, Jen went home to change her pad. When would my period come? Would I ever wear a bra? I wasn’t shooting for a Wonder Woman miracle. Any cup size would do.

I pasted two Post-its on my bulletin board, the one above my laptop desk that screamed “For Girls Only” with its pink, scalloped border and T-W-E-E-N written in huge pink letters. I scribbled a note reminding me to ask Mom about buying me a bra. It wasn’t like I was asking for the moon or anything. I pinned up one more note written in marker and all caps: KEEP MAX OUT.

Not even an hour later, Mom rapped on my door. “Off to work in a few,” she called out. “Keep an eye on Max.”

“Again?” I moaned. I knew my parents had to work, but babysitting five times a week—five times—was a real pain.

“I heard that,” Mom sang, throwing open my door and pushing her yucky veggie smoothie at me, her latest inedible health drink mixed with dandelions.

“Blech.” I wrinkled my nose and shot out my hand to cut her off.

Mom chuckled. She swished her long dark hair behind her and paraded out the door.

I headed into the living room. Our time-worn sofa had been sat on and scrubbed clean so many times that a throw cover was permanently draped over it to hide the worst spots on the cushions. On the coffee table, a pile of magazines hid the stains that glasses and bottles had left behind. The rest of the table was littered with a bunch of unpaid bills from Walmart, Target, you name it.

Max crouched on the floor at the edge of a cardboard playing field with his marbles. A Superman T-shirt had replaced his Spider-Man netting. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t fly or spin a single web, he thought he was a hero.

I plopped down on the couch and worked on my article for the Grantline Newsletter. I’d just been named editor, not to toot my own horn or anything. I had been hooked on journalism ever since I was eight and had written my first story about saving polar bears for a school project. I had big dreams of writing for a newspaper.

Max was still engrossed in his game as marbles skipped from his fingertips and flew everywhere. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, wondering if a person could disown a sibling.

Clearly, the apartment we lived in was shrinking. Since Max was born, we had been busting out of our two-bedroom, plus a den that’d been transformed into a third bedroom. Max’s so-called “bedroom” had no door or closet, just a small daybed and a few shelves for his clothes. No matter how often Mom neatly folded and placed his pants with his pants and shirts with his shirts, they always ended up a sloppy mishmash of everything all over the place.

Plus, his toys never seemed to return to their home in the basket under his bed, especially his beloved marbles. You were lucky if you could make it from the front door through the living room without stumbling over one of his stupid marbles. And Max never tired of blasting off his homemade toy space shuttle from the living room to the planet Krypton, where he was sure all the lost bits and pieces could be found.

Even worse than his stuff overflowing into every nook of our apartment was Max’s latest habit of hanging out in my room and fiddling with my laptop. The situation was growing more annoying by the day, and I wasn’t the only one who realized space was tight. Mom was all over Dad about it the minute he filed through the door later that night.

“Kat and Max got into it again today,” Mom said.

I was relaxing on the couch, flipping through my Girls’ Life mag, when I heard my name. It was impossible not to eavesdrop.

“What was it this time?” Dad asked. He sounded tired after a long day at the gym and barely concerned.

“Max went to use Kat’s laptop and walked in on a personal conversation.”

Dad shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like such a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” echoed Mom.

She trailed him into the kitchen and her voice faded. I could hardly make out what she was saying about Max being in school now and needing a proper desk. I drifted toward the kitchen to find out.

“He’s in first grade.” Dad chuckled. He pulled a soda can from the fridge, popped it open, and gulped.

Mom got that tight-lipped look on her face. “We need more space, Sam,” she said.

A long minute passed, and I was beginning to see that my privacy and Max’s desk were sides of the main event. My parents had been “saving pennies” for a house since I could remember. They’d always opted to wait until they had the money to make a good move.

All the same, Mom went in for the kill with a brand-new slant to boost her case. “You know, moving to a home in a better neighborhood could open us up to a whole new clientele for the gym.”

Dad’s face lit up. Not much meant more to him than saving the family biz. “Good point, Dot,” he said.

Then Mom stopped beating around any bushes and said what she really wanted—a house, and there was no stopping her. They went back and forth about it, zigzagged this way and that, snaked here and there and all around it until Dad said, “Let’s consider it.”

As far as I knew, we hadn’t won any lottery. So, what were they thinking? Beats me.

Chapter 2

The next weekend, we all went looking for a new home. Right away we hit the obvious snag. We couldn’t afford practically anything. At the end of our search, the frontrunner was a house the bank had taken over after the owners couldn’t pay for it.

Dad said we’d “lucked out.” But when we drove up to the run-down place late Sunday afternoon, all we could do was stare. The porch steps were cracked, the front door hung lopsided off its hinges, and drab gray paint was peeling everywhere.

“Are you sure it’s the right house?” Mom asked.

Dad pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Yeah. Thirteen Crystal Drive.”

My heart sank. “It’s gross.”

And it had the unluckiest number of all pinned on it. Everyone knew Friday the thirteenth was not a good omen. The thirteenth floor was missing in tall buildings. Sports teams excluded the number from their rosters. The red flag could not have been clearer. It was like a warning from God to back off.

My dad did not pick up on this. He tilted his head to one side. “Needs a few cosmetic fixes on the outside.” He winked, then pushed us toward the door. “Bet it’s top-of-the-line in there.”

I flinched. Yeah right. I wasn’t the only doubtful one. Mom crunched her forehead. Even Max made a face. Still, we carefully maneuvered our way inside to find out.

“Look.” Max laughed and pointed at a big empty space in the hall bathroom. “No toilet.”

“Hey, matching empty spaces in here,” I called out. The fridge and stove were missing in the grimy kitchen, where I tracked a cockroach shimmying up the wall until it vanished into a crack, no doubt heading for some feeding ground judging by the nauseating stink of dead things that wafted throughout the house. In the living room, dust balls were everywhere, and someone had scribbled on the wall in red marker as if warning us, Buyer beware.

“Could use a vacuuming,” Mom said.

We took the full tour.

The minute we hit the second floor, Max was on the move. He was impressed that all four bedrooms had doors and closets and was ready to claim his. Tough choice, though. They were all in different states of ruin. One dark and dreary room had its only window boarded up, another had peeling wallpaper with massive pink roses all over it, and a third had a crack in one wall so large that it was hard to see how the room was standing. The fourth bedroom looked the best, but that was the master for Mom and Dad. No way was Max going to snag that one.

We trooped outside to the back of the house. It had a pretty decent-sized yard, but it was full of discarded junk: a beat-up dresser with half of its drawers missing, a wheelbarrow minus its wheel, and a rusted bike without its chain.

Yeah, the place was bigger than our apartment. Big deal.

Still, my mom thought it was fabulous—in a good neighborhood, close to the gym, not too far from my school. “Okay,” she admitted. “It needs work.”

“It’s a fixer-upper,” said Dad, smiling.

I gave them both a long look. “Whatever you call it, it’s a total embarrassment!” There was no way I could tell anyone at school where I lived ever again. I wasn’t even sure I wanted Jen to see it.

“Calm down, Kat,” Mom said. “We’ll make it work.”

I stared at them in amazement. “You really want to do more work?”

No one answered.

There was nothing left for me to say, so I cut out of there.

I stood in front of the house, considering. The dream was to live in a bougie McMansion with a wow factor to drool over. This stinky place was the anti-dream times infinity, a creepy spook-show. I couldn’t live in it. I couldn’t.

Freaking out that I might have to, I turned my back on the house and gazed off in the distance at the Sandia Mountains that flanked the east side of Albuquerque. I marveled at the beauty of all the shades of pink that decorated the mountains at sunset. But the sun setting on the Sandias could not turn an ugly house beautiful. So I headed out to the car and waited for my family to catch up.

It was a sucky day. I didn’t think anything could have made it worse until I saw Maria Cudsupa, the biggest gossip at my school. She flew by on her bike, spotted me, and skidded to a stop. Her nose tipped high in the air as she flicked a dark bush of curly hair behind her. Taking her time, she blew a few loose flyaways from her forehead. Then she leaned over her handlebars and leveled her cold, gray eyes at me. “Is that your house?”

My cheeks burned. I bit my lip and searched for a good answer. My mom, dad, and blabbermouth brother were coming up behind me. I had nowhere to run, so I slapped on a smile. “Not yet,” I said. Then I shrugged and casually examined my nails.

“Mm-hmm.” Maria tugged a stick of gum from the pocket of her jeans and shoved it into her mouth. She chomped smugly. “That your new pet?”

My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw Max dangling a dead rat by its tail. “Ick!” I shrieked.

Max grinned. He lifted the yucky thing up and thrust it forward for closer viewing.

“Throw that disgusting thing in the trash,” Mom said, shuddering.

Maria cracked her gum and let out a wicked cackle. Then she took off. “See ya in school,” she hollered over her shoulder.

We piled into our SUV, which was as old as me and made horrible rattling noises. Clackety-clack-clack. Another embarrassment. As we drove off, clattering away, I swiveled around to check out the rattrap one more time and caught a glimpse of Maria. She was back at the house snapping a photo on her phone. My stomach plunged, doing a bazillion somersaults until I thought I might puke. OMG. It’s been documented. And Maria was the type of person who would spread it around. I blinked back tears and dreaded school the next day.

Mom looked at me with a sad little smile. “Everything will be fine, Kat.”

I shrugged her off. At home, I hid out in my room and huddled under the covers. I kept checking Maria’s Instagram to see if she’d posted anything, but there was nothing. Thank God.

If Mom and Dad persisted with this disastrous plan to relocate to a rat house, I might be forced to disown my whole family. Where would I live, though? I was stuck.

Chapter 3

After the worst Sunday of my life, I had to go to school and face Maria. I was not looking forward to it. I just hoped that she would ignore me and not say anything about the house.

Mom was on the phone with Gran again, answering some dopey question about how long to boil an egg. Dad was browsing Zillow for more houses. Max was chugging OJ at the kitchen table, and I was just moping.

I hadn’t told Jen anything about the potential move. I hoped—prayed—that Mom and Dad would drop this crazy house idea. Instead, Dad told me they were on the way to the bank to strike a deal.

“When can we move?” Max asked, all amped up for a room of his own.

“When we sign on the bottom line of a contract with the bank,” Dad said in a chipper voice.

Ugh. Their chatter was a double downer. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed outside. Jen was waiting for me near the curb like she always did. I dragged my feet all the way to school. I thought about cutting class, maybe hanging out at the mall. Forever.

Jen kept tossing me side glances. “What’s with you?” she asked.

I let out a long sigh. “We’re moving to a house.” She pitched her head to the side. “Wow, really? Isn’t that good? Didn’t you want more space?”

I froze to a dead halt. “It’s not good. It’s terrible! I did want space. But . . .”

“What?”

I sniffled. “My parents just went off to buy a wreck of a house that I wouldn’t even want my dog to live in, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” I swallowed hard, refusing to cry and make my eyes all red on the way to school.

“Maybe they won’t get it,” Jen said in a positive way.

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t think there are any other takers. It’s a dump. You have to bypass crumbling steps and a busted door to even get inside.”

We both went quiet for a bit. Then Jen swung her arm around my shoulder, and we trudged on.

“Hey. We’re still on for Just Dance after school, right?” Jen smiled.

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

Jen had been coming with me to my favorite exercise class at my parents’ gym. Just Dance was a chill mix of hip-hop, jazz, and salsa. Today we were going to start a new routine to Ava Max’s “Tattoo,” and our dance instructor told us that we needed to bring our own stick-on tattoos. Jen was psyched about it. I was, too, before the bombshell that we would move into the house.

When we got to school, the warning bell was ringing.

“Later,” Jen said, squeezing my arm.

I tossed her a half-hearted smile.

She disappeared into a swell of students, and I weaved through the crowd to head for homeroom. My steps slowed to a crawl. Maria just happened to be lingering near my locker.

“Moving into your new home?” she asked as a fake smile spread across her face.