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High schools. Fiction.
Schools. Fiction.
Moving, Household. Fiction.
Stepfamilies. Fiction.
Grief. Fiction.
Los Angeles (Calif.). Fiction.
When Jessie is uprooted from Chicago to California after her father elopes, Jessie's life is turned upside down. Now with a stepfamily, a fancy rich school, a mean girl out to get her, and lingering grief over her mother's death, Jessie discovers an anonymous e-mail in her in-box with tips on how to survive her new home. Soon Jessie and Somebody/Nobody (aka SN) are chatting all the time. Jessie feels caught between her old life and trying to belong in her new one, in addition to the challenge of growing up without her mother and with a father who is growing more distant. Jessie's story is about more than having a secret admirer, but the mystery of SN's identity is engaging. Buxbaum adds layered plotlines about grief, family, and the confusion and hardships of growing up, all with a touch of humor and romance. A solid YA debut ideal for fans of Sarah Dessen and Stephanie Perkins.
School Library Journal (Mon Feb 01 00:00:00 CST 2016)Gr 10 Up-A contemporary YA novel about grieving, growing up, and learning how to have confidence in yourself. Saying Jessie's new life is weird would be an understatementafter she loses her mother to cancer, her dad sells their house, moves them across the country to live with the woman he eloped with during a business trip, and enrolls her in an elite private school where everyone makes her feel even more like an outsider. Back home Jessie was comfortable: she had both her parents, a house she loved, and friends. Here she feels lost in a sea of designer clothing, expensive cars, and people who spend their summer vacations in faraway countries. When the teen gets an anonymous email from Somebody/Nobody offering to teach her to navigate this new school's territory, she registers how strange the situation may be but replies anyway. Who is this mysterious Somebody/Nobody (SN for short)? Will trusting SN lead to successor make her even more of a target for bullies? Readers will find themselves growing with Jessie as she tries to deal with the passing of her mother and become comfortable in her own skin miles away from everything she thought of as home. Buxbaum's debut is hard to put down because of its smooth and captivating text. The addition of virtual conversations through email and chatting adds an exciting plot twist. Casual talk of drinking, drugs, and sex makes this novel more appealing to mature teens. VERDICT A definite purchase for collections where readers enjoy character-driven fiction. DeHanza Kwong, Central Piedmont Community College, Charlotte, NC
ALA Booklist
ALA/YALSA Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Adult Readers
School Library Journal (Mon Feb 01 00:00:00 CST 2016)
ILA Young Adults' Award
Buxbaum / TELL ME THREE THINGS
Chapter 1
Seven hundred and thirty-three days after my mom died, forty-five days after my dad eloped with a stranger he met on the Internet, thirty days after we then up and moved to California, and only seven days after starting as a junior at a brand-new school where I know approximately no one, an email arrives. Which would be weird, an anonymous letter just popping up like that in my in-box, signed with the bizarre alias Somebody Nobody, no less, except my life has become so unrecognizable lately that nothing feels shocking anymore. It took until now--seven hundred and thirty-three whole days in which I've felt the opposite of normal--for me to discover this one important life lesson: turns out you can grow immune to weird.
To: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
From: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
Subject: your Wood Valley H.S. spirit guide
hey there, Ms. Holmes. we haven't met irl, and I'm not sure we ever will. I mean, we probably will at some point--maybe I'll ask you the time or something equally mundane and beneath both of us--but we'll never actually get to know each other, at least not in any sort of real way that matters . . . which is why I figured I'd email you under the cloak of anonymity.
and yes, I realize I'm a sixteen-year-old guy who just used the words "cloak of anonymity." and so there it is already: reason #1 why you'll never get to know my real name. I could never live the shame of that pretentiousness down.
"cloak of anonymity"? seriously?
and yes, I also realize that most people would have just texted, but couldn't figure out how to do that without telling you who I am.
I have been watching you at school. not in a creepy way. though I wonder if even using the word "creepy" by definition makes me creepy? anyhow, it's just . . . you intrigue me. you must have noticed already that our school is a wasteland of mostly blond, vacant-eyed Barbies and Kens, and something about you--not just your newness, because sure, the rest of us have all been going to school together since the age of five--but something about the way you move and talk and actually don't talk but watch all of us like we are part of some bizarre National Geographic documentary makes me think that you might be different from all the other idiots at school.
you make me want to know what goes on in that head of yours. I'll be honest: I'm not usually interested in the contents of other people's heads. my own is work enough.
the whole point of this email is to offer my expertise. sorry to be the bearer of bad news: navigating the wilds of Wood Valley High School ain't easy. this place may look all warm and welcoming, with our yoga and meditation and reading corners and coffee cart (excuse me: Koffee Kart), but like every other high school in America (or maybe even worse), this place is a freaking war zone.
and so I hereby offer up myself as your virtual spirit guide. feel free to ask any question (except of course my identity), and I'll do my best to answer: who to befriend (short list), who to stay away from (longer list), why you shouldn't eat the veggie burgers from the cafeteria (long story that you don't want to know involving jock jizz), how to get an A in Mrs. Stewart's class, and why you should never sit near Ken Abernathy (flatulence issue). Oh, and be careful in gym. Mr. Shackleman makes all the pretty girls run extra laps so he can look at their asses.
that feels like enough information for now.
and fwiw, welcome to the jungle.
yours truly, Somebody Nobody
To: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
From: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
Subject: Elaborate hoax?
SN: Is this for real? Or is this some sort of initiation prank, à la a dumb rom-com? You're going to coax me into sharing my deepest, darkest thoughts/fears, and then, BAM, when I least expect it, you'll post them on Tumblr and I'll be the laughingstock of WVHS? If so, you're messing with the wrong girl. I have a black belt in karate. I can take care of myself.
If not a joke, thanks for your offer, but no thanks. I want to be an embedded journalist one day. Might as well get used to war zones now. And anyhow, I'm from Chicago. I think I can handle the Valley.
To: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
From: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
Subject: not a hoax, elaborate or otherwise
promise this isn't a prank. and I don't think I've ever even seen a rom-com. shocking, I know. hope this doesn't reveal some great deficiency in my character.
you do know journalism is a dying field, right? maybe you should aspire to be a war blogger.
To: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
From: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
Subject: Specifically targeted spam?
Very funny. Wait, is there really sperm in the veggie burgers?
To: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
From: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
Subject: you, Jessie Holmes, have won $100,000,000 from a Nigerian prince.
not just sperm but sweaty lacrosse sperm.
I'd avoid the meat loaf too, just to be on the safe side. in fact, stay out of the cafeteria altogether. that shit will give you salmonella.
To: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
From: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
Subject: Will send my bank account details ASAP.
who are you?
To: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
From: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
Subject: and copy of birth certificate & driver's license, please.
nope. not going to happen.
To: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
From: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
Subject: And, of course, you need my social security number too, right?
Fine. But tell me this at least: what's up with the lack of capital letters? Your shift key broken?
To: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
From: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
Subject: and height and weight, please
terminally lazy.
To: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
From: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
Subject: NOW you're getting personal.
Lazy and verbose. Interesting combo. And yet you do take the time to capitalize proper nouns?
To: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
From: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
Subject: and mother's maiden name
I'm not a complete philistine.
To: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
From: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
Subject: Lazy, verbose, AND nosy
"Philistine" is a big word for a teenage guy.
To: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
From: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
Subject: lazy, verbose, nosy, and . . . handsome
that's not the only thing that's . . . whew. caught myself from making the obvious joke just in time. you totally set me up, and I almost blew it.
To: Somebody Nobody (somebodynobo@gmail.com)
From: Jessie A. Holmes (jesster567@gmail.com)
Subject: Lazy, verbose, nosy, handsome, and . . . modest
That's what she said.
See, that's the thing with email. I'd never say something like that in person. Crude. Suggestive. Like I am the kind of girl who could pull off that kind of joke. Who, face to face with an actual member of the male species, would know how to flirt, and flip my hair, and, if it came to it, know how to do much more than kiss. (For the record, I do know how to kiss. I'm not saying I'd ace an AP exam on the subject or, you know, win Olympic gold, but I'm pretty sure I'm not awful. I know this purely by way of comparison. Adam Kravitz. Ninth grade. Him: all slobber and angry, rhythmic tongue, like a zombie trying to eat my head. Me: all-too-willing participant, with three days of face chafing.)
Email is much like an ADD diagnosis. Guaranteed extra time on the test. In real life, I constantly rework conversations after the fact in my head, edit them until I've perfected my witty, lighthearted, effortless banter--all the stuff that seems to come naturally to other girls. A waste of time, of course, because by then I'm way too late. In the Venn diagram of my life, my imagined personality and my real personality have never converged. Over email and text, though, I am given those few additional beats I need to be the better, edited version of myself. To be that girl in the glorious intersection.
I should be more careful. I realize that now. That's what she said. Really? Can't decide if I sound like a frat boy or a slut; either way, I don't sound like me. More importantly, I have no idea who I am writing to. Unlikely that SN truly is some do-gooder who feels sorry for the new girl. Or better yet, a secret admirer. Because of course that's straight where my brain went, the result of a lifetime of devouring too many romantic comedies and reading too many improbable books. Why do you think I kissed Adam Kravitz? He was my neighbor back in Chicago. What better story is there than the girl who discovers that true love has been waiting right next door all along? Of course, my neighbor turned out to be a zombie with carbonated saliva, but no matter. Live and learn.
Surely SN is a cruel joke. He's probably not even a he. Just a mean girl preying on the weak. Because let's face it: I am weak. Possibly even pathetic. I lied. I don't have a black belt in karate. I am not tough. Until last month, I thought I was. I really did. Life threw its punches, I got shat on, but I took it in the mouth, to mix my metaphors. Or not. Sometimes it felt just like getting shat on in the mouth. My only point of pride: no one saw me cry. And then I became the new girl at WVHS, in this weird area called the Valley, which is in Los Angeles but not in Los Angeles or something like that, and I ended up here because my dad married this rich lady who smells like fancy almonds, and juice costs twelve dollars here, and I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.
I am as lost and confused and alone as I have ever been. No, high school will never be a time I look back on fondly. My mom once told me that the world is divided into two kinds of people: the ones who love their high school years and the ones who spend the next decade recovering from them. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, she said.
But something did kill her, and I'm not stronger. So go figure; maybe there's a third kind of person: the ones who never recover from high school at all.
Excerpted from Tell Me Three Things by Julie Buxbaum
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
A New York Times Bestseller
“Here are three things about this book: (1) It’s . . . funny and romantic; (2) the mystery at the heart of the story will keep you turning the pages; (3) I have a feeling you’ll be very happy you read it.” —Jennifer E. Smith, author of The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight
With the perfect mix of comedy and tragedy, love and loss, and pain and elation, the characters in Julie Buxbaum’s Tell Me Three Things come to feel like old friends who make any day better. This YA novel is sure to appeal to fans of Rainbow Rowell, Jennifer Niven, and E. Lockhart.
Everything about Jessie is wrong. At least, that’s what it feels like during her first week of junior year at her new ultra-intimidating prep school in Los Angeles. It’s been barely two years since her mother’s death, and because her father eloped with a woman he met online, Jessie has been forced to move across the country to live with her stepmonster and her pretentious teenage son, and to start at a new school where she knows no one.
Just when she’s thinking about hightailing it back to Chicago, she gets an email from a person calling themselves Somebody/Nobody (SN for short), offering to help her navigate the wilds of Wood Valley High School. Is it an elaborate hoax? Or can she rely on SN for some much-needed help?
In a leap of faith—or an act of complete desperation—Jessie begins to rely on SN, and SN quickly becomes her lifeline and closest ally. Jessie can’t help wanting to meet SN in person. But are some mysteries better left unsolved?
More praise for TELL ME THREE THINGS
“Three Things about this novel: (1) I loved it. (2) No, really, I LOVED it. (3) I wish I could tell every teen to read it. Buxbaum’s book sounds, reads, breathes, worries, and soars like real adolescents do.” —Jodi Picoult, New York Times bestselling author of Leaving Time and Off the Page
“The desire to find out whether Jessie’s real-life and virtual crushes are one and the same will keep [readers] turning the pages as quickly as possible.” —PW, Starred
“A heartfelt, wryly perceptive account of coming to terms with irrevocable loss when life itself means inevitable change.” —Kirkus
“Buxbaum’s debut is hard to put down because of its smooth and captivating text. The addition of virtual conversations through email and chatting adds to the exciting plot twist.” —SLJ