Fragile Like Us
Fragile Like Us
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Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Annotation: Best friends Caddy and Rosie have always been close, but as Caddy turns sixteen, she longs to be more confident and interesting like Rosie and turns to Suzanne, an exciting new friend who has a mysterious past. Contains Mature Material
 
Reviews: 5
Catalog Number: #144720
Format: Publisher's Hardcover
Special Formats: Mature Content Mature Content
Copyright Date: 2017
Edition Date: 2017 Release Date: 07/18/17
Pages: 399 pages
ISBN: 1-481-48610-1
ISBN 13: 978-1-481-48610-1
Dewey: Fic
LCCN: 2016939293
Dimensions: 22 cm.
Language: English
Reviews:
Horn Book (Sun Apr 01 00:00:00 CDT 2018)

Caddy, a painfully average sixteen-year-old Brit, befriends Suzanne, a beautiful, impulsive new girl with a history of abuse and suicide attempts. Suzanne's suffering draws Caddy's sympathy, and her trouble-making ways start to appeal to Caddy, who resists others' warnings not to get too close. This realistic novel explores how troubled teens can negatively influence others--a focus that may distance teen readers with compassion for Suzanne's traumas.

Kirkus Reviews

Barnard's debut is a very different kind of love story.Caddy Oliver has just turned 16. It's time she had a love story, so she's created a list of three milestones to reach in the next year: get a boyfriend, lose her virginity, and experience her first Significant Life Event. This last is very important. Caddy's life is ordinary and hopelessly average; surely something significant will change everything. And something does happen, albeit gradually and without Caddy's realizing it, because the event doesn't appear in the way she thought it would. A new girl in her seemingly all-white Brighton, England, neighborhood, the confident, blonde Suzanne, enters Caddy's life. Suzanne is fun, a breath of fresh air, but she also seems to be hiding something. When she confides in Caddy that she had been repeatedly beaten by her stepfather before moving to Brighton to live with her aunt, Caddy becomes heavily involved in Suzanne's life as she continually enables the latter girl's self-destructive behavior in a misguided attempt to help her heal. Breaking the rules with Suzanne is thrilling, but their adventures only push Suzanne further down the proverbial rabbit hole. The narrative doesn't minimize Suzanne's pain and depression, nor does it simplify the gray areas for readers' understanding. Through Caddy's first-person narration, the complexities of such experiences are questioned by an outsider who doesn't understand it but tries, because she loves her friend. A beautiful, heartfelt appreciation of the importance of girls' friendships. (Fiction. 13-18)

School Library Journal (Mon May 01 00:00:00 CDT 2017)

Gr 9 Up-addy and Rosie are BFFs, even though they go to different high schools. Caddy is the dull good girl who gets excellent grades at her private school; Rosie is the sarcastic, funny one, more at ease in social situations. Enter newcomer Suzanne, the troubled one with a family history of abuse, whose friendship with Rosie makes Caddy jealous at first. The dynamics of the friendship trio gradually shift, however, as Caddy and Suze grow closer. Suze adds excitement to Caddy's life, luring her into late-night meanderings around town and even on an overnight trip, leaving Caddy's family clueless and worried sick. Suze's bad influence eventually leads to an accident that almost ends not only a friendship but also a life. The story is told through Caddy's eyes, and while Rosie and Suze are distinct individuals, it is Caddy's view of them that predominates. Rosie is less angst-filled than the other two and slowly becomes peripheral to the action. The book is character-driven, with a rather thin plot involving Caddy following Suze in search of a "significant life event" in a downward spiral of increasingly dangerous activities, including alcohol and pot use. The ending, if not entirely predictable, is also not unexpected, and even a near tragedy doesn't quite enlighten Caddy about her own enabling behavior. Nonetheless, this is a strong first effort from a novelist who writes with a clear understanding of teen girls and the vagaries of their friendships. VERDICT Recommended for YA collections.Katherine Koenig, Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh

Voice of Youth Advocates (Thu Apr 28 00:00:00 CDT 2022)

Cady and Rosie have always been inseparable friends despite attending different schools. When Cady turns sixteen, she decides that she wants to be more confident and interesting, like Rosie. When outgoing Rosie makes a new friend during her school year and the two become three, Cady finds it hard to adjust. Rosie’s new friend, Suzanne, is mysterious, alluding to a troubled past, and living with an extended family member, but she keeps her secrets locked tight. The more Suzanne’s story unfolds and her true behaviors surface, the more Cady decides to break free of her cautious self and join in Suzanne’s recklessness. She wants to help Suzanne heal her wounds as much as she wants to experience something . . . significant. As Cady gets sucked into a whirlwind of troublesome choices, she learns what it really means to be a friend and that once Suzanne is out of control, she is hard to stop. Friendships, family relationships, and tough topics such as abuse and the lingering effects of trauma are discussed with sensitivity and humor. Told in three parts, “Before,” “When,” and “After,” Barnard’s novel demonstrates her masterful ability to capture the shifting alliances among teenage girls, making this novel hard to put down. Fragile Like Us is recommended for fans of books by Morgan Matson and Sarah Dessen who also want the edginess of Carrie Mesrobian novels.—Stephanie Wilkes.

Reviewing Agencies: - Find Other Reviewed Titles
Horn Book (Sun Apr 01 00:00:00 CDT 2018)
Kirkus Reviews
School Library Journal (Mon May 01 00:00:00 CDT 2017)
Voice of Youth Advocates (Thu Apr 28 00:00:00 CDT 2022)
Wilson's High School Catalog
Reading Level: 7.0
Interest Level: 9-12
Lexile: HL670L
Fragile Like Us

1


I THOUGHT IT WAS THE start to a love story.

Finally.

The boy, who looked to be around my age or slightly older, had skidded to a stop in front of me. He gave me a quick, obvious once-over and then switched on a wide, flirtatious grin. His friend, better looking but very much not grinning flirtatiously at me, rolled his eyes.

"Heeeey," the boy said, just like that. Heeeey.

"Hi," I said, sending up a quick prayer that my bus wouldn't arrive before the conversation ended. I tried to flick my hair casually--difficult to do when it's a touch on the bushy side--and lifted my chin, like my sister once showed me when she was trying to teach me how to act confident.

"What flavor have you got?"

"What?"

He gestured to the cup in my hand. "Oh," I said, stupidly. "Toblerone." I'd only had a few sips of the milk shake. I liked to let it melt a little before I started drinking it properly, and the cup was heavy in my hand.

"Nice." The boy carried on grinning at me. "I've never tried that one. Can I have a sip?"

Here is what I was thinking as I handed it over: He likes milk shakes! I like milk shakes! This is a MOMENT. This is the START.

And then his back was to me and he and his friend were running away, their laughter lingering after them. When they were a few feet away, the boy turned, waving my cup triumphantly at me.

"Thanks, love!" he bellowed, either not realizing or not caring that he was not old enough--not to mention suave enough--to pull off "love."

I just stood there with my hand holding nothing but air. The other people at the bus stop were all staring at me, some hiding smirks, others clearly pained with secondhand embarrassment. I adjusted my bag strap as nonchalantly as I could, avoiding anyone's gaze, seriously considering stepping in front of a passing bus.

Three days ago I had turned sixteen--the first of my friends to hit this particular milestone, thanks to my end-of-August birthday--and my parents had rented out a hall for my birthday party. "You can invite boys!" my mother had told me, looking more excited by this prospect than anyone. The problem wasn't that I didn't want boys (definitely not), the problem was that I went to a girls' school, and I could count the number of boys I knew well enough to speak to on one hand. Despite the efforts of my best friend, Rosie, who went to the coed high school and had plenty of boy/friends, the gender mix at the party was hopelessly unbalanced. I spent most of the night eating cake and talking with my friends rather than flirting wildly and dancing with what Rosie called potentials, like sixteen-year-olds are supposed to do. It wasn't a bad way to see in a new age, but it wasn't exactly spectacular either.

I mention this so my okay-have-my-milk-shake-stranger idiocy has some context. I was sixteen, and I honestly believed that I was due a love story. Nothing epic (I'm not greedy), but something worth talking about. Someone to hold hands with (et cetera). The milk-shake meet-cute should have led to that. But instead I was just me, standing empty-handed, and the boy was just a boy.

When the bus pulled up just a couple of minutes later and I retreated to the anonymity of the top deck, I made a mental list of milestones I would have reached by the time my next birthday rolled around.

1) I would get a boyfriend. A real one.

2) I would lose my virginity.

3) I would experience a Significant Life Event.

In the year that followed I achieved just one of these goals. And it wasn't the one I expected.

"So he just took your milk shake?" Rosie's voice was skeptical. It was nearly nine p.m., and she'd called me for our traditional last-night-before-school-starts chat.

"Yeah. Right out of my hand."

"He just snatched it?"

"Um. Yes?"

There was a pause, followed by the sound of Rosie's laughter tickling down the line. Aside from my grandparents, Rosie was the only person I spoke to using the landline. "Oh my God, Caddy, did you give it to him?"

"Not deliberately," I said, already wishing I hadn't brought up the milk shake story. But it was always hard to stop myself telling Rosie everything. It was just second nature.

"I wish I'd been there."

"Me too--you could have chased after him for me."

Rosie and I had spent the day together, another before-school-starts tradition, and had actually each bought a milk shake before going our separate ways. She would definitely have chased after him, had she been there. When we were four, not long after we'd first met at a ballet class we both hated, an older boy had snatched my bow (I was the kind of kid who wore bows in her hair), and Rosie had sprinted after him, taken back the bow, and stamped on his foot. Our friendship had followed a similar pattern ever since.

"Why didn't you chase him?"

"I was surprised!"

"You'd think after all this time in separate schools you'd have learned to chase your own bullies," Rosie said, her voice light and teasing.

"Maybe year eleven will be the year."

"Maybe. Do they even have bullies in private school?"

"Yes." She knew very well that they did. She was the one I'd cried to for several straight months in year eight when I'd been the target. My school, Esther Herring's High School for Girls, had more than its fair share of bullies.

"Oh yeah. Sorry. I mean boy bullies. Obviously you don't get those at Esther's. Those are the ones I chase for you."

I let her tease me about teenage boy thieves for a few minutes more until we hung up. I headed back upstairs in the direction of my bedroom, walking past my mother, who was ironing in front of the TV.

"I've got your uniform here," she called after me. "Do you want to come and get it?"

I trudged reluctantly back toward her. My uniform was hanging on the cupboard door, the pleats on the skirt perfect, the blazer practically shining. I'd avoided looking at my uniform all summer. It was even greener than I remembered.

"All freshly ironed," Mum said, looking pleased and proud. No one was happier that I was at Esther's than her. When she found out I'd got in, she cried. Actually we both cried, but mine were not happy tears.

"Thanks," I said, taking the hangers.

"Are you excited about tomorrow?" She was smiling, and I wondered if she was being oblivious on purpose.

"Not really," I said, but I injected a note of humor into my voice, to avoid a long "don't disparage your opportunities" speech.

"It's a big year," Mum said. The iron made a loud, squelching hissing noise, and she lifted it up. I suddenly realized she was ironing my father's underwear.

"Mmmm," I said, edging toward the door.

"It'll be a great one," Mum continued happily, not even looking at me. "I can already tell. Maybe they'll make you a prefect."

This was unlikely. Being well behaved and getting good grades was not enough to set you apart at Esther's. The two prefects likely to be selected from my year group were Tanisha, who'd started a feminist society in year nine and wanted to be prime minister, and Violet, who headed up the debating team and had campaigned successfully to get the school to go Fairtrade. Esther's was made for people like Tanisha and Violet. They didn't just achieve, which was expected to be a given for everyone, they thrived.

"Maybe," I said. "Don't be disappointed if I'm not though, okay?"

"I'll be disappointed at them, not you," Mum replied, like this was any better.

Great, I thought. Another thing to worry about.

"I really hope you'll be focusing on your goals this year," Mum said, looking up at me just as I tried to make my escape from the room. She was always big on goals.

I thought of the milestone list I'd mentally penned earlier on the bus. Boyfriend. Virginity. Significant Life Events.

"I am," I said. "Completely focused. Good night."

Here's my theory on Significant Life Events: everyone has them, but some have more than others, and how many you have affects how interesting you are, how many stories you have to tell, that kind of thing. I was still waiting for my first one.

Not that I'm complaining, but my life up to the age of sixteen had been steady and unblemished. My parents were still married, my best friend had been constant for over ten years, I'd never been seriously ill, and no one close to me had died. I'd also never won any major competition, been spotted for a talent (not that I had a talent), or really achieved anything beyond schoolwork.

This wasn't to say I hadn't been on the fringe of these kinds of events for other people. Rosie herself had had two, both bad. At two and a half her father walked out on her and her mother, never to be seen again. When she was eleven, her new baby sister, Tansy, died. My older sister, Tarin, had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of eighteen, when I was ten, and the entire period of her diagnosis had been marked by dark clouds and tears and Serious Discussions. I'd experienced these latter two events from the middle of the storm, and had seen how they'd shaped the lives of two of my favorite people in the world.

Rosie and Tarin both thought my significant-life-event theory was ridiculous.

"Don't wish tragedy on yourself," Tarin said. "Or mental illness." She didn't get it when I tried to explain that significant life events could be happy things as well. "Like what?"

"Like getting married?" When her eyes went wide I added quickly, "I mean in general, obviously, not for me anytime soon."

"God, Caddy, I hope you dream bigger than marriage as your life's significant event."

Rosie was dismissive. "They're just horrible things that happened, Cads. They don't make me more interesting than you."

But the thing was, they did. The only interesting story I had to tell about my own life was that of my birth, which aside from my starring role as The Baby really had nothing to do with me. My parents, holidaying in Hampshire several weeks before my estimated arrival day, were stuck in a traffic jam in a little village called Cadnam when Mum went into labor. She ended up having me on the side of the road, with the help of a nurse who happened to be in another car.

This made a great story to pull out of the hat if I ever needed to, and I'd told it so many times ("Caddy's an interesting/weird/funny name. What's it short for?") I knew what kind of facial expressions to expect from the listener and the jokes they'd likely make ("Good thing they weren't driving through Croydon/Horsham/Slough! Ha!"). But that still didn't make it mine. I couldn't remember it, and it had no effect on my life. It was a significant event for my parents, not for me.

If anyone asked me for a story from my life in the present tense, I always went blank.

Of course I wasn't trying to invite tragedy into my life. I knew the takeaway from pain is sadness, not anecdotes. But everything about me and my life felt ordinary, hopelessly average, even clichéd. All I wanted was something of some significance to happen.

And then, so slowly at first I almost didn't notice it happening, it did.

Excerpted from Fragile Like Us by Sara Barnard
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.

In the tradition of Sarah Dessen and Morgan Matson comes a pitch perfect novel about friendship and what it takes to break the bonds between friends.

Caddy and Rosie have always been inseparable. But that was before Suzanne. Now the twosome has become a triangle with constantly shifting alliances.

Caddy’s ready to be more than just the quiet one. She wants something to happen. Suzanne is trying to escape her past and be someone different, someone free. But sometimes downward spirals have a momentum of their own. And no one can break your heart like a best friend.


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