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Friendship. Juvenile fiction.
Popularity. Juvenile fiction.
Wealth. Juvenile fiction.
Middle schools. Juvenile fiction.
Schools. Juvenile fiction.
Friendship. Fiction.
Popularity. Fiction.
Wealth. Fiction.
Middle schools. Fiction.
Schools. Fiction.
Vail (<EMPHASIS TYPE=""ITALIC"">You, Maybe) again demonstrates a penetrating insight into the concerns of young teen girls, this time upending the conventions of the rich-girl novel. In the first of a trilogy about three sisters, 14-year-old Phoebe, the appealing narrator, and her two older siblings have been coached to view themselves and their über-successful investor mother as Valkyries (“Nobody—nothing—can intimidate us. We will never back down; we will never surrender,” their mother tells them over breakfast). Less a Valkyrie than a people-pleaser, Phoebe has joined her best friends to plan a lavish eighth-grade graduation party, for which Phoebe has picked out a Vera Wang gown. But when her mother gets fired abruptly for what could be shady dealings, Phoebe is forced to think about money for the first time, and to wonder how much effect it has on her friendships and popularity. Vail gets the relationships exactly right, from the shifting twosomes among the sisters to the changing attitudes among the eighth-grade friends and their parents, and most especially, the shifts in behavior within her protagonist. Readers will absorb this in one fell swoop. Ages 12–up. <EMPHASIS TYPE=""ITALIC"">(May)
ALA BooklistFourteen-year-old Phoebe had never really considered the role that wealth and popularity played in her "lucky" life until both are threatened after her mom suddenly loses her job. Now her parents can't afford to pay for Phoebe's expensive eighth-grade graduation party or the green Vera Wang dress she was dreaming of wearing to it. At first, she tries to convince her sisters and four best friends that everything is still "all good." But after some tearful soul-searching, Phoebe faces up to the truth, and she discovers that she's still rich in friendship and also lucky in love. This entertaining, albeit predictable, first volume in a planned trilogy will appeal to Meg Cabot and Maureen Johnson groupies, as well as fans of Michael Simmons' Pool Boy (2003). Vail's insightful characterizations of teen girls and their shifting loyalties is right on target, and her insertion of several uncomfortably realistic moments, such as when Phoebe's mom's credit card is publicly confiscated, will leave readers squirming in embarrassed sympathy.
Kirkus ReviewsPhoebe, "pretty, popular [and] rich," knows that she is lucky. Now 14 and about to graduate eighth grade, she's the youngest of the Avery women, Valkyries all: her beautiful, high-powered mother and her two older sisters. Then, just when Phoebe and her closest girlfriends are planning an exorbitantly expensive graduation party, Phoebe's luck runs out. She discovers that her mother, the main breadwinner in her family, has been fired, blamed for a big investment gone bad. Afraid to tell her acquisitive friends that she can no longer afford her share of the party, Phoebe tries to manipulate her way out, pretending that the party has become too overblown and blaming her best friend for the lapse. The story, which has a touching ending and something to say about the connections between friendship, trust and money, wants to have it both ways, however—for Phoebe to learn the lesson that being lucky in life isn't about stuff, it's about having family and friends who will stand by you—without forcing her to sacrifice anything real. (Fiction. 12 & up)
School Library JournalGr 9 Up-This is de Oliveira's first novel, and he's a writer to watch. Sam Smith is a young, sexually confused teen living in Surrey, England. He enjoys hanging out with his friends, Brenda and Pod, and is passionate about playing on the local football team. Then he meets self-confident Toby, another gifted player, who happens to be gay. Toby introduces Sam to the contemporary gay scene in London, which includes Soho nightlife. Sam is intrigued and wonders if he might be gay, as well, especially after he notices mysterious and attractive "Him," a young stranger who occasionally shows up at football games. Eventually Sam comes to the realization that "These are the facts. I'm attracted to boys and girls. I'm just Sam. I was born like this." De Oliveira has a mature, concise writing style and an excellent command of narrative pacing and dialogue. Sam and his friends are believable characters, flawed but likable, and the author's examination of contemporary British youth will probably intrigue American readers. Raw language and British slang (snogging, shagging, poof, cheeky git, etc.) are used liberally throughout, which requires some adjustment at first. Overall, this is a well-written and insightful novel that should appeal to relatively sophisticated young adult readers. Robert Gray, East Central Regional Library, Cambridge, MN
Voice of Youth AdvocatesEverything has always come easy for Phoebe Avery. She is lucky, and she knows it. She lives in a mansion, has parents who spoil her, is class president, and has four best friends. About to graduate eighth grade, Phoebe and her pals plan an extravagant party to celebrate the end of middle school. When Phoebe finds out that her mother, the family's breadwinner, has been fired, her lucky streak ends. Determined to keep her situation under wraps, Phoebe looks for an excuse to pull out of the party that her family now cannot afford. She picks a fight with Kirstyn, her closest friend, accusing her of commandeering the planning of what Phoebe now feels is a tacky, excessive affair. In her haste to get out of the party while still keeping her secret, Phoebe worries she might have lost her friends in favor of saving face. Initially it is difficult to muster up much sympathy for Phoebe, whose life of privilege has created both a sense of entitlement and a lack of knowledge about real-world money issues. But Phoebe is more than just a one-dimensional character. Phoebe does not understand her family's money troubles, but she knows she does not want charity or pity. Her confusion over how to deal with this news and how it could affect her relationships feels genuine and realistic. The loss she experiences has less to do with shallow things like money and status and more to do with the deep complexities of security and friendship.-Amanda MacGregor.
Starred Review for Publishers Weekly
ALA Booklist
Kirkus Reviews
School Library Journal
Voice of Youth Advocates
Wilson's High School Catalog
Wilson's Junior High Catalog
Chapter One
Our toaster is moody.
When I got down to the kitchen this morning, just my sisters were there. I said good morning to them. Allison grunted. Quinn said, "Morning. Waffles?" She was putting three frozen waffles into the toaster, one for each of us.
"Yum," I said, but I couldn't wait, so I grabbed a Smoothie out of the fridge. "Where's my Teen Vogue?"
"Should be in the trash. How can you read that crap?" Allison said, grabbing the Smoothie out of my hand to read the label. "You like these?"
I shrugged. "I wake up hungry."
"I'd give anything for your metabolism," Allison grumbled, handing the Smoothie back to me.
"Trade you for your white sweater," I said between gulps.
"I wish." She kicked off her sneakers.
"You're both skinnier than I am, so shut up," Quinn commented without looking up from whatever she was doing on her laptop.
"I'm not skinny," Allison said, yanking off her socks. "I'm interesting looking."
"Get over it," Quinn said. "Grandma didn't mean anything—"
"She meant ugly," Allison interrupted, stomping barefoot toward the back hall. "Whatever. Phoebe, did you take my new flip-flops?"
"No!" I yelled, trying to remember if I had.
The toaster lever popped up. "Phoebe!" Allison yelled at me from inside the back hall closet. "You're standing right there! Could you get the waffles? Come on. Quinn and I have to go or we'll miss our bus!"
"Oh, like the middle-school bus is so much later? Please!" I hate when Allison acts like she and Quinn are a team I'm too young to try out for. I am fourteen, not four, and she is closer to my age than Quinn's by three months.
I tossed my empty Smoothie bottle in the sink, and then, slowly enough to totally torture my sisters, opened the toaster door to check. All three waffles were soggy on the edges and hard in the middles, with little ice crystals still clinging to the tops.
"Still frozen." I closed the glass door of the stainless steel toaster oven and pressed the lever again.
Quinn's head jerked up. "Seriously? Retoasting?"
"No way," Allison yelled, coming back into the kitchen with my new flip-flops dangling from her fingers. "You know the toaster gets insulted."
"No, only you do," I told her. "Those are my flip-flops."
"They're mine! You just stole them yesterday. Yours have the stripey thing, remember?"
"Oh, yeah," I said.
I found the Teen Vogue in my bag and brought it over to where Allison was standing at the sink, wet-paper-toweling invisible dirt specks off the edges of her/my flip-flops.
"Want to see the dress I found for my graduation party?" I asked her, flipping pages. "It's green. Do you think that's—"
Allison cursed and pointed at the toaster. Smoke was curling out of it. I cursed, too, and dashed across the kitchen. When I yanked the toaster door open, a huge ball of dark smoke exploded out.
The smoke alarm started blaring.
"It's not a fire," Allison yelled at the smoke alarm on the ceiling. "Just more exploding waffles." Dropping the flip-flops, she ran to open the sliding glass door to the deck and yelled back at me, "I told you, Phoebe!"
Quinn and I waved our arms in front of the smoke, guiding it toward the fresh air, until the alarm finally quit.
"Our appliances have scary amounts of personality," Quinn said.
"Like the thing," I said, laughing. "Remember? With Mom?"
My sisters both looked at me blankly.
"The electric tea kettle! Remember?" I unplugged the toaster from the wall and, holding out the cord like a sword, announced to my sisters, "Never be intimidated!"
They smiled then, too, at the memory of our mother's epic battle against our old electric tea kettle the last time she was on one of her occasional quitting-coffee kicks.
"Want to see a failure, girls?" Mom had asked that morning last fall, spinning around to face us.
All three of us nodded. Sure. We wanted to see anything she wanted to show us. When my mother is in the room it's almost impossible to look away from her.
She grabbed the electric tea kettle and thrust it out like a weapon, as water dripped guiltily from the spout. "A tea kettle's spout should stick out," she explained, her quiet voice controlled, intense. "But this one is snub-nosed. It's indented. You know why?"
We all asked why, trying not to smile too much as our cereal, forgotten, soggified in front of us.
"Why?" she repeated. "So that boiling water will spill all over the masochist who is making tea instead of going to Starbucks like a normal person!"
My father laughed.
"It's a design failure, Jed. Admit it—it drools!" She spun around toward him. "Look, it left a spot on my new silk shirt."
The spot was microscopic, if it existed at all. In her sapphire-blue silk shirt under her black Armani suit, my mother looked, as always, flawless.
"You just have to pour it slowly, Claire," Daddy told her in his kindergarten-teacher voice. "Easy does it."
"That's so . . . tea-drinker," Mom answered, a small smile tipping up the corners of her mouth. "I'm not Zen enough for this malformed tea kettle? Fine, then, I'm not. Out it goes!" Mom slammed the full glass tea kettle into the garbage can. "That's it," she said, and turned to yank the plug out of the wall outlet so she could dump the base into the trash after the kettle. "Garbage."
Daddy smiled his crooked smile and murmured, "Oh, Claire."
"Let this be a lesson, girls," Mom told us, her chameleon eyes flashing deep sapphire. "We are the Avery women. Nobody—nothing—can intimidate us. We will never back down; we will never surrender. Especially not to moody inanimate objects!"
Daddy laughed again.
She pretended not to smile and continued. "We are warrior women! We are Valkyries! We will not—ever—allow ourselves to be bullied or mistreated! Right?"
Lucky. Copyright © by Rachel Vail. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Excerpted from Lucky by Rachel Vail
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.
Phoebe Avery has always been a lucky girl.
Popular, smart, and beautiful, Phoebe has it all. She's even planning the hottest party ever with her four best friends to celebrate their middle school graduation. With the perfect green dress picked out at Neiman Marcus and half her class clamoring for invites, plus a new guy to crush on, Phoebe could not be in a better mood—until it looks like the party might be over before it can even start.
When Phoebe's family is suddenly faced with losing it all, she discovers that there is more at risk than just her designer jeans. In a town where gossip rules, Phoebe needs to keep everything a secret, or she may lose her friends too. Can lucky Phoebe really be out of luck?