Verwandte Artikel zu Get Well Soon

Get Well Soon - Softcover

Halpern, Julie

 
9780312581480: Get Well Soon
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0312581483 ISBN 13: 9780312581480
Verlag: Square Fish, 2009

Inhaltsangabe

Anna Bloom is depressed -- so depressed that her parents have committed her to a mental hospital with a bunch of other messed-up teens. Here she meets a roommate with a secret (and a plastic baby), a doctor who focuses way too much on her weight, and a cute, shy boy who just might like her.

But wait! Being trapped in a loony bin isn't supposed to be about making friends, losing weight, and having a crush, is it?

Get Well Soon, Julie Halpern's fiction debut, finds humor in the unlikeliest of places, and presents a character whose voice -- and heart -- will resonate with all of us who have ever felt just a little bit crazy.

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Julie Halpern is the author of several books for young adults, including Meant to Be, Get Well Soon, and The F-It List; the adult novel Maternity Leave; and the picture book Toby and the Snowflakes. Prior to her life as a full-time mom and author, Julie was a school librarian. In her imaginary spare time, she enjoys traveling, watching television for grown-ups, and eating baked goods. Julie lives in the Chicago suburbs with her husband, Caldecott-winning author and illustrator Matthew Cordell, and their two children.

Von der hinteren Coverseite

I am sitting at a desk in the middle of a hallway, and all of the lights are off. No one will tell me what they're going to do with me or how they're going to help me or how long I have to be here. They just plunked me down in this freaky place, told my parents not to worry, and now I'm stuck.

Aus dem Klappentext

Anna Bloom is depressed--so depressed that her parents have committed her to a mental hospital with a bunch of other messed-up teens. Here, she meets a roommate with a secret (and a plastic baby), a doctor who focuses way too much on her weight, and a cute, shy boy who just might like her.

But wait! Being trapped in a loony bin isn't supposed to be about making friends, losing weight, and having a crush, is it?

In her fiction debut, Julie Halpern finds humor in the unlikeliest of places, and presents a character whose voice--and heart--will resonate with all of us who have ever felt just a little bit crazy.

Julie Halpern is a middle-school librarian in suburban Chicago. She is the author of the children's book "Toby and the Snowflakes. "Her likes include road trips, board games, and cake. Her dislikes include traffic, insomnia, and meanies.

Julie lives with her husband, illustrator Matthew Cordell, and their squeezably soft Siamese cat, Tobin. "Get Well Soon "is Julie's first novel, and is based on her own depressing experiences during high school. But she's fine now. Really.

Visit Julie Halpern's Web site and blog at www.juliehalpern.com.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Get Well Soon

By Julie Halpern

Square Fish

Copyright © 2009 Julie Halpern
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780312581480
GET WELL SOON
Day 1
I AM SITTING AT A DESK IN THE MIDDLE OF A HALLWAY, and all of the lights are off. No one will tell me what they're going to do with me or how they're going to help me or how long I have to be here. They just plunked me down in this freaky place, told my parents not to worry, and now I'm stuck.
They told me to write. Write down your feelings. It'll help you. Have some paper. Have a pencil, they said. I don't like pencils, I told them.They smudge. I once kept a journal all in pencil, and when I went back to read all of the depressing stuff that I wrote, it was gone. Smudged away. I wrote it all down, the stories of my life, my feelings, all of the crap you're supposed to say in journals so you can look back and see what a big loser you used to be. But it was all gone, mushed together as if none of it mattered in the first place. Which it didn't. Because I still wound up here.
Screw journals. I don't need a journal to tell myself what I already know: Life sucks. I'm fat. Nothing interesting ever happens to me. I don't want to deal with that shit anymore.
So I'm not going to keep my thoughts around. I'm going to send them away. I'm going to write my thoughts in letters, like I did when my sister went to overnight camp. That way they're gone. Someone else has them, and I don't have to look back and see how pathetic I once was. I will write letters and I won't feel so bad. I won't feel so bad that I'm depressed. I won't feel so bad that I'm fat. And maybe, just maybe, I won't feel so bad that my parents had me locked up in this fucking mental hospital.
Friday, Day 1
Dear Tracy,
By the time you get this letter, you'll probably know where I am. I can just picture you calling my house after you got off of work at the mall and my mom trying to answer the question "Is Anna there?" What did she say? "Oh, sorry, dear, she's at the nut house. Try back in a few months." I can't imagine she'd call it a nut house, though. She probably said something like, "emotional rehab." Maybe she didn't even tell you the truth. Shit. Did she tell you I went to a fat farm? I'll be pissed if that's what she's telling people. I'd rather be considered crazy than fat any day.
But I'm not crazy, Trace. I just can't believe I'm here. I can't believe that things got so bad that my parents sent me to a mental hospital. It's weird here, T. Right now, it's like, 10:30 at night and they have me just waiting in the middle of some hallway at one of those school desks (where the seat is connected to the desk part and there's that little book holder basket where the person behind you can stick their feet. Remember when Joe Shafton used to torment me in junior high by shaking my desk incessantly? Bastard. I finally started crying in class and the teacher let me change seats). All I have with me right now are my pillow from home (my mom packed it), and this gummed pad of paper and a suckball pencil (annoyingly without an eraser) that they oh so generously gave to me. I'm embarrassed to say that I've been crying since the moment I got here, and I think the lady at the desk is sick of hearing it. I told her you weremy best friend and that I'd kill myself if they didn't let me write you a letter. The writing is helping me feel a little calmer, so that's good. I wish I could have talked to you before my parents dragged me here, but I didn't want you to freak out while you were ringing up some big thong purchase at work (do you get less commission when you sell thongs than granny underwear 'cause there's less fabric?). Sorry--I'm trying to be funny so I don't go completely insane due to the fact that I AM WRITING TO YOU FROM A LOONY BIN!!!
[Pause to note that a group of teenagers just passed me in the hallway. They were totally staring at me, so I just shoved my face into my pillow so they wouldn't see how horrid I look from all of the crying I've been doing. At least I don't wear makeup, so I don't have freakish mascara running down my cheeks.]
Lakeland Hospital. Why am I here, you ask? I don't know. I know I haven't been at school much lately, and I've been a little weird to talk to (sorry about that). I don't know what my problem is. For a while now I haven't been feeling very normal. Like, I can't sit through classes without getting antsy and claustrophobic and having to get up to go to the bathroom (so embarrassing). My mind starts racing and racing, and I can't concentrate on things at all. I just start thinking about how I might get a stomachache and won't be able to sit through class, and then it makes my stomach actually start to hurt and I just have to get out of there. And sometimes I worry that my stomach will make a grumbly noise, and some jerk guy will say something like, "Lookslike it's time for your ten o'clock feeding, Fat Ass." I even start thinking about what would happen if (yes, you may laugh) I fart in class! Nobody forgets a class farter. I mean, I totally remember when Johnny Stran ripped one in 7th-grade history, and everyone simultaneously scooted their desks away from him--SHROOM!--so he was left alone in the middle of the classroom. I would be mortified if that happened to me. That psycho bitch therapist I saw over the summer claimed that these are called Panic Attacks, but I don't think I've ever read anything in scientific journals about fear of farting (not that I've ever actually read a scientific journal, but, whatever). Just because it supposedly has a name doesn't help the fact that I can't sit still or be near anyone. Not you, of course, but it's just nice and mellow when we hang at your house. And you wouldn't berate me if I farted in front of you (well, you might, but then I'd just remind you of that time you let out a turbo one at a slumber party while we were doing Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board, and everyone thought it was some evil ghost fart and they dropped you).
Anyway, these panic attacks are the reasons why I'm never in class anymore. Either I ditch and hide in the bathroom, go to the nurse and lie on one of those nasty lice-proof vinyl couches and chew Pepto tablets, or convince my mom to call me in sick. That last one was getting much harder to pull off. You know how nice my mom is, but she was starting to hate lying for me. She told me she was afraid I'd never go to school again (which doesn't sound too bad to me). But she started making me feel guilty, likeI shouldn't force her to make the choice between my truancy and my happiness. And she and my dad have been fighting a lot (what else is new) because he thinks she's being too passive and should just make me go to school. I guess she kind of is being passive, but in this case I like it. Plus, if he wants me to go to school so badly, why doesn't he make me go? Not that I want him to even talk to me, but isn't that hypocritical? Mom's all worried that since it's my junior year I won't be able to get into college with all of these cuts on my record. I try to tell her that at least they're cuts from honors level classes, but that doesn't seem to help. That's why I started seeing that skag of a therapist. My mom found her by recommendation from one of her mah-jongg friends. She's kind of perverted (the therapist, not the mah-jongg friend). Everything I say she relates to sex. The other day she said I liked The Clash because, get ready for this, "Clash is a slang term for a vagina." She actually said that. What a total freak! It's not...

„Über diesen Titel“ kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Verlag
Square Fish
Erscheinungsdatum
2009
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0312581483
ISBN 13 
9780312581480
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
224
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
gpsr@libri.de
gpsr@libri.de

Europaallee 1
Bad Hersfeld
36244
Deutschland