9780593378298: Honest June
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 0593378296 ISBN 13: 9780593378298
Verlag: Random House Books for Young Readers, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

Who wouldn't want a fairy godmother? But when June's puts her under a spell where she cannot tell a lie, the truth is middle school just got a lot harder.

The truth hurts. Sixth-grader June Jackson learned that lesson early. (She told her BFF one time she didn’t like her shoes. They fought for a week!) Which is why now June tells people what they what to hear. Who cares about a small fib if it makes her friends and family happy?

But when June’s fairy godmother appears in a cloud of glitter, she’s grants June with the ability to only tell the truth. Now, June has no choice but to be honest about how she feels. And the truth is June feels stressed out. Middle school is no joke—between field hockey, friend drama, and her parents' high expectations, June is so overwhelmed that sometimes it’s hard to breathe.

When everything spirals out of control, will June find freedom in telling the whole truth and nothing but—or is she destined to battle the curse for the rest of her life?

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Tina Wells the founder of RLVNT Media, a multimedia content venture serving entrepreneurs, tweens, and culturists with authentic representation. Tina has been recognized by Fast Company's 100 Most Creative People in Business, Essence’s 40 Under 40, Cosmopolitan’s Fun Fearless Phenom, and more. She is the author of nine books, including the best-selling tween fiction series Mackenzie Blue, its 2020 spinoff series, The Zee Files, and the marketing handbook, Chasing Youth Culture and Getting It Right.

Brittney Bond was born in sunny South Florida to a Jamaican family. A self-taught artist, she works primarily digitally with a passion for using appealing color palettes, intriguing lighting, and a magical and positive aura throughout her illustrations.

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Chapter One
I don’t know everything about life yet, but I know at least one thing is true—­life’s easier when you make people happy.
You want to get good grades? Tell teachers what they want to hear. Want your friends to like you? Tell them you love their clothes and their hair and their moms’ cooking. Want your parents to be happy? Do what they say. Follow their rules. Happy parents equals extra dessert and cool toys and fun vacations. And, most importantly, love.
Making people happy is what I’m good at. Sometimes that means not telling people the whole truth. Or telling them no truth at all. Not because I’m trying to be mischievous! In fact, I don’t like to make trouble—­but it always finds me somehow. Like the time I tried to compliment my best friend Nia on a pair of shoes she was wearing. I said they made her feet look “too long.” She was mad at me for a week. I vowed to say only nice things about her feet no matter what.
Or the time I accidentally knocked over the mailbox when Dad asked me to take out the trash. Instead of walking it to the corner, I put the trash bag on my old wagon to roll it down the driveway. I had the wagon aimed perfectly at the mailbox to stop its roll, but it smacked into the pole harder than I expected, knocking the mailbox over at a forty-­five-­degree angle. Oops! I went inside and pretended nothing happened. But the next morning, Dad was furious. His eyebrows came together in the middle of his forehead. “Stupid garbage trucks! I’m going to find out who did this and get them fired,” he said. I stood there, silent. What if he found out it was me? Would he fire me as his daughter? I kept my mouth shut. He fixed the mailbox and forgot about it in a few days, thankfully.
Or the time my mother asked me if I knew what the “birds and the bees” was, and I told her the truth—­“No. Should I?” This led to one of the most uncomfortable conversations of my life about boys and girls and babies and . . . ugh! I get the heebie-­jeebies every time I think about it!
I’ve found in my brief eleven years on this earth that the truth isn’t always necessary. Tell people what they want to hear. Smile and nod. No one gets hurt. And that is how I planned to get through the sixth grade, through middle school, and through the rest of my life.

It was the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, two days before the end of summer vacation. But in Featherstone Creek, a suburb of Atlanta, the weather stays warm through fall—­so it always feels just a bit like summer outside. Mom, Dad, and I got back home from our house at Lake Lanier, about an hour’s drive away, late at night—­just in time for me to unload my bags, eat a spoonful of peanut butter, put on my pajamas, and immediately pass out. I don’t even remember if I brushed my teeth. I slept like I hadn’t slept for ten years, and I didn’t wake up until I heard the chime notification from Nia’s text on my phone.
NIA: You there? We’re coming at 5 p.m. today.
I jumped out of bed and got dressed. My best friends Nia Shorter and Olive Banks were coming over for one last summer barbecue before school started. We were going to celebrate as if it were our birthdays and New Year’s Eve combined. After tonight, we had only one more day of no homework, no teachers, no alarms to wake up to before . . . it begins.
“It” being our first day of the sixth grade and our first day at Featherstone Creek Middle School.
We were no longer grade-­schoolers. This was middle school. Prime time. The big leagues. At FCMS, we needed to bring our A games. We needed to make a great—­scratch that, legendary—­impression from day one and live up to the legacies that our parents and grandparents had created for us. Or else our parents would be disappointed. Our neighbors wouldn’t like us. Teachers wouldn’t like us. Then colleges wouldn’t like us. And we wouldn’t get degrees. And then we wouldn’t be able to get good jobs, and we’d have no money or friends or husbands, and we’d be living on our parents’ couches forever, surviving on chicken wings and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. And then we’d become embarrassments to our families. If, at that point, our families still claimed us.
Okay, maybe not all these things would happen if we didn’t rock middle school. I tend to overthink things sometimes . . . just part of my charm, I guess? I don’t really like Cheetos anyway!
I straightened up my bedroom, which was next to Dad’s office. I kept my room nice and neat so my parents wouldn’t be tempted to come in and rifle through my things, like my journals or my laptop or—­gasp—­my phone. If they thought I kept my room in order, they’d think I kept my life in order, too. I smoothed my sheets and comforter and arranged all the pillows from large to small against the headboard. I cleaned my desk and straightened my framed photos of me and Nia and me and my BFF Chloe Lawrence-­Johnson, who I’ve known since I was a baby but who moved to Los Angeles with her family last year. I went into my bathroom and put away the bottles of leave-­in conditioner and edge gel I used on my hair today to put it up into a high braided bun—­my go-­to hairstyle for a summertime barbecue. Tomorrow, the day before school, is wash day.
By the time I made it downstairs, my mom and dad were getting food ready for the barbecue. My dad, wearing an old Howard University T-­shirt, stood at the kitchen counter over a huge platter of chicken covered with barbecue sauce. My dad is a lawyer. He went to school with Nia’s dad at THE Howard University, aka the Harvard of the HBCUs, aka the Mecca, according to Dad. He practically screams “H-­U! You knowwwwww!” if anyone merely thinks about Howard in the same room as him. And has big plans for his little girl to follow in his footsteps. Every. Single. One. He runs a law firm together with Nia’s dad in downtown Featherstone Creek, with their last names on the front of their office building.
Dad wants me to either run his firm when he retires or head into politics, like Madam Vice President Kamala Harris (“H-­U ’86!” my dad screams at any mention of her name). I like wearing and buying nice clothes, and I definitely love MVP Harris, but I don’t know how I feel about arguing with people all the time, which is what legal stuff seems to be about, at least to me. And those suits they wear in court. They’re so stiff and itchy! And lady lawyers have to wear pantyhose even on hot summer days in Atlanta. Meanwhile, I get uncomfortable in jean shorts in July sometimes!
My mom is a doctor who delivers babies for all the moms in town. She works a lot, but she also gets to hold babies all the time, which to me sounds awesome. Her entire family grew up in Featherstone Creek, and most of her family started businesses here in town. Her dad, my granddad, has a family practice on Main Street. He’s our family doctor and Nia’s family doctor. And the doctor for half of my sixth-­grade class.
My parents always mean well—­they want the best for me—­and I want to make them happy. Because when they’re happy, the house is happy. We eat ice cream and go to the Crab Shack for dinner. And spend more time at our lake house, and my mom and I get our nails done together at the salon. And my dad laughs with his mouth wide open, and when he laughs, everyone else laughs. When my parents aren’t happy, there are rain clouds, and boiled brussels sprouts for dinner, and my mom calls me by my full...

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Verlag
Random House Books for Young Readers
Erscheinungsdatum
2021
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593378296
ISBN 13 
9780593378298
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Zeichner
Bond Brittney
Anzahl der Seiten
288
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Purmerul LTD
https://strengholt.nl/en/

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