Better Nate Than Ever - Softcover

Buch 1 von 3: Nate

Federle, Tim

 
9781534429130: Better Nate Than Ever
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1534429131 ISBN 13: 9781534429130
Verlag: S&S Books for Young Readers, 2018

Inhaltsangabe

Soon to be a Disney+ Original movie!

“The Nate series by Tim Federle is a wonderful evocation of what it’s like to be a theater kid. Highly recommended.” —Lin-Manuel Miranda, star and creator of the musical, Hamilton

A New York Times Notable Book of the Year
A Publishers Weekly Best Book of the Year
A Slate Favorite Book of the Year

A small-town boy hops a bus to New York City to crash an audition for E.T.: The Musical in this winning middle grade novel that The New York Times called “inspired and inspiring.”

Nate Foster has big dreams. His whole life, he’s wanted to star in a Broadway show. (Heck, he’d settle for seeing a Broadway show.) But how is Nate supposed to make his dreams come true when he’s stuck in Jankburg, Pennsylvania, where no one (except his best pal Libby) appreciates a good show tune? With Libby’s help, Nate plans a daring overnight escape to New York. There’s an open casting call for E.T.: The Musical, and Nate knows this could be the difference between small-town blues and big-time stardom.

Tim Federle’s “hilarious and heartwarming debut novel” (Publishers Weekly) is full of broken curfews, second chances, and the adventure of growing up—because sometimes you have to get four hundred miles from your backyard to finally feel at home.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Tim Federle is the showrunner and executive producer of High School Musical: the Musical: the Series, which he created for Disney+. His novels include the New York Times Notable Book Better Nate Than Ever and its Lambda Literature Award–winning sequel—which Lin-Manuel Miranda called “a wonderful evocation of what it’s like to be a theater kid” (New York Times). A film adaptation of Nate, written and directed by Federle, will premiere on Disney+ in spring 2022. The film stars Aria Brooks, Joshua Bassett, Lisa Kudrow, and Rueby Wood as Nate. Tim’s hit series of cocktail recipe books, including Tequila Mockingbird, have sold over half a million copies worldwide. He cowrote the Broadway musical adaptation of Tuck Everlastingand won the Humanitas Prize for cowriting the Golden Globe and Academy Award–nominated Best Animated Feature Ferdinand, starring John Cena and Kate McKinnon. A former Broadway dancer, Tim was born in San Francisco, grew up in Pittsburgh, and now divides his time between Los Angeles and the internet.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1. Some Backstory Some Backstory
I’d rather not start with any backstory.

I’m too busy for that right now: planning the escape, stealing my older brother’s fake ID (he’s lying about his height, by the way), and strategizing high-protein snacks for an overnight voyage to the single most dangerous city on earth.

So no backstory, not yet.

Just… fill in the pieces. For instance, if I neglect to tell you that I’m four foot eight, feel free to picture me a few inches taller. If I also neglect to tell you that all the other boys in my grade are five foot four, and that James Madison (his actual name) is five foot nine and doesn’t even have to mow the lawn for his allowance, you might as well just pretend I’m five foot nine too. Five foot nine with broad, slam-dunking hands and a girlfriend (in high school!) and a clear, unblemished face. Pretend I look like that, like James Madison.

I do, except exactly opposite plus a little worse.

By the way, despite our tremendous height gap, he and I weigh the same. The school nurse told me that once: “James Madison was just in, before you,” she said, grinning like her news was a Christmas puppy, “and you weigh the exact same!” This is the one attribute at which I’m not below average: body heft.

Oh, and I already knew that James Madison was in the nurse’s office before me that day, because we’d just passed in the door frame, and he licked the Ritalin crumbs from his lips and lunged at me to make me scream a little.

I screamed a little.

Luckily, I picked a good key and turned the shriek into a melody, walking into the nurse’s office humming a tune. Life hasn’t always been easy (my first word was “Mama,” and then “The other babies are teasing me”), but at least I’m singing my way through eighth grade, pretending my whole existence is underscored.

There. There’s your backstory. I was always singing.

Not that there’s any evidence. My parents weren’t very good about documenting my childhood; my older brother got all the video footage, including his first seven poops. By the time I was born, disturbing the tranquility of Anthony’s remarkable career as a three-year-old wonder-jock, the video cameras were fully trained on his every sprint, gasp, dive, and volley.

Those are sports terms. Reportedly.

So I always sang, not that there’s any proof of it. No high-res shots of little Nate Foster scurrying around the Christmas tree, belting “Santa Baby” in a clarion, silver soprano.

That’s just my imagination of my voice. Again: Nobody ever recorded it.

But I’m getting off track—you’re distracting me—and there is a lot to do.

“No pressure, but if you pull this off, you are going to be my hero forever.” This is Libby, my best friend for as long as I can remember (two years and three months, specifically, but I hate when stories are hampered by math). Libby’s standing in my backyard tonight, lit only by the moon. Although it might actually be the neighbor’s motion-activated floodlight.

“Bark! Bark!” That’s their dog. Yes, she’s definitely being lit by their floodlight.

“Libby, if I don’t pull this off and make it back home by tomorrow night, I’m dead. Like, my parents will never let me leave Western Pennsylvania again.”

I’m hugging my bookbag, which is stuffed with three pairs of underwear, one plastic water bottle (singers have to stay hydrated), deodorant (just in case I need it on the trip; so far I’m good, but I saw on the Internet that a teenager’s body can begin stinking at any moment), and fifty dollars. Fifty dollars should be safe through at least Harrisburg, and once there, I’ll take my mom’s ATM card out and get some more cash.

Oh, yeah. I borrowed my mom’s ATM card. I’m babysitting it, we’ll say.

The plan is this: If I get money in Harrisburg, it’ll be less suspicious than visiting an ATM in our little town (unofficial motto: “48.5 miles from Pittsburgh and a thousand miles from fun”). When she gets her bank statement, Mom won’t suspect it’s me who stole from her; Harrisburg is the capital of Pennsylvania and thus must be crawling with big-city criminals.

“I’m serious, Lib. If anything goes wrong, my parents’ll never let me leave home again. Ever.”

“Luckily, they’ve never let you leave home before, either. So if you get permanently grounded for this, Nate, you won’t really know what you’re missing out on anyway.”

Unless I get trapped in New York without a hotel, in a freak late-October blizzard. Unless I finally make it back here after my trip and really do know what I’m missing out on, because I actually eat one of the famous New York street pretzels. Imagine: pretzels sold on the street! It’s as if anything is possible. Do they also sell hopes on the street? Do they sell hugs and dreams and height-boosting vitamins? Or hot dogs? I bet you they do.

Feather circles my feet in the grass, whining. I’m sure he has to pee. Feather is so well trained (my older brother did the dog rearing; he’s not only the town sports star but a dog whisperer, too, in addition to donating his old issues of Men’s Health to the library and also volunteer lifeguarding) that the dog only “goes” when we instruct him to. For a moment I want to believe Feather’s just sensing that I’m leaving. That he’s only whining because he’s scared. As scared as I am.

“Go, boy.” But really, he just has to pee.

Something stirs in the woods behind the house. Libby crouches down and her jeans strain at the knees. We have identical bodies, other than the obvious stuff.

“So we’re good on the alibi?” I say.

“Yes. We’re good. I’ll cover your dogsitting duties while Anthony goes off to win another track meet tomorrow. And if anyone calls your landline, I’ll pick up the phone and disguise my voice as yours.”

Libby’s being kind. We have the exact same voice already. When I order pizza, they always sign off by saying, “That’ll be thirty minutes, ma’am.”

“Let’s go over what happens if somebody tries to kidnap you,” Libby says.

“I act like I’m gonna barf.”

“That’s right.” She has theories for everything, and one of them is that if you throw up on criminals, they’ll run. She watches more TV than I do.

“What if I can’t barf? What if I haven’t had anything to eat?”

Libby smirks, reaching into her own bag and handing me a twenty-four-pack of Entenmann’s chocolate donuts. Nobody knows me like Libby.

“You’re so good to me,” I say. “Oh, gosh.” Now I’m hopping. “Maybe I should just stay home? This is crazy.”

“Don’t you think it would be crazier to stay here? And sell flowers the rest of your life?” The family legacy is a floral shop, Flora’s Floras. Mom runs it now, though we’re not making any real money. There’s nothing like a business in which your main product wilts by sundown.

“And tell me one...

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Verlag
S&S Books for Young Readers
Erscheinungsdatum
2018
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1534429131
ISBN 13 
9781534429130
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
304
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
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