awkward stuff. (girl stuff, Band 3) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Lisi Harrison worked at MTV Networks in New York City for twelve years before writing the #1 bestselling Clique series. That series has sold more than eight million copies and has been on the New York Times bestseller list for more than two hundred weeks, with ten titles hitting #1 and foreign rights sold in thirty-three countries. Alphas was a #1 New York Times bestseller, and Monster High was an instant bestseller. Her latest middle-grade series are The Pack and Girl Stuff. Lisi lives in Laguna Beach, California, where she is is working on follow-up novels for both and probably not watering her plants.

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chapter one.

The last time Fonda Miller's mother made breakfast on a school day was, well, who knows?

Joan, a feminist studies professor, believed in her daughters' right to choose when it came to their bodies. Yet, on this November Friday morning, Joan insisted they sit at the kitchen table and eat chia pudding, of all things.

Meanwhile, she was at the counter, grinding coffee beans and humming, like it was perfectly acceptable to give someone the right to choose and then not let them choose anything.

Fonda wanted to press for an explanation, but that's what older sisters were for. Winfrey was sixteen, Amelia was fourteen, and Fonda's age didn't matter. She didn't matter when they were around; neither would her questions.

"It's one of the three D's, isn't it, Joan?" Winfrey finally asked. The waves were epic, her friends were at the beach, and her FOMS (Fear of Missing Surf) was intensifying. She clearly wanted out.

"Three D's? I have no idea what that means." The mess of crimson curls around Joan's face bobbed as she sat.

"Death, divorce, disease," Amelia explained, pink mirrored sunglasses already on. "So, which one is it?"

"Divorce?" Joan scoffed. "I'd have to be married first, and I'll never, ever—"

Amelia gasped. "You have a disease?"

"No, Amelia, I don't have a disease, and I haven't died either. I'm speaking at the Freedom of Expression dinner in Los Angeles next Saturday."

"Sounds like death to me," Winfrey mumbled.

"The topic is Stand Up to Gender Bias, in case anyone was wondering."

They weren't.

"How long?" Amelia asked.

"Saturday afternoon until Sunday morning."

"You're going to stand the entire time?"

Fonda giggled because, come on. Amelia was a high school freshman. She should know that Standing Up meant speaking out in support of something. Not anti-chair.

Winfrey's bright expression clouded over. "Um, quick question for you, J."

Joan folded her arms across her chest, ready but not prepared for whatever Winfrey was about to ask.

"I refuse to be babysitted by Sari Poppins."

"Babysitted is not a word, and your nanny's name is Sari Sullivan."

"Joan, when a cheery British lady brings crafts and uses an umbrella when it's seventy-two and sunny, she's kind of asking for it."

Joan looked at her daughters, like, really looked. Then she said, "You're right. It's time."

"Time?" Fonda asked, heart beating. "For what?"

Joan took a deep breath and turned to Winfrey. "You're going to be seventeen in January, and—"

"You're finally buying me a yellow MINI Cooper convertible?"

"No," Joan said.

"A yellow MINI Cooper convertible with surf racks?"

"A convertible with surf racks?" Fonda laughed. "How would that even work?"

"This isn't about a car," Joan said. "It's about next Saturday night."

"No way, uh-uh, I am not going to that lecture." Fonda took the napkin off her lap and stood.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm Standing Up for my freedom."

Amelia removed her sunglasses. "I thought you didn't have to stand."

"This has nothing to do with standing," Joan insisted. "I was thinking of letting you girls stay here alone while I'm gone."

Winfrey jumped out of her seat. "YOU'RE LEAVING ME IN CHARGE?!"

"Yesssss!" Amelia jumped up too, and the two girls enveloped Joan in a suffocating hug.

"Wow. Someone's happy to see me go." She tried to lift her arms and hug them back, but their grip was too tight.

"I'm not," Fonda peeped, because Winfrey was going to be a tyrant.

If only they had a dad who could step in and take over. But no. Their father was a mysterious sperm donor who, according to the West Coast Cryobank catalog, loved Greek mythology, med school, and his maternal grandmother.

Joan finally managed to wiggle free from her daughters' grip and told them to take their seats. "This is not a free pass for you to go wild. It's an opportunity to prove how mature and responsible you are."

"Fear not, Joanie. I'll make sure Amelia is home by nine o'clock and that Fonda is in bed by eight thirty."

"What? No!" Fonda turned to her mother. "My bedtime is ten!"

"If you have a problem, talk to me," Winfrey said. "I'm the boss now."

"No, you're not," Joan insisted. "No one is. You're each responsible for your own actions, but you must look out for one another and work together so everything runs smoothly."

Fonda sank in her seat. Look out for each other? Work together? Ha! According to Winfrey and Amelia, together isn't one word. It's three. To-get-her. And they always did.

The only way to save herself was to leave. "I'll probably spend the night at Ruthie's, or Drew's, so—"

Thunk! A bird flew into the sliding glass door. The girls screamed.

"Oh," Joan cried. "That's the third finch this month!"

Fonda's eyes filled with tears. Poor little guy. She knew what it felt like to be cruising along and then slam! Something unexpected stops you in your tracks and knocks the wind out of you. Winfrey's new promotion to "sister in charge" being the perfect example.

Joan grabbed her dishwashing gloves and hurried outside. Once the door slid shut behind her, a devilish smile spread across Winfrey's face.

"What's more mature and responsible?" she whispered to Amelia. "Starting our party at seven or at eight?"

"Probably seven," Amelia offered.

Winfrey drained her mother's coffee mug and slammed it down on the table. "Eight it is."

"You're having a party?" Fonda whispered. "While Mom's gone?"

"Well, we're not going to do it while she's here."

Fonda's stomach dipped. "What if she finds out?"

"There's only one way she will, and it's currently wearing my old denim romper and thinking I won't notice."

"You think I'm going to tell?"

"No, I think you're going to invite a bunch of your friends and wear something that doesn't make you look like me two years ago."

"Wait." Fonda drew back her head. "I can go?"

Her sisters nodded.

"And invite people?"

They nodded again.

Fonda jumped to her feet so suddenly, her chair fell over. Ava G. may have thrown the first boy-girl party of seventh grade, but Fonda would be known for having the first boy-girl parent-free high school party. Her seventh-grade status would be locked and legendary. Yes, her sisters were only including her so that she wouldn't tell Joan. But a girl had to start somewhere, and this somewhere happened to be at the very top.

"Happy Friday!" Nurse Beverly smiled. Her teeth looked extra white against her too-dark-for-November tan. "Congratulations on completing the first week of our PuberTea." She lifted her great-grandmother's antique china teacup, pinkie out, and took a dainty sip. "Great job, young women. Great job."

The circle of fifteen Poplar Middle School girls lifted their old-lady mugs and politely slurped the tepid berry-flavored...