Even When You Lie to Me

Informationen zum Autor Jessica Alcott Klappentext A steamy debut about a love off limits, and lines destined to be crossed-with the wit of John Green and the heart of Sarah Dessen. Tom Drummond is the perfect guy. He reads the classics. He tells the wittiest jokes. Best of all, he actually likes Charlie. And for a girl used to being caught in the shadow of her best friend, Drummond's spotlight warms Charlie in a way she never thought possible. But as their relationship grows closer, there's one detail that remains impossible to forget: Mr. Drummond is her teacher. "Jessica Alcott's writing is like a very personal glimpse into your own adolescent diary. Raw, uncomfortable, but still often hilarious." -Harried Reuter Hapgood, author of The Square Root of Summer "The witty repartee among characters is reminiscent of the dialogue in John Green's novels or a Gilmore Girls episode." -School Library Journal "Perfect for fans of Sarah Dessen." -Booklist Zusammenfassung A steamy debut about a love off limits! and lines destined to be crossedwith the wit of John Green and the heart of Sarah Dessen. Tom Drummond is the perfect guy. He reads the classics. He tells the wittiest jokes. Best of all! he actually likes Charlie. And for a girl used to being caught in the shadow of her best friend! Drummond's spotlight warms Charlie in a way she never thought possible. But as their relationship grows closer! there's one detail that remains impossible to forget: Mr. Drummond is her teacher. Jessica Alcott's writing is like a very personal glimpse into your own adolescent diary. Raw! uncomfortable! but still often hilarious. Harried Reuter Hapgood! author of The Square Root of Summer The witty repartee among characters is reminiscent of the dialogue in John Green's novels or a Gilmore Girls episode. School Library Journal Perfect for fans of Sarah Dessen. Booklist ...

Autorentext

Jessica Alcott lives with her husband and their two cats. She graduated from Bennington College and has worked at a children’s publisher in the UK. Even When You Lie to Me is her first novel. You can visit Jessica online at jessicaalcott.com, on Twitter at @daisyhellcakes, and on Facebook.

Klappentext

A steamy debut about a love off limits, and lines destined to be crossed-with the wit of John Green and the heart of Sarah Dessen.

Tom Drummond is the perfect guy. He reads the classics. He tells the wittiest jokes. Best of all, he actually likes Charlie. And for a girl used to being caught in the shadow of her best friend, Drummond's spotlight warms Charlie in a way she never thought possible. But as their relationship grows closer, there's one detail that remains impossible to forget: Mr. Drummond is her teacher.

"Jessica Alcott's writing is like a very personal glimpse into your own adolescent diary. Raw, uncomfortable, but still often hilarious." -Harried Reuter Hapgood, author of The Square Root of Summer

"The witty repartee among characters is reminiscent of the dialogue in John Green's novels or a Gilmore Girls episode." -School Library Journal

"Perfect for fans of Sarah Dessen." -Booklist

Zusammenfassung
A steamy debut about a love off limits, and lines destined to be crossed—with the wit of John Green and the heart of Sarah Dessen.
 
Tom Drummond is the perfect guy. He reads the classics. He tells the wittiest jokes. Best of all, he actually likes Charlie. And for a girl used to being caught in the shadow of her best friend, Drummond’s spotlight warms Charlie in a way she never thought possible. But as their relationship grows closer, there’s one detail that remains impossible to forget: Mr. Drummond is her teacher.
 
“Jessica Alcott’s writing is like a very personal glimpse into your own adolescent diary. Raw, uncomfortable, but still often hilarious.” –Harried Reuter Hapgood, author of The Square Root of Summer
 
“The witty repartee among characters is reminiscent of the dialogue in John Green’s novels or a Gilmore Girls episode.” –School Library Journal
 
“Perfect for fans of Sarah Dessen.” –Booklist

Leseprobe

chapter 1

It was my last day of summer, and even though I hated summer, I was dreading the end of it. I stretched out on my bed, annoyed and hot. In summer I was always too hot. Clothes stuck to my skin like a greasy coat of paint. The sheets had twined themselves around my legs during the night, and I kicked them off impatiently. I’d woken up early, nervous about the first day of school, and now my mind wouldn’t slow down. The longer I lay there, the more I thought about it.

My phone rang; it was Lila. “Pool?” She had been lobbying for the pool all summer.

“Ugh, really? Do we have to?”

“It’s our final day of freedom and you’ve come to the pool once. Yes, we have to.”

“But it’s hot outside.”

“That’s the genius of it, Charlie. You go to the pool when it’s hot and the water cools you down.”

“Or—follow me here—you stay inside, in the air-conditioning, and never get hot in the first place.”

“I am not letting you go to the library again. You’re frightening the librarians. You’re supposed to leave at night.”

“They have free books and comfortable chairs and no limit on how long you’re allowed to stay, all right? I checked.”

Lila sighed.

“Fine,” I said, though my pulse sped up.

“Thank you. You could bring Frida.”

“To the pool? I don’t think she’s allowed.”

“We could tie her up outside the gates and let her out in the park after. Good guy bait.”

“I’m not using my dog as some kind of man lure.”

“I’ll be outside in twenty minutes,” she said.

I took a quick shower, blasting water at my knotted hair and finally scraping it back in defeat. It was just going to get wet again anyway. Frida, who’d been sleeping in my room, woofed softly as I left. She was a big dog, a malamute—my dad liked to call her a husky enlarged by 150 percent—but she had the temperament of a semi­conscious pillow.

“Bye, Dad,” I called. “Frida’s upstairs if you need her for . . . napping.”

He appeared in the front hallway. “Off with Lila?”

“Unfortunately,” I said. “You sure you don’t want any help today?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he said. “You should not have to spend your last free day working in the basement with me.”

I had been his assistant over the summer: he was an artist, and he sold most of his work over the Internet. My mother had helped him for years, but just before the summer she’d gotten a new job—she was some kind of bank manager now; I could never remember the exact title—and she’d been working late nearly every day since.

I sighed. “Mom got to you too, then?”

“What did Mom get to Dad about?” My mother came in from the kitchen with her hair in a sun-yellow slick of ponytail, wearing workout clothes that skimmed her body like a tongue. I had on some paint-spattered terry cloth shorts and a faded floral bathing suit with one sagging paralytic strap. I was suddenly aware of how tight the suit was against my stomach.

“Oh,” I said. “I thought you’d left for work already.”

“No, you didn’t get quite that lucky, Charlotte,” she said. “You want to come running with me? Get your energy up for your last…