The voice
Little scenes, muttered asides, and every so often a soapbox moment nobody asked for. It’s the kind of book where you forget a total stranger might be reading. If you ever faked a stomachache to dodge gym, or cried in the cafeteria bathroom, you’ll catch yourself nodding.
One minute you’re in a hallway, the next you’re at the dinner table, then you’re staring at a doodle in the margin. Real memory doesn’t bother with clean chapter breaks.
- Most pieces are short. Read a couple waiting in the car or in line at the post office.
- When something mortifying happens, she stays right there in it; when she backs off, you can tell.
- The jokes are at the situation, gym, rules, and hair, not at kids for being kids.
- Drawings and cutlines feel like a yearbook someone actually filled out honestly.
Grab a few pages, close the book, come back later, same as thumbing through an old photo box.