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- KurzbeschreibungIf life were fair, Jam Gallahue would still be at home in New Jersey with her sweet British boyfriend, Reeve Maxfield. She'd be watching old comedy sketches with him. She'd be kissing him in the library stacks. She certainly wouldn't be at The Wooden Barn, a therapeutic boarding school in rural Vermont, living with a weird roommate, and signed up for an exclusive, mysterious class called Special Topics in English. But life isn't fair, and Reeve Maxfield is dead. Until a journal-writing assignment leads Jam to Belzhar, where the untainted past is restored, and Jam can feel Reeve's arms around her once again. But there are hidden truths on Jam's path to reclaim her loss.
- AutorMeg Wolitzer
- Seiten272 Seiten
- Gewicht245 g
- Leseprobe<br>I WAS SENT HERE BECAUSE OF A BOY. HIS NAME was Reeve Maxfield, and I loved him and then he died, and almost a year passed and no one knew what to do with me. Finally it was decided that the best thing would be to send me here. But if you ask anyone on staff or faculty, they'll insist I was sent here because of "the lingering effects of trauma." Those are the words that my parents wrote on the application to get me into The Wooden Barn, which is described in the brochure as a boarding school for "emotionally fragile, highly intelligent" teenagers.<br>On the line where it says "Reason student is applying to The Wooden Barn," your parents can't write "Because of a boy."<br>But it's the truth.<br>When I was little I loved my mom and dad and my brother, Leo, who followed me everywhere and said, "Jammy, wait. " When I got older I loved my ninth-grade math teacher, Mr. Mancardi, even though my math skills were deeply subnormal. "Ah, Jam Gallahue, welcome," Mr. Mancardi would say when I came to first period late, my hair still wet from a shower; sometimes, in winter, with the ends frozen like baby twigs. "I'm tickled that you decided to join us." He never said it in a nasty tone of voice. I actually think he was tickled.<br>I was in love with Reeve in a fierce way that I'd never been in love with anyone before in all my fifteen years. After I met him, the kinds of love I'd felt for those other people suddenly seemed basic and lame. I realized there are different levels of love, just like different levels of math. Down the hall in school back then, in Advanced Math, a bunch of geniuses sat sharing the latest gossip about parallelograms. Meanwhile, in Mr. Mancardi's Dumb Math, we all sat around in a math fog, our mouths half open as we stared in confusion at the ironically named Smart Board.<br>So I'd been in a very dumb love fog without even knowing it. And then, suddenly, I understood there was such a thing as Advanced Love.<br>Reeve Maxfield was one of three tenth-grade exchange students, having decided to take a break from his life in London, England, one of the most exciting cities in the world, to spend a semester in our suburb of Crampton, New Jersey, to live with dull, cheerful jock Matt Kesman and his family.<br>Reeve was different from the boys I knew-all those Alexes, Joshes, and Matts. It wasn't just his name. He had a look that none of them had: very smart, slouching and lean, with skinny black jeans hanging low over knobby hip bones. He looked like a member of one of those British punk bands from the eighties that my dad still loves, and whose albums he keeps in special plastic sleeves because he's positive they're going to be worth a lot of money someday
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