Title: The Anger Chronicles
Series: The Anger Chronicles, Book One
Author: Jessie Preisendorfer
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 09/17/2024
Heat Level: 1 – No Sex
Pairing: No Romance
Length: 76800
Genre: Contemporary Young Adult, contemporary, lit/genre fiction, YA, F/F, middle school, foster kids, family dynamics, mean girls, anger management
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Description
Shay, fourteen and queer, just got placed with her fifth foster family in three years. Of course, she’s always angry or about to be, who wouldn’t be? This latest foster family, a rabbi, an accountant, eight-year-old twins, and a big black cat offer Shay another chance at being part of a family.
Shay is the new kid at school for the third time in one year, which is bad enough, but being in eighth grade just complicates things, especially when Shay develops a crush on the cute girl who runs the art club. As much as she tries to stay above the school drama, Shay is sucked into it after she makes yet another anger-fueled bad decision that gets caught on video and goes viral. One bad decision essentially ruins her school life and a budding relationship. It jeopardizes Shay’s placement with the Morgensterns just when they’re finally getting closer.
When Shay gets an apology letter from her estranged father, recently released from prison, she realizes she needs to make a choice. Should she stay with the Morgensterns, or should she give her father another chance? Will her anger issues continue to sabotage any chance at stability?
The Anger Chronicles
Jessie Preisendorfer © 2024
All Rights Reserved
My alarm went off, but I had gotten almost no sleep. Everything was in slow motion. I was already super depressed mixed with anxious. First day of school. Again. I washed up, got dressed in my uniform (which was super weird), and went downstairs. A new backpack sat, propped in my chair—green, with shoulder straps, a water bottle holder, and zippers that actually worked. Notebooks, a pencil case, and a binder from some accounting seminar weighed it down.
Mr. M said, “That’s yours for now, Shay. If you want a different one, we’ll get one this weekend. The binder is from my job—we forgot to grab you one, so we’ll replace it.”
“Thanks, this is great. Just great.” I really meant it.
Then the twins came down for breakfast, with uniforms that matched mine. We were triplets. Their pants and shirts were a size too large, so I guessed they would grow into them, with belts to keep their pants up. They were very cute. I’d never dressed the same as somebody else before. Weird.
“Shay,” Mr. M said. “What’s your favorite takeout food? We’ll do something special tonight to celebrate your first day.”
I turned to the twins. “You guys want pizza?”
They started jumping up and down and cheering. I turned back to Mr. M.
“I love kale salads. How about kale salads?” It got silent. I winked at the boys and smiled, so they knew I was kidding.
They started chanting, “Pizza! Pizza!” and the M’s laughed.
“Pizza it is. Let’s go boys.” Mr. M kissed Mrs. M goodbye before leaving. Really nuclear-family stuff. I watched this show as a complete outsider.
Mrs. M handed me a paper bag. “Peanut butter, some cookies, carrot sticks. We can get different food if you want.”
I unzipped my backpack and tucked my lunch inside. “I’ve never packed my lunch before.”
“Oh. Would you prefer the school lunch? I think it’s…” She checked a calendar on the fridge. “…hot dogs, fruit salad cups, broccoli spears.” Then she made a face and turned to me.
I shook my head. “I’m probably the only kid in America that hates hot dogs.”
“No, the twins won’t eat them either. Shay, listen.”
I waited for her wise words of advice to a foster kid in eighth grade starting her third new school that year. What could she possibly say that would convince me that all the doomy and gloomy thoughts I’d been having weren’t true?
“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said. “It’s February, and it’s eighth grade. If you make it back here in one piece tonight, we’ll celebrate you surviving your first day.”
I was glad she didn’t try to sugarcoat it, but I would have appreciated maybe a little sugarcoating. Survive? Make it back in one piece? Was I going into battle?
Mr. Stetson, aka “Pod-nah,” walked me to homeroom through the loud, chaotic hallway. Everyone was at their locker or yelling or running around. He high-fived a lot of kids while I got a lot of stares, of course. Everyone was wearing the same uniform, which was weird but also kind of cool. There were Black kids, Asian kids, mixed kids, two kids in wheelchairs, one kid with a dog with an orange vest. Then, I saw the girl from the principal’s office yesterday, Charlotte, standing with a bunch of girls.
“Hey!” she yelled when she saw me. A lot of kids turned to see who she was yelling to.
Mr. Pod-nah waved her over and said, “Shay, this is Charlotte Dawkins—Charlie. Charlie, take care of Shay, okay? Be nice. She’s in Mr. Hamilton’s homeroom, same as you.”
Charlie said, “You’re new. That’s why your mom was here yesterday. I didn’t get suspended, as you can see.”
Mr. Pod-nah held up his hand. “You will get suspended if you actually fight. So, stop cursing at Jamie in science. You two seem to be getting along fine now.” He gestured to the group of girls Charlotte had been standing with. One of them, who I took to be Jamie, waved at us and immediately rolled her eyes before turning back to the group.
“She’s a bitch,” Charlie said to me, to which Mr. Pod-nah said, “Language” because that was what adults did.
“Well, she is,” she said. “Come on, new kid.” She turned to walk back to her group.
“She’s Shay!” Mr. Pod-nah said loudly to Charlie’s back.
I followed her as one of the teachers started herding kids into her classroom. Charlie and I pushed through the crowd to the last door on the left. Kids lined up outside the room, where a man with a clipboard stood.
“Mr. Ham, we got a new kid,” Charlie said loudly.
Mr. Ham’s annoyance flicked across his face for one millisecond. Then he said, “Hey, you must be Shay. I’m Mr. Hamilton, welcome to 240. Have you been to your locker yet?”
I shook my head.
“Charlie, take Shay to her locker, would you? Your combination is on your schedule. Be back here in five minutes.” He went back to taking attendance as the kids walked into homeroom.
Charlie opened my locker for me, then stood there as I took out my notebooks, pencil case, and the binder. “You won’t need all that stuff. We have an assembly first period. Just bring a notebook and a pen. Is that your lunch? I don’t usually eat lunch. We’re on diets. Was that your real mom yesterday?”
I knew she already knew the answer. “No.”
“Foster mother?”
Whatever. She’d find out sooner or later. “Yes.”
“Where’s your real mom?”
“My real mom is a nanny for a royal family in France. When I fell in love with one of the sons, a prince, she sent me back here for a year to get over him.” It was a plot from a Sweet Valley High book I read over the weekend.
Charlie laughed. Hard. “Okay. I get it.”
We went back to homeroom. Mr. Hamilton pointed to the last seat in the last row. Perfect. Back here, no one stared at me. The loudspeaker chimed. It got quiet.
The kid in front of me turned around and whispered, “Hi, I’m Marshall.”
“Marshall!” Mr. Hamilton yelled. “Announcements!” Marshall swiveled around. Mr. Hamilton focused on his computer as the announcements droned on.
Mitchell faced me again. “Who starts a new school in February? Didja get kicked out?”
Pre-angry now, but I couldn’t blow this early on my New Kid debut. I decided to have some fun with Marshall. So, I told him a different plot. “No, I didn’t get kicked out. I was at the mall one day and met a boy. He was part of a group that collected money for charity. We fell in love.”
“Marshall! Turn around.”
Marshall faced the front of the class, then leaned back and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “What happened next?”
“I gave up my designer dresses and purses to help raise money for his charity. Turns out it was a cult.”
“What!” Marshall exclaimed loudly.
“Marshall!” barked Mr. Hamilton from behind his computer.
The bell rang. Everyone stood, but no one moved except the first row, who followed Mr. Ham out. We left homeroom, marching single file, alphabetical order (except me, of course) to the auditorium.
“What happened next?”
“My sister pretended to join the cult to rescue me. They figured out she was a spy and almost killed her.” We arrived at the auditorium and filed in. Marshall was trying to sit next to me, but Charlie pulled me out of line next to her. Marshall tried to sit in front of me but got caught.
“Marshall, stay in line.”
Maybe Mr. Hamilton didn’t notice I was out of line. Or didn’t care.
“Why are you talking to Marshall?” Charlie wanted to know.
“I was telling him my story of when I was in a cult, courtesy of Sweet Valley High.”
Charlie laughed. “He’s so dumb. But he is cute. He plays baseball.”
“Do you like him?” I tried to imagine myself liking Marshall and failed.
She tossed her hair. “No. I had a boyfriend who’s in ninth grade. I’m single right now. Have you ever had a boyfriend?” Then she followed with, “Anyone ever kiss you?”
I remembered Billy trying to kiss me at the Garbage People’s house, getting mad at me when I didn’t let him, and the nasty gross things he said about me, my mother, and my grandma. I remembered no one believing me when I told them what he did and being put in a new foster home two days later.
I got angry at Charlie’s question. Instantly, the anger was lightning striking a dry forest. It took everything in me to not spew a flash fire at Charlie. My anger had a mind of its own. I couldn’t speak, not even to find a lie.
“Are you blushing?” she asked as the lights dimmed.
A video started, the music blaring.
Charlie whispered, “Come with me,” and stood up. I stood up. She gestured for me to follow her. I did. We walked past a teacher who weakly tried to stop us.
“Bathroom,” Charlie whispered. The teacher nodded. We left the auditorium. “Stupid drinking and driving video. We see it every year. We can’t even drive yet.” We passed the bathroom and rounded a corner.
Charlie stopped. “Are you afraid we’ll get in trouble for cutting the assembly?”
I told her the truth. “I don’t care.”
“Cool.”
Then we cut the assembly. Down some stairs and out a door with a sign that threatened, “Alarm will sound if opened,” in huge, red letters. A brick propped it open. Charlie pushed the door open to where three girls waited. I recognized Jamie, who nodded at me.
“Shay, these bitches are Jamie and Toya.”
I nodded first at Jamie, who sized me up, then turned away without saying anything. Jamie was the kid who judged everybody by whether she thought she could take them in a fight. When she turned away, it signaled to everyone: I can take her. (Spoiler: she couldn’t.)
Charlie shook her head at Jamie. I turned to Toya.
Immediately, I got a funny feeling in my stomach, as if I’d known her before or something. She had a short, natural cut and warm, brown eyes. My crush on Toya started right that second. (You should know I’ve had crushes on girls before. Boys too. Am I gay? Bi? What am I? It’s exhausting to think about, so I don’t.)
But Toya was cute, and I was hooked.
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Jessie has been performing comedy in her spare time for over twenty-five years, which definitely comes in handy during the day in her job as a high school teacher. She grew up in the Poconos, in a house in the woods on a lake, with very little parental oversight. It was even more dangerous than it sounds, but it was the ’70s. Jessie is a lifelong writer, and with her first novel, she is eager to contribute to the queer YA subgenre. Jessie lives outside Philadelphia with her wife, two cats, and fantasies of days spent volunteering at goat rescues after she retires.
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