I was the root of all evil, Cassie said. A negative influ. the-hook genius. I'd make one hundred Wintergirls a feminist stylistic analysis in laurie halse anderson's. Editorial Reviews. From School Library Journal. Grade 8 Up—After the death of her former best Look inside this book. Wintergirls by [Anderson, Laurie Halse]. Wintergirls is a confronting and disturbing novel about serious eating disorders. Laurie Halse Anderson is the author of several books for young adults.
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Halse Anderson, Laurie - Wintergirls (:/[email protected] 6/:A3 /PDF Wintergirls / by Laurie Halse Anderson. p. cm. Summary. Wintergirls Pdf is available here. You can download Wintergirls Pdf Laurie Halse Anderson by homeranking.info All Rights Reserved. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING -IN- PUBLICATION DATA. Anderson, Laurie Halse. Wintergirls / by Laurie Halse Anderson. p. cm.
When I was a real girl, my best friend was namedCassandra Jane Parrish. Plastic stars wait on the cold ceiling, watching thelight switch, nervous, ready for the dark and their cueto glow. I open my door. Rain, rain,rain, drowning me. Quick Upload Explore.
Marrigan was furious when the guidance counselorkicked me out of Honors and dropped me down to CollegeTrack. Freetuition for faculty kids, she reminded us.
I was relieved. That night Dr. Marrigan told me that I was too smartto be a slacker faculty kid. She wanted to have me pri-vately tested, to prove that I was brilliant and that theschool was not meeting my needs. But then I screwed upagain and they slammed me back in the hospital and whenI got out, I changed all the rules. The buzzer sounds.
The teachers tie us to our chairs and pour worldsinto our ears. Ghosts are waiting in the shadows of theroom, patient dull shimmers. The others can see them,too, I know it. Waves of physics particles stream through the room. A ghost wraps herself around me, strokes my hair,and puts me to sleep. My classmates grab their booksand race for the door.
I have drooled on the desk. My physics teacher what is his name? When he breathes through his open mouth, I can smellthe night scum coating his tongue and the sunny-side-upeggs he ate for breakfast. I shake my head no. Before he tries to be witty again,I grab my books and stand up. Too fast. She wraps the cuff around my arm bone. She opens up a carton of orange juice, pours it into apaper cup, and hands it to me as she removes the ther-mometer.
My throat wants it my brainwants it my blood wants it my hand does not want this mymouth does not want this. The nurse wants this and I need to hide. I force it down. The door opens and two guys walk in; one bleedingfrom his nose, the other looking a little freaked out at thesight of blood. I throw the paper cup in the trash can, take the news-paper off her desk, and retreat to the cot at the far end ofthe room. Local section, page 2. Thearticle runs for a couple of inches, next to an ad for furcoats, thirty percent off.
The boys are gone. The nurse takes the newspaperaway and spreads a thin blanket over me.
I drift into the armpits of strangers, tastingtheir manic salt, and sleep to forget everything. Christmas is coming. We pass a dying barn with a shattered roof, and astained mattress shoved up against the speed-limitsign. Maybe it was in the back of a truck loaded down witheverything a girl owned, taking her to some guy she metonline.
She promised him her body and soul. He prom-ised her three meals a day and a house but said the placecould use more furniture. Maybe a leather-covered biker girl, butch and strong,is coming down the road a mile or so behind me. Emma wants to stay in the car untilthe end of the movie. She groans and closes the player.
Jennifer is determined to carveher into the perfect-little-girl who will turn into theperfect-young-lady whose shining accomplishments willprove to the world that Jennifer is the absolutely perfectmother. I open my door. Drive safe. The smells are messing withmy neurons again. I roll down the window. Hang on.
I want to watch you practice. Where should I sit? Other people are watching. Travel soccer is intense. Tiny stones bounce up and dingthe paint on my door. I said yes. See you later? I wish I had cancer. Five days ago I weighed I am so hungrythat I could gnaw off my right hand. I am disgusting. This body weighed My roommate at the prison New Seasons was a long,withered zucchini who cried in bed and let the snot rundown the sides of her face.
Everybody on the staff waswhale-sized and sweaty.
The nurse who handed out medswas so fat her skin was stretched tight. If she moved too. I bit the days off in rows, corn kernels that poppedin my mouth and wedged between my teeth. Theystuffed me like a pink little piggy ready for market.
Theykilled me with mushy apples and pasta worms and littlecakes that marched out of the oven and lay down to befrosted. I bit, chewed, swallowed day after day and lied,lied, lied. Who wants to recover?
It took me years to getthat tiny. But staying strongwould keep me locked up. The only way out was to shovein food until I waddled. I hawked up crap from the back of my throat about feel-ings and issues and my thighs. The docs nodded and gaveme stickers for my honesty.
Four weeks later, the gatesopened. Mom Dr. Cassie understood. She listened to everything thathappened and she told me I was brave. I pull into the garage, brain dripping with gasolinefumes. One of these days. The camera will show blood and broken glass onthe sidewalk. A reporter will interview a sobbing womanwho saw the accident in front of the department store onBartlett Street.
This kind of thing can happen. No brokenlights or dented doors. No dead ladies in the windshield. Not today. Nanna liked herpumpkin pie on a cinnamon-pecan crust. The tables were crowded with tall peoplereaching for bowls of food and talking too loud; cousinsand great-uncles and friends from far away.
Mygrandmothers were going to live forever, and Thanksgiv-ing would always be lace tablecloths, thin china, andheavy silver that I stood on a stool to polish. They died. Marrigan probably ate at herdesk, or took a symbolic scoop of mashed potatoes andgravy in the hospital cafeteria.
One was a vegan; she ate three helpings of yamsand most of the pumpkin bread that she brought. Theguy was from Los Angeles. After they left, Emma asked Dad whythe fasting guy came at all. Dad said he was suckingup to get a letter of recommendation.
Jennifer said shehoped he choked on it. I leave the microwavedoor hanging open so the smell pollutes the kitchen. Check the clock. Ten minutes. I close the microwave. Carry the dirty plate and forkto the family room, where I put them on an end table.
Seven minutes. I really do have to eat. Top it with one teaspoon ofspicy mustard and you add 5. Ricecakes with hot sauce are better. You eat and are punishedin the same bite. I wish I was a puker.
Jennifer comes home and asks me to put my platein the dishwasher and clean up the mess I made in themicrowave. I apologize and do what she asks while shestruggles to open a slippery bottle of cold Chardonnay. Tomorrow, okay? I pull myself up therest of the stairs. Close the door. My knitting basket is one of the few things I botheredto unpack when I moved here. I take one, only one. Plastic stars wait on the cold ceiling, watching thelight switch, nervous, ready for the dark and their cueto glow.
This girl has Physics homework.
This girl has a. This girl shivers and crawls under the covers with allher clothes on and falls into an overdue library book, afaerie story with rats and marrow and burning curses. The sentences build a fence around her, a Times Romanpoint barricade, to keep the thorny voices in her headfrom getting too close. When Dad comes home, the microwave heats his sup-per. More wine is poured. His footsteps on the stairs. I drape a loosehand over the edge of the bed. No, better not. I pull the hand back in.
His footsteps in the hall. Door opens. Please leave a message whenyou hear the beep. I stop breathing.
Cassie called me be-fore she died. She called and called and called and waitedfor me to pick up. My father smoothes my hair again.
He takes a deep breath and pats my shoulder hiddenunder the comforter. We never talk. We just pretend to think about talking,and we mention from time to time that one of these days,we really should sit down and talk.
The bed creaks as he stands. About anything. I have the hardcover but I love having e-books for my iPad. Thank you for this, it was amazing. I started to read it earlier tonight and just finished it. It's pretty intense.
Highest- lbs Lowest- lbs? Thank you so much! I need it! They have wintergirls there. I saw it yesterday. Also tagged with one or more of these keywords: Sign In Need an account?
In her most powerfully moving novel since Speak, award-winning author Laurie Halse Anderson explores Lia's struggle, her painful path to recovery, and her desperate attempts to hold on to the 3. In her most powerfully moving novel since Speak, award-winning author Laurie Halse Anderson explores Lia's struggle, her painful path to recovery, and her desperate attempts 5.
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