Frazzled Read online

  Then he yanked my backpack right off my back and started walking. At that point, he had taken my personal property hostage. Even if this person was an alternate, evil version of my brother, I had no choice but to follow him.

  In retrospect, this was a good decision because we ended up in front of Antonia’s Bake Shop!

  Peter offered to buy me a cinnamon sticky bun with extra frosting. He knew I had a weakness for frosting. Was this ANOTHER trap?

  I decided to accept the pastry, but I wasn’t going to let him off that easy. I had to get some answers.

  My mouth was still kind of full and crumbs went flying across the table. Peter didn’t seem to mind, which was also weird because he usually tells me this makes me look like a caveman.

  Instead, he said:

  (He somehow sounded both LIKE Peter and NOT like Peter at the same time.)

  I was stuck—I DID and DIDN’T. After all, Peter and I were nothing alike. He made it all the way through the Middles, and at the rate I was going, I would be lucky if I even made it to seventh grade.

  But he was my brother and he brought me here and he bought me food, so I didn’t have much to lose. I just needed to relate it to something we both understood—

  Peter started laughing and said:

  “That’s not the point! All the sad reject pastry wants is to be with her friends and find her Thing! You just don’t get it.”

  Maybe Peter understood me more than I thought. We ended up talking for a long time—so long that Peter got a text from Mom saying that if we didn’t get home soon, she wasn’t going to let us in for dinner.

  Once we left the bakery, I noticed that Peter was carrying ANOTHER pastry. We’d eaten so many already—even I thought this was excessive!

  But then—

  Did he know what happened to the lunch exchange? Did he know it was my idea?

  Before I got the chance to ask, some members of the high school varsity soccer team spotted us waiting at the bus stop and offered to give us a ride home.

  Sometimes being Peter Wu’s sister had its perks.

  Back at school, the eighth graders continued to rule the cafeteria with an iron fist, and the lunch ladies continued to let them.

  I made some formal complaints, but nothing changed.

  It seemed like now that the lunch exchange had failed, everyone was willing to accept that things were just BAD and there was nothing we could do.

  The only people who still cared about it were the kids in study hall.

  Alexis felt bad about ratting me out to her mom, so she offered to share all her class notes with me for a YEAR.

  Everyone else was waiting for the next move—for MY next move. What they didn’t know was that the lunch exchange had been IT, my one big Thing.

  They expected a

  but I had NOTHING.

  I had used up all my good ideas.

  It was only a matter of time before they found out the truth, and I couldn’t bring myself to face them, so for the first time, I spent the whole study hall period

  Definitely a sign that things were off.

  The entire Universe must have been out of whack because nothing was going the way it usually did.

  For one thing, Aunt Lisa showed up unexpectedly that night. It wasn’t the right day for our usual Friday night family dinner, but for some reason, there she was.

  Of course, Aunt Lisa probably came over BECAUSE she sensed things were off.

  The minute she saw me, she immediately asked what was wrong.

  After a little prodding . . .

  I cracked and told her everything.

  Suddenly, she leaned in, and whispered. Then she winked.

  What did that mean? What was the point of doing something if you knew it wasn’t going to work out? Wasn’t the Thing working out the whole point of doing the Thing?

  She could probably tell by the look on my face that I wasn’t buying it, but all she said was

  in a totally vague and cryptic way before disappearing into the backyard.

  Probably to commune with nature or something like that.

  Maybe Aunt Lisa really is nuts.

  In fact, I was starting to think that ALL adults were actually nuts—especially the ones running Pointdexter Middle School.

  Even though most of the students had already dismissed the idea of reviving our lunch revolution or staging some kind of cafeteria uprising, the teachers at school just wouldn’t let it go!

  It’s like they were paranoid the school was about to descend into chaos and anarchy!

  One warning announcement wasn’t enough for them. They had to remind us CONSTANTLY. The number of signs about cafeteria rules and regulations practically tripled overnight! Talk about wasting paper.

  Ms. Skelter must have realized that the whole thing started under her watch, and she intended to punish us for it.

  One day, instead of letting us work on homework like she usually did, she made us write an essay about the consequences of rule breaking. Then she went off on this long, ranting lecture—

  As I stood there in front of everyone, I felt a strange tingling feeling—like a nervous and excited spark.

  I had everyone’s attention! What I was doing didn’t just matter to ME, it mattered to THEM.

  We had all been denied access to decent cafeteria food and conned out of our best snacks by eighth graders and unfairly brushed aside by tyrannical lunch ladies. Someone had to say something. . . .

  I had to say something—not just for me, but for the kids around me in that creaky classroom trailer. For the kids sitting in all the other classrooms around school. For the next generation of kids. For the future!

  That’s when it crossed my mind . . .

  Maybe THIS was my calling. Maybe THIS was my Thing! I was the voice of the people!

  I don’t know what made me get up from my seat and interrupt Ms. Skelter. I NEVER spoke in class and I definitely never spoke while a teacher was speaking!

  Was I changing? Was this even me? I wasn’t sure if I was becoming someone new or if I was just now figuring out that this had always been me.

  Just thinking about it was confusing.

  Before I started middle school, I had really just wanted to make it through without a fuss. I just wanted to survive.

  But there I was, orchestrating lunch revolutions and getting called to the vice principal’s office and being asked to stay after class.

  I waited for Skeletor to unleash her wrath and seal my fate.

  She called me Abbie! I thought that was weird because until this point, I wasn’t positive she even knew my name.

  Here it was—a hex or a curse or, at the very least, detention!

  This was NOT the conversation I had expected. I imagined there would be icy glares and voodoo involved. Instead, Ms. Skelter seemed to be acting almost NICE.

  She told me I was free to go, but just as I was leaving, she asked . . .

  I can’t remember my response because I basically blacked out at that moment. I didn’t regain my composure or normal mental functions until about twenty minutes into my next class.

  When I told Maxine and Logan what happened later, they thought it was the coolest thing EVER.

  “So are you going to do it?” Logan asked. “Sixth-grade class president: Abbie Wu?”

  It was the craziest idea I’d ever heard. I couldn’t even really imagine it. Then again . . .

  Who knew? I probably wasn’t meant to be the spokesperson for my generation just yet, but maybe I would be—someday.

  Or maybe I could be something else entirely.

  When we put our heads together and thought about it, there were a lot of possibilities.

  After a while, we ended up imagining a future with transportation pods, teacher holograms, and robot dogs.

  That sounded way more fun anyway.

  I don’t know, though. Maybe Peter is right and it isn’t about finding

  Maybe it’s more about just doing something that you care about and just d
oing THINGS—plural.

  “Well? What do you think?” Maxine asked.

  Despite what Aunt Lisa says, I know I will never be good at meditating. I am, however, trying to think LESS and let things figure themselves out MORE.

  So I just shrugged.

  That’s the thing about the Middles. They’re complicated and things inside them are always changing. So for now, it’s enough just knowing I have a chance and thinking . . .

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Finding the words to thank everyone who helped make this book a BOOK is impossibly hard. All my gratitude, appreciation, and FEELINGS cannot possibly be contained on just these pages. But I have to try, so here goes:

  Margaret Anastas, there is no Frazzled without you. You always understand what I want to say and help me find the best ways to say it. I am so lucky to have an editor who is as encouraging, kind, and hilarious as you . . . not to mention one who genuinely seems to think I am hilarious too.

  Cindy Hamilton, you are the best of the best, the definition of a gladiator. There is no way to possibly measure what you’ve done for me and Abbie Wu. You are our greatest champion and deserve all the good things ever.

  Steve Malk. I don’t know exactly where I’d be without you, but I definitely wouldn’t be here. Thank you for rooting for me from the start and for helping me find my own voice. There is no one I’d rather have on my side than you. Thank you also to my Writers House people, especially Hannah Mann and the incomparable Michael Mejias. You told me to “use my words,” and look, I did! Sort of—there are pictures too.

  This book would not exist without the amazing efforts of everyone at HarperCollins Children’s Books. I couldn’t have asked for a better home for Frazzled. It really feels like I’m with family, and I don’t think it can get much better than that.

  To Suzanne, Susan, Kate, and Emily, thank you for seeing something in me and placing so much faith in a book of doodles and an unknown debut. To Barb, Amy, Whitney, and the designers who helped me figure out how to make a book, thank you for using your killer design skills to make me look good. To all my copyeditors, you are lovely people for working on this crazy project and watching my back so closely.

  Thank you to Andrea, Kathy, Kerry, and the amazing sales team for carrying this book to a level of excitement that I could never have imagined. Thank you to every member of marketing who worked on this book, particularly Team Middle Grade and brilliant masterminds Kim and Matt. I knew things would be good if you geniuses were behind it. Thank you also to the Sweet Suite (past generations and honorary members included) for appreciating all the weird things I say and always supporting #frazzled. To Jonathan, Alison, and Alia, a million hugs for always listening.

  Thanks to Aubry for setting this crazy thing into motion and Lindsey for bringing up doodling at dinner that one time. To the publicity team, for always making it fun no matter what. You constantly impress me with what you do, and I wish I could give you all private islands. Can’t wait for our amazing bed-and-breakfast! And to Caroline, who is impossibly cool and infinitely wise, thank you for your guidance this past year. I would follow you off a cliff.

  Thank you to my whole family, but especially to you, Mom, for raising me to pursue the things I love and actually trusting in the validity of that pursuit. And to Chucaloo, for keeping me sane throughout this whole process—or at least making me feel like it was all going to be okay even if I was a little crazy.

  I wish I could name all the people who have encouraged and supported me up to this point. The list is very, very long. I don’t know how I managed to befriend such amazingly wonderful people, but trust me when I say that I appreciate you ALL. Especially Flawless, for giving me the kind of friendships I can always count on.

  So much of who I was when I was a kid and who I am now is written into the pages of this book, so my last bit of thanks is to my readers, whoever and wherever you are. This thing is as much yours as it is mine. Thank you for taking the time to live a little in Abbie’s head and for giving her a little space in yours.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo by Kamoplat Trangratapit

  BOOKI VIVAT has been doodling somewhat seriously since 2011 and not-so-seriously since childhood. She grew up in Southern California and graduated from the University of California, San Diego. She currently works in publishing and lives in Brooklyn, New York. This is her first novel. You can follow her on Instagram at @bookibookibooki and on Twitter at @thebookiv.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  CREDITS

  Cover art by Booki Vivat

  COPYRIGHT

  FRAZZLED: Everyday Disasters and Impending Doom. Copyright © 2016 by Vissra Vivatnamongkon. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  www.harpercollinschildrens.com

  * * *

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016936039

  ISBN 978-0-06-239879-6

  EPub Edition © September 2016 ISBN 9780062398802

  * * *

  16 17 18 19 20 CG/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  FIRST EDITION

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  Australia

  HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.

  Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street

  Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

  www.harpercollins.com.au

  Canada

  HarperCollins Canada

  2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor

  Toronto, ON M4W 1A8, Canada

  www.harpercollins.ca

  New Zealand

  HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand

  Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive

  Rosedale 0632

  Auckland, New Zealand

  www.harpercollins.co.nz

  United Kingdom

  HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF, UK

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  United States

  HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

  195 Broadway

  New York, NY 10007

  www.harpercollins.com