Guyaholic by Carolyn Mackler | NOOK Book (eBook) | Barnes & Noble
Guyaholic

Guyaholic

3.7 21
by Carolyn Mackler
     
 

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Ever since V's mom dumped her with her grandparents, she's bounced from guy to guy. That is, until a fateful hockey puck lands her in the lap of Sam Almond, who is different from the start. But V makes an irreversible mistake at her graduation party and risks losing Sam forever, spurring her on a crosscountry road trip to visit her mom in hopes of putting two thousand

Overview

Ever since V's mom dumped her with her grandparents, she's bounced from guy to guy. That is, until a fateful hockey puck lands her in the lap of Sam Almond, who is different from the start. But V makes an irreversible mistake at her graduation party and risks losing Sam forever, spurring her on a crosscountry road trip to visit her mom in hopes of putting two thousand miles between herself, Sam, and the wreckage of that night. With humor and compassion, Carolyn Mackler takes readers on an unforgettable ride of missed exits, misadventures, and the kind of epiphanies that come only when you're on a route you've never taken before.

Editorial Reviews

Julie Just
In spite of the novel's familiar teenage trappings, Mackler's unsentimental feel for how kids think and talk, and how they go about entering the grown-up world, makes V's journey engrossing.
—The New York Times
Children's Literature - Janis Flint-Ferguson
Getting hit in the forehead by a hockey puck is never a good thing, but for high school senior Vivienne Valentine, or V as she is called, it proves to be the beginning of something very foreign to her. V lives with her grandparents, sent there by her mother who lives in Texas with the latest of her boyfriends. It seems that when things start getting too serious, Mom would pack V in the car, and they would move on to another town and another man, but when her mom wants to leave the country for an opportunity she cannot resist, V is sent to live with her very stable, a.k.a. boring, grandparents. She survives by getting involved in theater and enjoying casual hookups with many boys. When she gets hit with the puck, she ends up in the lap of Sam Almond, who follows through by checking up on her. Sam is a good, stable guy, and thus the conflict begins: V has always avoided staying with one guy for very long and does not know how to handle a commitment. It takes a cross country trip to Texas to visit her mother for V to come to grips with who she is and what she really wants. Definitely for mature readers with adult language and sexual behavior, this is, nonetheless, a compelling novel with a sassy, heart-wrenching protagonist. Reviewer: Janis Flint-Ferguson
School Library Journal

Gr 9 Up
This sequel to Vegan Virgin Valentine (Candlewick, 2004) focuses on Mara Valentine's niece, all-round wild-child Vivienne. After V is hit in the head by a flying hockey puck and lands in the lap of nice-guy Sam, the two become sexually involved. However, V, who has been disappointed repeatedly by her irresponsible mother and is afraid of commitment, resists calling Sam her "boyfriend" or acknowledging that he's more than just another hookup. When Aimee again disappoints V by missing her high school graduation, she reacts by picking a fight with Sam and then cheating on him with another guy. She's caught in the act by Sam's sister and they break up. When Aimee invites V to visit her in San Antonio, V seizes on this opportunity as a distraction from her heartbreak and drives by herself from New York to Texas. Like all good road trips in fiction, this one ends up being a journey of self-discovery as V's encounters along the way help her to realize certain truths about herself and her relationships. This is a fun, breezy read that fans of the first book will especially enjoy. There are no surprises here, but V's troubled relationship with her mother rings true, and teens will be rooting for the protagonist to pull herself together.
—Kathleen E. GruverCopyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews
Readers who know brazen, boy-crazy V from her aunt Mara's perspective (Vegan Virgin Valentine, 2004), will enjoy her first-person narration here, which reveals no inner brashness but rather a struggle for-and against-emotional distance. V is now 17, a senior, expecting faraway mother Aimee to visit for graduation. Everyone except V recognizes Aimee's flakiness; V's ever-attentive grandparents try their best to fill in, but V misses Aimee, whose history of moving V around the country following men has formed V's makeup more than she wishes to admit. V hooks up regularly with hottie Sam but steadfastly denies that their relationship is loving or serious. Desperate to stay detached, V cheats on Sam and he moves away. Driving across country to visit Aimee, V finally confronts her mother's long-term absence and how it has informed V's own boy-chasing. Eye-opening as a sequel yet solid on its own, V's narration is simple and accessible as she learns to be brave. (Fiction. YA)
From the Publisher
It all started with the puck.

In March of my senior year, I went to a Brockport High School hockey game. I’m not a big sports fan, but I’d been hooking up with Amos Harrington since the past weekend and he played center and kept saying
I should come cheer on the team.

I also went to the game because I didn’t have work or rehearsal that afternoon. And my grandparents’ annoying friends were visiting for the weekend, so I was steering clear of the house as much as possible. But most of all, Amos was my only current prospect. And more than anything, I hated being without a prospect.

Amos and I had fooled around three times in the past week. Once at a party, once at his house, and once in the auditorium after school. I’d never had a guy last longer than two weeks, and most of them didn’t make it beyond a night. So with Amos’s expiration date rapidly approaching, I needed to milk this for all it was worth or get out and scout new prospects.

I got to the rink late because my grandparents’ friends cornered me in the kitchen. I had my headphones on, so I was hoping they’d get the hint. But Chuck hugged me, and Gwen, whose eyebrows were plucked into a permanent state of shock, gestured at my jeans and sleeveless red top and said, "You’re leaving the house in that?"

I considered pretending I couldn’t hear her, but my grandparents were hovering nearby, so I switched off my music. "It’s not that cold out," I said. "Anyway, I’ll be indoors the whole time."

"Won’t you be at the ice rink?" my grandpa asked. "V, you just got over a sore throat, and you really should—"

"Fine," I said, gritting my teeth. "I’ll take a sweater."

By the time I arrived at the game, the bleachers were jammed. I stood at the top, scanning the stands. Finally, I recognized some kids from Chicago, the play in which I’d just been cast as a lead. They were sitting down in the front row. I stripped off my sweater, stuffed it in my bag, and squeezed through the crowd until I reached Chastity and Trinity
Morgenstern. They were identical twins and the biggest party girls I’d ever met, which was ironic given their names and those delicate crosses around their necks. The only way I could tell them apart was that Chastity’s necklace was silver and Trinity’s was gold. Also, at parties Chastity tended to make out in public places while Trinity consumed massive amounts of alcohol and then conked out for the remainder of the night.

"Hey, V!" Trinity said. "I love your shirt."

"Where’d you get those boobs?" Chastity asked.

"Victoria’s Secret," I said. "My latest addiction."

"Among others," Trinity said, laughing.

"You’re one to talk," I murmured.

As Chastity cracked up, I scanned the ice for Amos or, more notably, his butt. But before I compose a novel about the hotness of Amos’s hindquarters, I have to interject a quick word about my boobs. I’m the first to admit that I’m not endowed in the mammary department and had recently begun siphoning my Pizza Hut paychecks into expensive padded bras. But guys love cleavage and, well, I love guys.

The hockey game charged forward. I was partially chatting with the twins, partially watching Amos, and mostly exchanging glances with a guy to my left and a few rows up. As I was maneuvering down the bleachers, I saw him check me out. He was wearing a canary-yellow jacket with a ski-lift tag hanging off the zipper. He had a coating of stubble and he looked older, like he went to the college.

I shook out my hair and looked back at Ski Lift Boy. He was saying something to his buddy, and then he glanced at me with that lusty look that guys save for video games, red meat, and cute girls.

I’m not saying I’m this gorgeous prom queen, but my skin is clear and my nose is okay and my honey-colored hair is long and everyone tells me I
have a good body, though it doesn’t help that I’m taller than most human beings, at least the ones in high school. I think the biggest thing going for me, though, is that if there’s an attractive guy in my radius, I can work it hard and generally get him interested.

Ski Lift Boy raised his eyebrows as if to say, Do I know you? I smiled back, already envisioning how we could meet near the concession stand and exchange numbers and I’d go to his dorm tonight and he’d have a single room so we could—

"WATCH OUT!"

I whipped my head around in time to see the hockey puck hurtling toward me, but not in time enough to dodge it.

I heard the impact as it splintered my forehead. I felt intense pain. I sat still for a second, totally stunned, before wilting backward.

Someone shrieked, "Oh my god! She’s been hit!"

Someone else screamed, "Call 911!"

Someone else shouted, "Does anyone get cellphone reception in here?"

My head landed in a lap. My eyes were closed, and there was blood leaking onto my hair. And the pain. Oh my god. The pain.

The person with the lap pressed a sweatshirt against my forehead.

"I’m sure it looks worse than it is," he said.

I wondered how bad it looked.

"Is she dead?" I heard someone ask.

"The ambulance is here!" someone else announced.

"Should they bring in the stretcher, or can she walk out?"

I recognized the voice. It was that genius who’d just wondered whether I was dead.

"Real genius," the guy with the lap muttered.

If I weren’t dealing with a major head injury, I would have cracked up. But it’s hard to laugh when you’re drenched with blood and possibly dead.

The guy with the lap kept pressing the sweatshirt to my head.

I remember smelling basil and garlic.

I remember thinking it smelled good.

**********
GUYAHOLIC by Carolyn Mackler. Copyright (c) 2007 by Carolyn Mackler. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780763660017
Publisher:
Candlewick Press
Publication date:
02/28/2012
Sold by:
Barnes & Noble
Format:
NOOK Book
Sales rank:
715,507
File size:
928 KB

Read an Excerpt

It all started with the puck.

In March of my senior year, I went to a Brockport High School hockey game. I’m not a big sports fan, but I’d been hooking up with Amos Harrington since the past weekend and he played center and kept saying I should come cheer on the team.

I also went to the game because I didn’t have work or rehearsal that afternoon. And my grandparents’ annoying friends were visiting for the weekend, so I was steering clear of the house as much as possible. But most of all, Amos was my only current prospect. And more than anything, I hated being without a prospect.

Amos and I had fooled around three times in the past week. Once at a party, once at his house, and once in the auditorium after school. I’d never had a guy last longer than two weeks, and most of them didn’t make it beyond a night. So with Amos’s expiration date rapidly approaching, I needed to milk this for all it was worth or get out and scout new prospects.

I got to the rink late because my grandparents’ friends cornered me in the kitchen. I had my headphones on, so I was hoping they’d get the hint. But Chuck hugged me, and Gwen, whose eyebrows were plucked into a permanent state of shock, gestured at my jeans and sleeveless red top and said, "You’re leaving the house in that?"

I considered pretending I couldn’t hear her, but my grandparents were hovering nearby, so I switched off my music. "It’s not that cold out," I said. "Anyway, I’ll be indoors the whole time."

"Won’t you be at the ice rink?" my grandpa asked. "V, you just got over a sore throat, and you really should—"

"Fine," I said, gritting my teeth. "I’ll take a sweater."

By the time I arrived at the game, the bleachers were jammed. I stood at the top, scanning the stands. Finally, I recognized some kids from Chicago, the play in which I’d just been cast as a lead. They were sitting down in the front row. I stripped off my sweater, stuffed it in my bag, and squeezed through the crowd until I reached Chastity and Trinity Morgenstern. They were identical twins and the biggest party girls I’d ever met, which was ironic given their names and those delicate crosses around their necks. The only way I could tell them apart was that Chastity’s necklace was silver and Trinity’s was gold. Also, at parties Chastity tended to make out in public places while Trinity consumed massive amounts of alcohol and then conked out for the remainder of the night.

"Hey, V!" Trinity said. "I love your shirt."

"Where’d you get those boobs?" Chastity asked.

"Victoria’s Secret," I said. "My latest addiction."

"Among others," Trinity said, laughing.

"You’re one to talk," I murmured.

As Chastity cracked up, I scanned the ice for Amos or, more notably, his butt. But before I compose a novel about the hotness of Amos’s hindquarters, I have to interject a quick word about my boobs. I’m the first to admit that I’m not endowed in the mammary department and had recently begun siphoning my Pizza Hut paychecks into expensive padded bras. But guys love cleavage and, well, I love guys.

The hockey game charged forward. I was partially chatting with the twins, partially watching Amos, and mostly exchanging glances with a guy to my left and a few rows up. As I was maneuvering down the bleachers, I saw him check me out. He was wearing a canary-yellow jacket with a ski-lift tag hanging off the zipper. He had a coating of stubble and he looked older, like he went to the college.

I shook out my hair and looked back at Ski Lift Boy. He was saying something to his buddy, and then he glanced at me with that lusty look that guys save for video games, red meat, and cute girls.

I’m not saying I’m this gorgeous prom queen, but my skin is clear and my nose is okay and my honey-colored hair is long and everyone tells me I have a good body, though it doesn’t help that I’m taller than most human beings, at least the ones in high school. I think the biggest thing going for me, though, is that if there’s an attractive guy in my radius, I can work it hard and generally get him interested.

Ski Lift Boy raised his eyebrows as if to say, Do I know you? I smiled back, already envisioning how we could meet near the concession stand and exchange numbers and I’d go to his dorm tonight and he’d have a single room so we could—

"WATCH OUT!"

I whipped my head around in time to see the hockey puck hurtling toward me, but not in time enough to dodge it.

I heard the impact as it splintered my forehead. I felt intense pain. I sat still for a second, totally stunned, before wilting backward.

Someone shrieked, "Oh my god! She’s been hit!"

Someone else screamed, "Call 911!"

Someone else shouted, "Does anyone get cellphone reception in here?"

My head landed in a lap. My eyes were closed, and there was blood leaking onto my hair. And the pain. Oh my god. The pain.

The person with the lap pressed a sweatshirt against my forehead.

"I’m sure it looks worse than it is," he said.

I wondered how bad it looked.

"Is she dead?" I heard someone ask.

"The ambulance is here!" someone else announced.

"Should they bring in the stretcher, or can she walk out?"

I recognized the voice. It was that genius who’d just wondered whether I was dead.

"Real genius," the guy with the lap muttered.

If I weren’t dealing with a major head injury, I would have cracked up. But it’s hard to laugh when you’re drenched with blood and possibly dead.

The guy with the lap kept pressing the sweatshirt to my head.

I remember smelling basil and garlic.

I remember thinking it smelled good.

**********
GUYAHOLIC by Carolyn Mackler. Copyright (c) 2007 by Carolyn Mackler. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA.

Meet the Author

Carolyn Mackler is the author of VEGAN VIRGIN VALENTINE, the acclaimed prequel to this novel, as well as the Michael L. Printz Honor Book THE EARTH, MY BUTT, AND OTHER BIG ROUND THINGS. She lives in New York.

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