Partyby Tom Leveen
It's Saturday night in Santa Barbara and it seems like everyone is headed to the same destination. The reason is simple: to celebrate the end of school. But for eleven different people the motives are bit more complicated—to be noticed, to hook up, to make friends, to numb the pain, to get over an ex, to say goodbye. As each character takes a turn and
It's Saturday night in Santa Barbara and it seems like everyone is headed to the same destination. The reason is simple: to celebrate the end of school. But for eleven different people the motives are bit more complicated—to be noticed, to hook up, to make friends, to numb the pain, to get over an ex, to say goodbye. As each character takes a turn and tells his/her story, the eleven individuals intersect, reconnect, and combine in ways that none of them ever saw coming.
Combine the poignancy of Thirteen Reasons Why with the energy of films like American Graffiti, Dazed and Confused, and Sixteen Candles and you get Party—a sneak peek into the lives of contemporary teens over the course of a single night. Alternating points of view and the timeless setting of an end-of-school party make this a compelling read. Those who pick it up cannot put it down.
- Random House Children's Books
- Publication date:
- Product dimensions:
- 5.70(w) x 8.30(h) x 0.90(d)
- Age Range:
- 14 - 17 Years
Read an Excerpt
By Tom Leveen
Random House Books for Young ReadersCopyright © 2010 Tom Leveen
All right reserved.
I’m the girl nobody knows until she commits suicide. Then suddenly everyone had a class with her.
You know the one I mean.
You don’t pick on her, because you don’t know she’s there, not really. She sits behind you in chemistry, or across the room in Spanish. You’ve seen her naked in the locker room after physical education—a contradiction in terms if ever there was one—but you don’t know what color her eyes are. What her name is.
What grade she’s in.
She’s always been there, like the gum under your desk in math class. And when you do bother to explore under there with your fingers, the first thing you do upon contact is jerk back and say, Ew! And when that girl leaves, it doesn’t matter, there’s another one ready to take her place.
To be That Girl Who.
That Girl Who always reads comic books in the library during her free period or lunch. That Girl Who wears the long, flowy dresses and Rastafarian tam and peasant tops—except for that month freshman year when she wore a Tony Hawk T-shirt after seeing an absolutely spectacular X Games in San Diego with her best friend and her family. That Girl Who smiledat you once and who you maybe meant to smile back at, but couldn’t find the time because you just got a text from a friend you were going to talk to three minutes later in the hall.
It’s no big.
Girls like that are like that by choice. One way or another, we choose to blend in, keep our heads down, not cause a scene. Our individual reasons might vary a little from girl to girl, but the result is the same.
We avoid all the high school BS because the fact is, there are a lot bigger things going on outside those halls. Things that no one else knows about.
Like the girl who never participates in class? Goes to games or plays or dances or pep rallies? Or talks to anyone? Truth is, she doesn’t have time. She has to—had to—get home to take care of her sick mother. No one knows she’s living by herself now because her dad took off years ago and never exactly left a forwarding address, and she’s scared that someday the school will find out and make her go into a foster home. That soon the money is going to run out, which means she’ll have to drop out of school and work for minimum wage to try to pay rent. That her junior year in high school will have been her last.
These are the things no one else knows about.
Things no one else knows about me.
I miss my mom.
If she hadn’t added my name to our little—stress little—bank account in January, the month before she died, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I was sixteen by then and managed to take care of all the “arrangements,” as the funeral director called it. I had her cremated and spread her ashes on Shoreline Beach and in the Pacific. That’s what she would have wanted. There was no service, no funeral, no piles of ass-casseroles in the fridge brought by suitably sorrowful relatives and friends.
My mom was not like me. She was lively. “Free-spirited,” my father would call her, while secretly screwing a viola player from Seattle. We lived alone together ever since Dad bailed on us, and that was fine with Mom. “I don’t need a penis to raise my daughter,” she said when she changed both our names back to her maiden name when I was twelve.
So other than an occasional visit from a nurse when we could afford it those last couple of months, it was just us. Musicians, if you didn’t know, generally don’t make a lot of money. Jennifer M. & The Pasadena Theory never hit it big. Plus Mom stopped writing music during her first round of chemo, but her Gibson Epiphone acoustic and recording equipment were still in the little studio she’d built for herself. People still bought her albums, every once in a while—I knew because I’d gotten a couple of checks for like five bucks, royalty checks from this indie label she worked with. I knew any future royalties would go to me now. The people at the music company were among the few who knew her and knew she was gone. I didn’t even tell the people who’d known us the longest. Ashley, or her family, or Anthony and his family. Because I suck.
I might have to sell all her gear soon. For the cash. I don’t want to.
On Saturday evening, the night of the biggest party of the year, I walk to the nearby Santa Barbara Mission, where I sit alone in the chapel. I stare down at my woven bag, which is stuffed with everything I had planned to bring to the party, if I go—my change purse, my cell phone, my used copy of Batman: Year One in case I get bored, the key to my apartment; everything.
I know the old lady who runs the gift shop, and she lets me in without paying admission. I like to come here and sit in the back pew, looking at the statues of Jesus and the saints, and the tourists who snap away with their digital cameras and pretend to have some sense of reverence. A lot of them don’t bother pretending, I’ve noticed.
That’s okay. Jesus and the saints don’t seem to mind. There’s more important things to worry about. There’s a war on, after all. And people dying of cancer. Jesus and the saints probably have their hands full.
If there’s no one else in here, which happens maybe half the time, I talk to Mom. I don’t know if she hears me or not. She never went to church, so I don’t know if she’s allowed here now.
“So there’s this party tonight,” I tell her now. The Mission is closing, and most of the tourists are already gone. Any minute the janitor, Carlos, is going to chase me out with his big dust mop, which he likes to do. He tries to act like he’s all upset with me, but he can’t not smile when he shakes the mop at me. I like Carlos. He’s real. I know because he sees me.
“I don’t know if I’m going to go,” I tell her, out loud but quiet in case someone happens to walk in and think I’m a total nutjob. And maybe I am, sitting here and talking to my mother who died almost five months ago as if she’s going to talk back to me, or make a Virgin Mary statue cry or something.
“I mean, I don’t know any of them,” I go on. “I know of them. I know their names and who they hang out with and what colleges they want to go to. I know Antho still wants to play for the Raiders even though I haven’t talked to him since—whenever. But I don’t really know them. I’ve never been to a party before, not really. I mean, I couldn’t . . .”
I trail off. Mom knows why I couldn’t.
I was too busy feeding her when she was too weak to do it herself. That and six dozen other chores you don’t want to imagine, involving every possible fluid the human body can produce, in quantities you don’t want to think about.
“I feel like I should just do it,” I say. “Just go. Like, I should go because I don’t know anyone. Just say hi or something. Or maybe goodbye. To someone.”
I close my eyes. “I haven’t been to a party since Ashley’s birthday right after freshman year.”
Ashley Dixon. I almost smile. We’d been friends since kindergarten, all the way until Mom got sick. Then Morrigan Lewis moved to town and I didn’t see Ashley much after that. I’d watched them throughout sophomore year, jealous at first. Then, consumed by Mom’s illness, I’d stopped keeping tabs on my old friend. Jealousy was a luxury for girls who didn’t have to drive their mothers to the hospital for chemotherapy. After a few months, it was like I’d never known Ashley in the first place. The day Mom told me about her diagnosis, she also made me swear not to tell anyone.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, and back then, her voice was still strong and lovely. “We’ll be fine.”
“What about Ashley?” I’d asked her. “Or her mom and dad? Can’t we—”
“No one, kiddo. Not even Bob and Dianne.”
“Antho and Mike . . .”
“No, not the Lincolns either, sweetheart. No one. Promise me.”
So I promised and I kept it. I hid the worst news of my life from my best friends.
I feel a pang of guilt, realizing this is the first time I’ve really thought of Ashley in more than a year, despite seeing her every day at school. She’d say hi, relentlessly, every day, while Morrigan would roll her eyes. But the last few months, I haven’t even looked at her. And Antho, he’s been looking distracted, and hasn’t seemed to notice me slowly becoming invisible.
“Okay, I’ll go to the party,” I say to Mom. “If you really want me to. I’ll go and I’ll . . . I’ll talk to someone. Ashley. Or someone. I’ll make small talk. If you really think I should.”
Mom, Jesus, and the saints are quiet.
When the Mission closes for the night—some other janitor who I can only call Not Carlos is the one closing up—I take a bus, a.k.a. the Loser Cruiser, toward the house where the party is being held, but I change my mind after the bus crosses State Street. I get off at Micheltorena to catch another bus back toward State. When I transfer buses, I have to pretend not to notice Morrigan Lewis screaming at me from across the street. Ashley is probably nearby and I don’t want to run into either one of them.
I jump on the bus the instant it stops, telling Mom there’s no way I’m going to this party.
From the Hardcover edition.
Excerpted from Party by Tom Leveen Copyright © 2010 by Tom Leveen. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Meet the Author
TOM LEVEEN has been involved in theater since 1988, directing over 30 plays. As the artistic director and a co-founder of an all-ages, nonprofit visual and performing venue in Scottsdale, Arizona, he frequently works with young adults at various events including theater, visual art exhibits, and especially the live music scene. Tom is an Arizona native, where he lives with his wife, Joy. Party is his first novel. You can visit Tom at his web site: TomLeveen.com.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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Eleven teenagers, including skaters, a jock, and a girl with a secret, decide to attend an end of the year party. They each have their own reasons ranging from needing to make a friend to getting over being dumped. "Everyone" is expected to attend this party, yet none of them expect to have their lives connect in so many different ways. Each chapter is told from a different character's perspective, giving the reader an opportunity to see the action from all angles. I decided to read this book after reading a review that compared it to the Academy Award winning movie Crash (and if you haven't seen that movie yet you must!). The first chapter is told from Beckett's perspective, and I was instantly hooked by this character. She's all alone in the world, yet extremely observant, and decides to attend this party because she needs to know she's visible. Her character reminds me of Hannah Baker from Th1rteen R3asons Why only less harsh. As Beckett is deciding whether to show up at the party she sees her old best friend Ashley with another girl Morrigan. We find out why Ashley is her old best friend, what she thinks of Morrigan, and then the chapter switches to Morrigan. This carries on throughout the night until we have the full picture of the events as they play out. I mostly enjoyed the differing perspectives because it made the story richer than just following one character. The only drawback is that I wanted more from some characters. Beckett's view of the story ends after the first chapter, but we see her story play out as she encounters more characters during the night. A couple characters lack detail that I prefer when reading a story. Tommy, for example, didn't strike me as a worthwhile character besides giving us more insight on how Josh copes with his breakup. I love Azize's character and would have loved it if Tommy's chapter was cut so we could have had more from Azize or even the lovesick, Max. But, like I said, the different views give us a richer story. Morrigan, for example, is looked at in a variety of ways. Beckett sees Morrigan as her replacement with Ashley. Ryan looks at her as an overly drunk partier, and Josh sees her as the evil girl that dumped him out of nowhere. But then we get to read the chapter from Morrigan's eyes and we know exactly what she's thinking and feeling. We know how deep, hurt and confused she truly is. Of course, Morrigan isn't the only rich character in Party. Tom Leveen has created quite a few rich characters, I only wish we could read even more about them. Overall, I highly recommend reading Party by Tom Leveen. If you enjoyed Th1rteen R3asons Why by Jay Asher or if you enjoy how Ellen Hopkins brings characters together in her books like Impulse or Tricks, then you'll really enjoy this novel. I'm looking forward to talking about this book with my students this coming school year!
The book is an easy read, i read it in 2 days (i'm 13 years old). The characters are kind of typical and stereotypical. The only part i found disappointing that this only occurred over 1 night. It isn't that thrilling because many things are kind of expectant. i loved the beginning with Beckett, but then things went kind of downhill.
I just put this book down thirty seconds ago after crying my eyes out--in a good way. Leveen does a FANTASTIC job capturing the voices, the stories, the emotions and the turmoils of several different teens attending the same end-of-year party. The story is face-paced, tense, funny at times, very moving throughout, and ultimately uplifting and deeply satisfying. What a tremendous first effort by this debut novelist. Leveen is a genuine talent to watch.
Yeah luv u to
Drives up in her ferrari
The book Party, by Tom Leveen, is about how eleven different people view a single party and what were their goals at that party. The eleven different characters all have something in common and they are all bonded together in the story. This book is easy and quick to read, especially if you like stories about teenagers and the problems they are facing. At first the book can be hard to understand, but as the story goes, it gets easier to know what's happening. I would recommend this book for mostly teenagers.
"Everything ok Sierra?" she asks. She walks up to Sierra and leans against the tree.
Whatches this place
A bunch of kegs are set up as well as a table full of different kinds of alchohol and pop and food is set up....and a big pool and a trampoline and an x box, Playstation and other gaming devices are set up and also skateboarding ramps and sh<_>it and a big cement area for skateboarders and a stage is set up for music and entertainment HAVE FUN!!!
Girl skinny blounde hair
Walks into room with short pink wedding dress on* hi springy.
Hi my names Mike. Welcome to the Party!!! Here, you can do whatever you want. Theres food, drinks, beer, candy, You Name it. No time limit being here; so you can sleep here. Just step right on.
A great debut novel. I'm glad my kids were older when I read this or I'd have kept them home :)
At gnd res 1
How old r u?