Being bad never felt so good.
Poppy Browne never stole anything in her life before moving to Pleasant Acres and meeting Mary Jane and Whitney. But when Poppy walks out of the mall with her two new friends and her first pair of stolen jeans, she’s hooked.
Before long, Poppy is lifting whenever she gets the urgeit’s never about the merchandise, it’s always about the thrill. But when her secret gets out, Poppy’s clique turns on each other. As she watches her life collapse around her, Poppy must decide where her loyalties lie...and how far she’ll go to protect herself.
About the Author
Wendy Toliver has explored a variety of jobs, from impersonating Marilyn Monroe for singing telegrams to impersonating a computer geek at an ad agency. She lives in Eden, Utah with her husband, three sons, two dogs, a cat, several fish, and an occasional mole.
Read an Excerpt
By Wendy Toliver
Simon PulseCopyright © 2010 Wendy Toliver
All right reserved.
I slouched in the leather seat and glared at my mom. “You said you wouldn't say anything.”
She sighed. “I meant I wouldn't say anything right then. Since I was so angry . . . so confused why you'd mess up your pretty face like that.”
“I happen to like it.” I leaned forward and pulled down the vanity mirror of my mom's Volvo. A beam of sunlight flashed off the new titanium microstud in my nose. I really did like the way it looked. It gave me a dose of exoticness, like this honors student could tear it up on the club dance floor or something. The mirror flipped back into place with a smack.
Mom slowed the car at an intersection by Louie's Caf - and the Piggly Wiggly and then pulled it up to the Gas 'N' Go. A round man in coveralls jogged over to fill it up. I wondered if he were a bulldog in his former life.
“Can you clean these for me, Poppy?” Mom passed me her sunglasses and rummaged around in her briefcase. I took the glass-cleaning cloth out of the glove compartment and wiped. When I handed the glasses back, her gaze fell on my microstud and she grimaced. “I know your friends back home were into body piercing and tattoos and Lord knows what else—”
“Only two of those guys had tats, Mom.”
“Well. Anyhow, I guess I should be thankful you only have your ears and nose pierced. But don't you think it might be easier to . . . fit in here if you take that thing out?”
Fitting in had never been my modus vivendi.
And whether she knew it or not, Mom hadn't exactly fit in back in Boulder. Too high maintenance for a hippie, not rich enough for a socialite, and not liberal enough for an academic. Perhaps she'd fit in better here in Texas, for better or for worse.
I fiddled with the SCAN button, quick to pass over the hick tunes, Jesus music, and Republican talk shows. Finally, I found something that teetered on tolerable: an older song by The Used.
The gasoline man rapped on the side of the car as he replaced the nozzle in the pump. Mom waved her Am Ex out the window. “The hole will grow back and you'll never know it was pierced,” she continued brightly, turning the music down until it was barely even audible.
“Thank you, Mrs. Browne,” the man said, beads of sweat shimmering on his red face. He looked at her the way men look at attractive women. Like he'd forgotten how to blink.
I waited for Mom to correct him (“It's Ms., not Mrs.”) but she never did. She smiled, snatched her receipt, and pressed the gas pedal. “Pleasant Acres isn't exactly Boulder. And now that you're going to a Baptist school, the dress code is much stricter and—you read the handbook, didn't you?”
“We're not Baptist.”
She sighed. “Like I said, I researched your academic options, and Calvary High is the one I felt was best for you.”
“Did you ever entertain the notion that staying in Boulder would be best for me?” I muttered, picking at the raisin-colored polish on my thumbnail.
“Of course I did.” Steering one-handed, she rubbed her temple with the other. “I didn't want to pluck you out of school right before your sophomore year—”
“However,” I said in my best Professor Emily Browne voice, “the opportunity to teach at a small, up-and-coming liberal arts college and to be a big fish in a microscopic pond was all too enticing.” I rubbed my hands together sinisterly.
Mom had traded in her professorship at the University of Colorado for one at Kinsley College and had dragged me to the podunk town of Pleasant Acres, Texas. It boasted white-picket-fenced neighborhoods, oil derricks at almost every corner, freakishly huge pecan trees, and a permanent notch in the Bible Belt. Yee-haw.
“Despite what you think, it's not all about me,” Mom said without a hint of humor. “Everything I do, every choice I make, is about us. The cost of living is so much less here, and that means we can save more money for your college education. Besides, Pleasant Acres isn't so bad. You have to admit, the people are extremely friendly. Our neighbors in Boulder never brought us homemade casseroles and muffins.”
I'd flaked almost all the polish off my nails. They looked worse than before I'd painted them, I realized with a surge of frustration. “That's because the people back home actually gave a shit about our cholesterol levels.”
Mom muttered, “Watch your language, Poppy,” her programmed response any time I let a curse word slip out in her presence. A few minutes later, she said, “Honey, I know you've got the jitters for your first day at a new school. To be honest, I'm a little nervous about my first day too.” Her eyes—greenish-blue, so different from my own dark ones—locked with mine.
She wore a cap-sleeved blouse and a navy blue pencil skirt—clothes she'd had for years but that somehow still managed to look fresh. She'd pulled her light brown hair into a professorial chignon, accessorized with a silver pen. As always, she looked elegant and beautiful, and I had a strong suspicion that if she'd just loosen up a little, she'd have men lined up for miles. Come to think of it, she could use some girlfriends, too. Anything so I could get a little breathing room.
Maybe I should've said something reassuring like, “Oh, come on, Mom. You're a great teacher and everybody's going to adore you.” Instead, I just sat there, refusing to admit to myself that she was right: I was a nervous wreck. Nausea provoked my stomach. Maybe it was a good thing I'd skipped breakfast.
The Volvo's tires glided along Calvary Road, which meandered through trees so tall and dense that only slits of the blue sky were visible above. Mom pulled up to the stately red-brick school and braked for a mob of backpack-toting guys to clear the crosswalk. They wore polos and khakis; their hair was combed and their faces clean-shaven. They looked like they were going for job interviews. Or, on second thought, like they needed to get laid.
Mom peered at them over her sunglasses and asked, “See any potential boyfriends, Poppy?” For one scary second, I wondered if she'd read my mind.
“Now, she wants to talk about boys,” I said to the Universe, crossing my arms so I didn't have to look at my nails anymore. “I thought you wanted me off guys for a while. You know, like until I'm thirty-five.” She wasn't too keen on her daughter following her down the knocked-up-teenager road.
“Now, that's not true, Poppy. I had a bad feeling about that Simon guy, that's all.”
“Spence. His name is Spence.” I couldn't say why I felt it necessary to correct her for the millionth time. Turned out, she was right about him being a freak. A messed up, macabre, stuff-of-nightmares-and-horror-flicks freak. It had just taken me four months to draw that conclusion myself, and now I'd rather just erase that phase of my life, once and for all.
“Maybe you'll meet someone here, a nice young man who treats you with respect,” Mom said, coasting up to the front of the school. “You know what they say about Southern boys. . . .” She parked alongside the curb and faced me.
“That they wear too-tight Wranglers, chew tobacco, and marry their cousins?”
She cracked a smile. Maybe it was being in a new place, surrounded by strange sights, smells, sounds—but it was crazy how such a small gesture gave my spirits a much-needed boost.
Before jumping out, I checked my reflection in the visor mirror. I'd decided to wear my light blond hair down, but I came prepared with an emergency ponytail holder in case I got too hot or my hair went flat. I tucked a lock behind my left ear.
“You sure you don't want to take that thing out of your nose?” Mom asked, watching me closely as I checked my makeup. With this humidity, it was a miracle my eyeliner wasn't dripping down my cheeks.
“You really think I'll scare everybody off with a little stud in my nose?” I widened my eyes and blinked angelically.
“Let's face it, Poppy. You can use all the help you can get in the making friends department.” Ah, so nice to know my own mother considered me a social apocalypse. I could say something about the pot calling the kettle black, but there was no use. “Not to mention, you'll want to get in your teachers' good graces.”
Taking a deep breath, I rolled my shoulders. Then I pushed open the door and unfolded myself, straightening my top: a little crocheted sweater I'd salvaged by adding some cool metal buttons. “My teachers will adore me,” I said, smirking.
“Don't forget to go by the office and get your roster,” Mom called out the window. “And I'll pick you up at two forty-five.”
“Okay. Thanks. Bye.”
“Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?”
“Only if you hold my hand and leave a big red lipstick mark on my forehead,” I muttered under my breath.
Gravel crunched under her tires as she pulled away. I marched alongside the hedge, past the flagpole, up the stairs, through the main entrance, and directly to the office. The poodle-haired lady at the desk hung up the phone with a “God bless” and knocked over a little pot of violets. As she dusted the dirt onto the carpet, she beamed at me. “Welcome. You must be Poppy Browne.” She opened a file cabinet and pulled out a folder. “Here is your student ID. Turned out cute as a possum, don't you think?”
I examined the teensy photo on the laminated card. Wearing my hair in a ponytail when I'd registered had clearly been a mistake. Other than looking like a bald girl with demonic red eyes, yep, cute as a possum.
“And here's your information packet and class schedule. Looks like you're taking mainly junior- and senior-level courses. You must be a very smart young lady.” Or a young lady whose mother had zero tolerance for academic mediocrity.
The lady glanced down at a note paper-clipped to the folder. “Let's see . . .” She tapped her chest several times, fumbling for the reading glasses that dangled from a beaded necklace. Once they were in place, she said, “Ah, yes. A delightful junior by the name of Bridgette Josephs volunteered to be your student hostess. She'll take you to your classes and answer any questions you might have your first few days. I'm happy to answer any questions you might have as well.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Winstead,” I said, picking up her name from the brass-plated sign on her desk.
“You're more than welcome, Poppy.” She scrutinized me, her eyeballs appearing cartoonish behind her glasses. “Now, let's see. It seems you might have some questions about our dress code. Perhaps we forgot to give you a copy of the handbook?” She opened the file cabinet at her side and slipped out a piece of light green paper. Then she ran her bright pink fingertips down the paper, paused, and read out loud: “Young ladies are to wear dresses or skirts that come no higher than the top of the knee.” She cleared her throat meaningfully while I studied my skirt. It would come to the top of the knee of someone who was four feet tall. “They may also wear slacks, dark jeans, or capri pants,” she continued. “Shorts, tank tops, tube tops, off-the-shoulder shirts, and spaghetti-strap dresses are forbidden. Shoes and socks or hosiery are to be worn at all times.” Leaning over the side of her desk, Mrs. Winstead checked out my black boots, and though she frowned, she said nothing. I wiggled my toes and shifted my weight, suddenly realizing my feet were unbearably hot. Maybe I'd have to switch to my black Converse, at least until it got a little cooler. She flipped the paper over, her lips flapping as she read silently. Finally, she dabbed her forehead with a Kleenex and said, “There's nothing about nose jewelry. Probably because we've never had anything like that come up here at Calvary High. Oh well, just be sure and follow the dress code from here on out, all righty then?”
I nodded, thinking it would be funny if an official dress code enforcer policed the hallways.
“Good girl. Oh, mercy me. Here's Bridgette Josephs,” Mrs. Winstead said, a gust of relief in her voice. “She's not only your student hostess—she's one of our brightest and most involved students. I'm sure you two will be the best of friends.” Her feeble chuckle made me think she wasn't so sure about the last part.
Bridgette flashed me a wide, metallic smile. “Welcome to Calvary High.” Her sweet-sounding voice caught me by surprise. Despite her broad nose, over-plucked eyebrows, and fashion disaster of a floral knee-length skirt, her cheeks were rosy and her hazel eyes sparkled. Overall, I found her somewhat cute, on the verge of being pretty.
“Come on, Poppy. We don't want to miss morning service. It really gets the day started off right. Now, I know you went to a secular school back in Colorado, so you've probably never had an opportunity like this. It's kind of like a pep rally, only there're no screaming cheerleaders or mascots bouncing around. I guess you can say it's a spiritual pep rally.”
I wasn't a big fan of the pep rallies at my old school, so maybe this wouldn't be so bad. I'd just sit back and relax. Hopefully no one would even notice me.
© 2010 Wendy Toliver
Excerpted from Lifted by Wendy Toliver Copyright © 2010 by Wendy Toliver. 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.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Wendy Toliver has brought us into the world of fifteen year old Poppy Browne, a transplanted Colorado girl dropped into a Texas town where being in the Bible belt, is looked at as a good thing. Poppy has to deal with trying to fit into a ultra conservative Christian school, and living in a new town that has none of the charm of her old Boulder neighborhood. But in her first few days she meets Bridgette, her assigned school buddy, and Mary jane and Whitney, two of the school's elite and popular crowd. It doesn't take long before Mary Jane and Whitney to grab Poppy and bring her into their world of secrets and drama. See Mary Jane and Whitney have a penchant for stealing, or 'lifting' things from the local stores. Just one look at their closets and you can see that they have way more things than any teenage girl should have. When they bring Poppy into the circle and she starts to steal, she feels a strange thrill, but its quickly replaced by guilt and unease. In a twist she is turned in by the one person she never thought would do it...Bridgette and her stealing world implodes, threatening her relationship with her mother and friends. What i like is Poppy is a very strong young character who stands up and faces her judgement, even if its potentially catastrophic. But she also forces her three friends to make amends of their falling out and try to patch things up. And along the way she finds love with a boy that will make the school gossip boards tingle. I liked this book a lot because it showed both sides of the line. You have Poppy getting drawn into stealing by her friends, and she has a thrill from it, but then she gets home and feels so guilty and stressed that she can't do school work, or sleep for that matter. It does not romanticize the idea of steeling, rather, it shows it for what it really is and that you might have a thrill and excitement, but it can never last and your conscience will never let that stand.
This book was simply amazing. Wendy Oliver captures the attention of the reader. I want her to right more. The story line is amazing. AMAZING READ.
Just before her sophomore year, Poppy Browne is taken from her normal life in Boulder and unwillingly put into a new town, Pleasant Acres. There, Poppy will be attending Calvary High, a Baptist school that has its fair share of sins and secrets. Right off the bat, Poppy causes quite a stir with her nose piercing and a few snarky comments, which gets her noticed by the popular girls, Whitney and Mary Jane. She's never felt the need to fit in, as back in Colorado she hung out with the tats and pierced crowd. But now she faces a dilemma of which clique to befriend. Should she choose the ever-popular and extremely gorgeous girls, or the "Good News Choir" that features Bridgette Josephs, the all-around overachiever and Poppy's very own Calvary High tour guide? Intrigued by Mary Jane and Whitney, Poppy finds herself getting friendly with the two, wondering how she climbed up the social ladder so quickly. Unfortunately, Poppy will soon discover that being friends with these two girls probably wasn't the best choice to make. Turns out they have an itch for shoplifting. Before she knows it, Poppy is lifted into an entirely foreign world filled with an irresistible and charmingly arrogant preacher's son, old grudges, revenge schemes, and a whole new temptation complete with a rush that is full of expensive merchandise. Can Poppy handle such things as crushes, a best friend's boyfriend issues, and backstabbing, or will she need a quick prayer and some major forgiveness to get her through the year? Wendy Toliver realistically portrays a girl swept into a world of stolen goods where the rush takes control and the actions become impulsive. Poppy, as the central character, gives the novel a lighter feel, with her hilarious outlook on life and love. LIFTED has all the important qualities that make it a good read: it's fun, smart, and extremely addictive, just like the main character and her frowned upon new habit.
It was an exquisite read. I loved how your character Poppy didn't want to be in the 'popular' group, the popular group just started being nice to her. Amazing! I would definitely recommend this to my book group and many more friends! Thank you for your book! Wendy Toliver, you are an amazing, wondrous author. Again thank you!
LIFTED was a very good book. i felt very connected to the author and to the characters within this exquisite novel. This is some of the best writing I have read in a while. This is an interesting subject and you made it even better. Thank you Wendy for coming and visiting our class. here is your review:)
Lifted is a story of Poppy Browne, a teen who moves to a new city/state/school and her journey of getting hooked on shoplifting. Wendy Toliver also does an amazing job of bringing her characters and their relationships to life. At first I didn't want to like Poppy's mom for putting so much pressure on her. I did want to like the nice girl, who tries to befriend Poppy and orient her to the school. I didn't want to like girls who shoplift. But just like real people, all of these characters are more than just one thing; they aren't simply good or bad, and bad choices don't automatically make you a bad person. Poppy doesn't like all of the choices she's making, but she doesn't know how to stop herself, or who to trust. I honestly don't know if I've ever imagined shoplifting like a drug before, and how this kind of behavior can affect and change a person's life. I think Lifted gives a real and honest portrayal of how easy it can be to make bad choices. Wendy also does a great job of giving Poppy a relateable voice, with a sense of humor. It really endeared me to the character whenever Poppy would say something angsty, right before she shared her truthful feelings with the reader. It was SOOOOOO good, I'm still trying to think of anything I can compare it to. I almost cried a couple of times, just because Wendy totally hit the right spot. And I'm not going to tell you any more, so I suggest you pick up your own copy and see for yourself.