Before I die
Record details
- ISBN: 9780385751551 (trade)
- ISBN: 9780385751582 (lib. bdg.)
- ISBN: 9780329663971 (Follett bdg.)
- ISBN: 0385751559
- ISBN: 0385751583
- ISBN: 0329663976
-
Physical Description:
print
326 p. ; 22 cm. - Edition: 1st American ed.
- Publisher: Oxford ; New York : David Fickling Books, c2007.
Content descriptions
Citation/References Note: | Booklist starred Pub Weekly Kirkus Starred |
Target Audience Note: | Young Adult Follett Library Resources Young Adult |
Search for related items by subject
Subject: | Terminally ill Juvenile fiction England Juvenile fiction Terminally ill Fiction England Fiction Terminally ill Fiction England Fiction |
Available copies
- 15 of 16 copies available at Evergreen Indiana. (Show)
- 0 of 0 copies available at Greenwood Public Library.
Holds
- 0 current holds with 16 total copies.
Other Formats and Editions
Show Only Available Copies
Location | Call Number / Copy Notes | Barcode | Shelving Location | Status | Due Date |
---|
Loading Recommendations...
Before I Die
By Jenny Downham
David Fickling Books
Copyright ©2007 Jenny DownhamAll right reserved.
ISBN: 9780385751551
One
I wish I had a boyfriend. I wish he lived in the wardrobe on a coat hanger. Whenever I wanted, I could get him out and heâd look at me the way boys do in films, as if Iâm beautiful. He wouldnât speak much, but heâd be breathing hard as he took off his leather jacket and unbuckled his jeans. Heâd wear white pants and heâd be so gorgeous Iâd almost faint. Heâd take my clothes off too. Heâd whisper, âTessa, I love you. I really bloody love you. Youâre beautifulâ â exactly those words â as he undressed me.
I sit up and switch on the bedside light. Thereâs a pen, but no paper, so on the wall behind me I write, I want to feel the weight of a boy on top of me. Then I lie back down and look out at the sky. Itâs gone a funny colour â red and charcoal all at once, like the day is bleeding out.
I can smell sausages. Saturday night is always sausages. Thereâll be mash and cabbage and onion gravy too. Dadâll have the lottery ticket and Cal will have chosen the numbers and theyâll sit in front of the TV and eat dinner from trays on their laps. Theyâll watch The X Factor, then theyâll watch Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? After that, Cal will have a bath and go to bed and Dadâll drink beer and smoke until itâs late enough for him to sleep.
He came up to see me earlier. He walked over to the window and opened the curtains. âLook at that!â he said as light flooded the room. There was the afternoon, the tops of the trees, the sky. He stood silhouetted against the window, his hands on his hips. He looked like a Power Ranger.
âIf you wonât talk about it, how can I help you?â he said, and he came over and sat on the edge of my bed. I held my breath. If you do it for long enough, white lights dance in front of your eyes. He reached over and stroked my head, his fingers gently massaging my scalp.
âBreathe, Tessa,â he whispered.
Instead, I grabbed my hat from the bedside table and yanked it on right over my eyes. He went away then.
Now heâs downstairs frying sausages. I can hear the fat spitting, the slosh of gravy in the pan. Iâm not sure I should be able to hear that from all the way upstairs, but nothing surprises me any more. I can hear Cal unzipping his coat now, back from buying mustard. Ten minutes ago he was given a pound and told, âDonât talk to anyone weird.â While he was gone, Dad stood on the back step and smoked a fag. I could hear the whisper of leaves hitting the grass at his feet. Autumn invading.
âHang your coat up and go and see if Tess wants anything,â Dad says. âThereâs plenty of blackberries. Make them sound interesting.â
Cal has his trainers on; the air in the soles sighs as he leaps up the stairs and through my bedroom door. I pretend to be asleep, which doesnât stop him. He leans right over and whispers, âI donât care even if you never speak to me again.â I open one eye and find two blue ones. âKnew you were faking,â he says, and he grins wide and lovely. âDad says, do you want blackberries?â
âNo.â
âWhat shall I tell him?â
âTell him I want a baby elephant.â
He laughs. âIâm gonna miss you,â he says, and he leaves me with an open door and the draught from the stairs.
Two
Zoey doesnât even knock, just comes in and plonks herself down on the end of the bed. She looks at me strangely, as if she hadnât expected to find me here.
âWhatâre you doing?â she says.
âWhy?â
âDonât you go downstairs any more?â
âDid my dad phone you up?â
âAre you in pain?â
âNo.â
She gives me a suspicious look, then stands up and takes off her coat. Sheâs wearing a very short red dress. It matches the handbag sheâs dumped on my floor.
âAre you going out?â I ask her. âHave you got a date?â
She shrugs, goes over to the window and looks down at the garden. She circles a finger on the glass, then she says, âMaybe you should try and believe in God.â
âShould I?â
âYeah, maybe we all should. The whole human race.â
âI donât think so. I think he might be dead.â
She turns round to look at me. Her face is pale, like winter. Behind her shoulder, an aeroplane winks its way across the sky.
She says, âWhatâs that youâve written on the wall?â
I donât know why I let her read it. I guess I want something to happen. Itâs in black ink. With Zoey looking, all the words writhe like spiders. She reads it over and over. I hate it how sorry she can be for me.
She speaks very softly. âItâs not exactly Disneyland, is it?â
âDid I say it was?â
âI thought that was the idea.â
âNot mine.â
âI think your dadâs expecting you to ask for a pony, not a boyfriend.â
Itâs amazing, the sound of us laughing. Even though it hurts, I love it. Laughing with Zoey is absolutely one of my favourite things, because I know weâve both got the same stupid pictures in our heads. She only has to say, âMaybe a stud farm might be the answer,â and weâre both in hysterics.
Zoey says, âAre you crying?â
Iâm not sure. I think I am. I sound like those women on the telly when their entire family gets wiped out. I sound like an animal gnawing its own foot off. Everything just floods in all at once â like how my fingers are just bones and my skin is practically see-through. Inside my left lung I can feel cells multiplying, stacking up, like ash slowly filling a vase. Soon I wonât be able to breathe.
âItâs OK if youâre afraid,â Zoey says.
âItâs not.â
âOf course it is. Whatever you feel is fine.â
âImagine it, Zoey â being terrified all the time.â
âI can.â
But she canât. How can she possibly, when she has her whole life left? I hide under my hat again, just for a bit, because Iâm going to miss breathing. And talking. And windows. Iâm going to miss cake. And fish. I like fish. I like their little mouths going, open, shut, open.
And where Iâm going, you canât take anything with you.
Zoey watches me wipe my eyes with the corner of the duvet.
âDo it with me,â I say.
She looks startled. âDo what?â
âItâs on bits of paper everywhere. Iâll write it out properly and you can make me do it.â
âMake you do what? The thing you wrote on the wall?â
âOther stuff too, but the boy thing first. Youâve had sex loads of times, Zoey, and Iâve never even been kissed.â
I watch my words fall into her. They land somewhere very deep.
âNot loads of times,â she says eventually.
âPlease, Zoey. Even if I beg you not to, even if Iâm horrible to you, you must make me do it. Iâve got a whole long list of things I want to do.â
When she says, âOK,â she makes it sound easy, as if I only asked her to visit me more often.
âYou mean it?â
âI said so, didnât I?â
I wonder if she knows what sheâs letting herself in for.
I sit up in bed and watch her fiddle about in the back of my wardrobe. I think sheâs got a plan. Thatâs whatâs good about Zoey. Sheâd better hurry up though, because Iâm starting to think of things like carrots. And air. And ducks. And pear trees. Velvet and silk. Lakes. Iâm going to miss ice. And the sofa. And the lounge. And the way Cal loves magic tricks. And white things â milk, snow, swans.
From the back of the wardrobe, Zoey pulls out the wrap-dress Dad bought me last month. Itâs still got the price on.
âIâll wear this,â she says. âYou can wear mine.â She starts to unbutton her dress.
âAre you taking me out?â
âItâs Saturday night, Tess. Ever heard of it?â
Of course. Of course I have.
I havenât been vertical for hours. It makes me feel a bit strange, sort of empty and ethereal. Zoey stands in her underwear and helps me put on the red dress. It smells of her. The material is soft and clings to me.
âWhy do you want me to wear this?â
âItâs good to feel like youâre somebody else sometimes.â
âSomeone like you?â
She considers this. âMaybe,â she says. âMaybe someone like me.â
When I look at myself in the mirror, itâs great how different I look â big-eyed and dangerous. Itâs exciting, as if anything is possible. Even my hair looks good, dramatically shaved rather than only just growing. We look at ourselves, side by side, then she steers me away from the mirror and makes me sit down on the bed. She brings my make-up basket from the dressing table and sits next to me. I concentrate on her face as she smears foundation onto her finger and dabs at my cheeks. Sheâs very pale and very blonde and her acne makes her look kind of savage. Iâve never had a spot in my life. Itâs the luck of the draw.
She lines my lips and fills in the space with lipstick. She finds some mascara and tells me to look right at her. I try to imagine what it might be like to be her. I often do this, but I can never really get my head round it. When she makes me stand up in front of the mirror again, I glitter. A little like her.
âWhere do you want to go?â she says.
There are loads of places. The pub. A club. A party. I want a big dark room you can barely move in, with bodies grinding close together. I want to hear a thousand songs played incredibly loud. I want to dance so fast that my hair grows long enough to trample on. I want my voice to be thunderous above the throb of bass. I want to get so hot that I have to crunch ice in my mouth.
âLetâs go dancing,â I say. âLetâs go and find some boys to have sex with.â
âAll right.â Zoey picks up her handbag and leads me from the bedroom.
Dad comes out of the lounge and halfway up the stairs. He pretends he was going to the loo, and acts all surprised to see us.
âYouâre up!â he says. âItâs a miracle!â And he nods grudging respect at Zoey. âHow did you manage it?â
Zoey smiles at the floor. âShe just needed a little incentive.â
âWhich is?â
I lean on one hip and look him right in the eye. âZoeyâs taking me pole dancing.â
âFunny,â he says.
âNo, really.â
He shakes his head, runs a hand in circles over his belly. I feel sorry for him, because he doesnât know what to do.
âOK,â I say. âWeâre going clubbing.â
He looks at his watch as if thatâll tell him something new.
âIâll look after her,â Zoey says. She sounds so sweet and wholesome I almost believe her.
âNo,â he says. âShe needs to rest. A club will be smoky and loud.â
âIf she needs to rest, why did you phone me?â
âI wanted you to talk to her, not take her away!â
âDonât worry,â she laughs. âIâll bring her back.â
I can feel all the happiness sliding out of me because I know Dadâs right. Iâd have to sleep for a week if I went clubbing. If I use up too much energy, I always pay for it later.
âItâs OK,â I say. âIt doesnât matter.â
Zoey grabs my arm and pulls me behind her down the stairs. âIâve got my mumâs car,â she says. âIâll bring her home by three.â
My dad tells her no, itâs too late; he tells her to bring me back by midnight. He says it several times as Zoey gets my coat from the closet in the hall. As we go through the front door, I call goodbye, but he doesnât answer. Zoey shuts the door behind us.
âMidnightâs OK,â I tell her.
She turns to me on the step. âListen, girl, if youâre going to do this properly, youâre going to have to learn to break the rules.â
âI donât mind being back by midnight. Heâll only worry.â
âLet him â it doesnât matter. There are no consequences for someone like you!â
Iâve never thought about it like that before.
Continues...
Excerpted from Before I Die by Jenny Downham Copyright ©2007 by Jenny Downham. 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.