I had the idea for writing this book when I recently unearthed a box of journals and notebooks and schoolwork from my high school years. My mother called me and asked me to come over to my parents’ home and clear out some of the boxes I left there when I went to college. She said she needed the space. She said that I’d been promising to move them for the last seventeen years. She said she wasn’t going to ask me again. I told her that it would be no problem and that I was really, really sorry that I hadn’t done it before, but I was glad to come over and remove them because I didn’t want her to be inconvenienced in any way by my negligence. And then I told her how much I loved her and what a fantastic mother she was and how she was really more like a friend than a mother. Because, y’know, all that anger and annoyance you feel at your parents when you’re a teenager? It just goes away as soon as you hit your twenties. You forgive them their faults, you start appreciating their strengths, you listen to their advice and give them the respect that they’re due.
Right. That is exactly not what happens. At all. I told my mother that I was extremely busy right now and that I would get to it when I had time and did she need me to go to the hardware store to buy her a flashlight so she could see which direction she needed to go in order to crawl out of my ass? See? It never ends.
Anyway, I did finally give in and go to my parents’ place to sort through some of the boxes. And I uncovered treasure. I found several journals, scads of poetry, my yearbook from my senior year and my old SAT workbook. I spent hours going through the “material” (‘cause, really, everything I’ve ever written or experienced or thought about ends up becoming material for my art) and it was informative and painful and reassuring all at the same time. Sort of like the whole experience of high school. And life. And reading my books. As you’re about to find out.

EXCERPT FROM ANITA LIBERTY'S DIARY (AGE 16):

My name is Anita Li…. That was stupid. Why am I introducing myself? It’s like I’m writing this for some stranger who might be reading this. I don’t want a stranger reading this. It’s my private diary. PRIVATE. Unless of course, maybe some day, waaaay in the future, I become famous (for what? who cares?) and this journal will be published. But by then my name will be on the cover of the book and everyone will already know who I am and so I won’t need to introduce myself. I will, however, need to give a bit of context for these mythical future readers.
I’m sixteen.
I’m going to be a junior in high school.
I’m single, meaning that I don’t have a boyfriend, not that I’m not married. But I’m not. Married. And anyway, how could I be married when I haven’t even ever had a boyfriend? I mean, to be married would mean that SOMEONE WOULD HAVE HAD TO FIND ME ATTRACTIVE FOR AT LEAST LIKE A FUCKING MINUTE! And that hasn’t happened yet. At least not to my face. I’m sure there are all kinds of crushes on me happening behind my back and the cutest boys in school are all too shy and intimidated by me to approach me. That’s probably what’s going on.
What else?
I have parents. I’m mad at them right now. Well, that’s not news. That would be true at almost any given moment. They treat me like they have no idea who I am, like I just walked into their home and started making myself a peanut butter sandwich. My very presence seems to confuse and irritate them. Like, for instance, I got my hair cut the other day and it wasn’t a good cut. It just wasn’t. And I told my mom that I was dissatisfied with it and she asked if I wanted to go back and get it fixed and I was like, “But it’s already too short!” And then she started yelling at me saying, “Well, what do you want me to do? You’re being unreasonable. Blah, blah, blah!” Whatever. I don’t care how mean they are to me. I have a secret plan… if my parents don't shape up and start being nice to me soon, I'll just refuse to take care of them when they're old. And isn’t that pretty much why people have kids to begin with? So they have someone who’ll take care of them when they’re decrepit and senile and weak? I’m keeping track. I’m going to buy a ledger and document each and every one of their infractions. It’s all gonna add up. I guess they’ll just have to rely on my sister.
I have a sister. A younger sister. Her name is Hope (awww, how cute…blech) and she’s four years my junior. She’s just about to hit puberty. And I think she’s gonna hit it hard. She’s already annoying as hell and I don’t see that letting up any time soon. I think she’s going to be acting pre-menstrual until she actually menstruates. However, for some reason, she’s already managed to get herself a boyfriend. I don’t think they actually do anything, but it is a blow to my ego that my 12-year-old sister is in a committed relationship with a guy and I’m not. In a committed relationship with a guy. Or in any kind of relationship with a guy, if we’re to get technical.
My best friends are Victoria, Alexandra and Jessica.
Victoria is really cool. She’s an amazing artist. And a lot less anxious than I am. She keeps me grounded. Well, as grounded as I can be, which is still about twelve feet off the ground. And she understands me and that’s pretty much all I care about – being understood.
Alexandra and I have been friends since first grade. Well, we’ve known each other since first grade. We have one of those hot and cold relationships. She can be pretty oblivious to other people’s feelings and I sometimes get annoyed at her superficiality. But we’re also really close. She has a lot of experience with boys. She was an au pair this summer in the Hamptons for this really rich family and she met this guy and they went skinny-dipping every morning before her family woke up. I mean, come on! That’s so sexy. That’s like a complete fantasy. Alexandra has a high status at school, so sometimes it’s fun hanging around her because then I feel like I have high status just by association. Other times, I feel like her high status just highlights my stumpy status. She calls the shots in our relationship. And I hate myself for letting her.
Jessica is a relatively new friend of mine. She just transferred to our school in ninth grade. She moved to New York from down South, so she has this really cute accent. I like her. She’s got big boobs. I mean, that’s not why I like her — duh — but I’m just sayin’, it’s one of her defining characteristics. From a completely objective viewpoint. Also, she has a really cute older brother who’s in college, so he’s completely unattainable, but it’s way fun to be over there when he’s home on a break from school ‘cause he’s freakin’ hot.
I write poetry.
I need some new clothes.
I need some new friends.
I need a boyfriend.
I need a new attitude (if you ask my parents,
but don’t…).