The Loft's Reviews > Bliss

Bliss by Lauren Myracle
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Mar 19, 2009

Read in March, 2009

If you sleep in a sleeping bag and wake up covered with spider bites, does that mean a bunch of spiders were crawling all over your face and you didn’t wake up? Bliss In-The-Morning-Dew doesn’t live with her mom and dad in California anymore. It’s the late 1960’s. Her hippy parents stash Bliss at her grandmother’s house in Atlanta and leave to roast marshmallows and braid each other’s hair in the Canadian woods.

Grandma’s rich blood; Grandma’s Southern blood; Grandma’s definitely not a hippy. How will Bliss ever fit in at Grandma’s home or at her new private high school, Crestview?

Bliss fits in just fine. She even moves between her more popular friends Jocelyn and Thelma and her loner friend, Sandy without a problem. She just alternates where she sits at lunch, one day with Joc and Thelma, the next day with Sandy. Who cares if Sandy’s overweight and may not use deodorant. Out in California, cult members a little older than Bliss and Sandy kill a pregnant lady and smear “Pig” in her blood on the wall. Sandy fills Bliss in on the new cult killings every day.

Joc and Thelma start preparing for the Winter Dance; Bliss gets excited because she’s never been to a dance or worn a fancy dress. Then, Sarah Lynn, the most popular girl in school and Sandy’s arch-enemy, invites Bliss over to study after school, and Bliss is honored. Sarah Lynn’s dad comes home and wonders out loud how black people can act the way they do. Bliss has heard from Sandy that he is in the Klan, is this really true? Hanging out with Sarah Lynn is cool though, and even more exciting. . . Mitchell, a cute upperclassman, asks Bliss to the Winter Dance! Sandy is acting stranger and stranger telling Bliss stories about Sarah Lynn and saying that she hates her perfect popular guts. The cult killers say the devil made them do it, Sandy says.

Bliss doesn’t want to be friends with Sandy any more, but when Sandy invites Bliss for a sleepover, she doesn’t have the heart to say no . . . it’s only one night. How bad can it be?

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