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The Weekend Bucket List
by Mia Kerick Genre: YA Contemporary Fiction/Coming of Age (LGBTQ) Release Date: April 19th 2018 Duet Books, YA imprint of Interlude
Summary:
High school seniors Cady LaBrie and Cooper Murphy have yet to set one toe out of line—they’ve never stayed out all night or snuck into a movie, never gotten drunk or gone skinny-dipping. But they have each other, forty-eight hours before graduation, and a Weekend Bucket List. There’s a lot riding on this one weekend, especially since Cady and Cooper have yet to admit, much less resolve, their confounding feelings for one another—feelings that prove even more difficult to discern when genial high school dropout Eli Stanley joins their epic adventure. But as the trio ticks through their bucket list, the questions they face shift toward something new: Must friendship play second fiddle to romance? Or can it be the ultimate prize?
For Me, Boyfriends Were the Easier Option by Mia Kerick
I realized by the time I hit high school that having a boyfriend was easier than being a platonic friend. Yup…that’s what I said--it was easier. I could depend on aspects of myself that I didn’t have to think too hard about. See, boys liked my cuteness. My sexy outfits. I didn’t have to worry too much about what I said to them because, at this point in my life, it was almost all about how I appeared. Getting boyfriends was a snap. Being with them was a piece of cake. (Excuse the mixed metaphors.)
Making platonic friends had never been easy for me. My mother told me I was picked on by the neighborhood kids starting when I was just a toddler because I was “so darn sweet.” Yes, her words. My big sister was assigned the Herculean task of looking out for me. On the first day of kindergarten, Heidi Hazelton slapped my face when I didn’t get off the seesaw fast enough for her liking. I’m not sure how she knew she could get away with doing this to me—that I wouldn’t scream or tell a teacher, or maybe hit her back—but it became a trend in my young life. Anne Towne slapped my face for “spacing out” at my McDonalds birthday party in fifth grade. She’d informed me that I was “just so annoying, sitting there wearing that dumb smile.” (Some lines, even when delivered by ten-year-olds, aren’t easily forgotten.) In junior high school, Donna Brezinski constantly swore she’d sit with me at lunch tomorrow, but never kept her promises. Nope, tomorrow never came and so I sat alone. I was the kind of girl who was easy to push around. To make promises to, with no intention of keeping them. I was invisible at best, a victim at worst.
Mom also said the girls were jealous of me because I was pretty, but I knew that wasn’t it. Something about me simply didn’t deserve my friends’ respect. The stuff I said must have stupid and irrelevant, right? On the rare moments they graced me with their presence on the playground, I was too giddy with glee to be taken seriously. I faced it when I was young; I was just not cool.
When trying overly hard to be a friend, I talked too much, or not enough. I giggled hysterically. I blushed at the drop of a hat. It didn’t fly. But it was different with boyfriends. Especially boys who didn’t know me from school, as they had gotten the picture of precisely how uncool I was. Which left boys I met at the mall or the roller skating rink, and sometimes teenage lifeguards from the local beach. I quickly realized that it pretty much didn’t matter what I said, as long as they liked the way I looked. Maybe all boys weren’t like that, but the boys I found behaved that way with me. And my confidence grew—about how I looked. Not about who I was.
I adjusted my personality to each of the boys I dated because I wasn’t sure exactly who I was without them. When I dated Steve Giza, I wore cut-off shorts and black half-tops and was AC/DC’s biggest fan. With Jackie Clark, I morphed into the picture of preppiness. And when in a relationship with each of the three Michaels I dated from the roller skating rink, one after the next, I impersonated a diva, grooving to BeeGees music beneath the glittering Roller Palace disco ball, wearing black, stirrup leggings and a silky pink baseball jacket. Rocking very high hair. Each boy was literally my “other half,” or maybe even “my other three-quarters.” I believed I was just an empty shell without them.
This trend continued into adulthood… even with the man I married. I became a country music fan, because he was. I drank beer out of a bottle as I tapped my foot to Alan Jackson songs. But that wasn’t really me. And thankfully, Mr. Mia was understanding as I grew into the real Mia who can listen to acoustic cover tunes all day on Sirius XM’s Coffee House, and who drinks way too much Pomegranate Arizona Iced Tea. And has a passion for chocolate and her four kids and too many cats. But it was a long time coming.
I adjusted my personality to each of the boys I dated because I wasn’t sure exactly who I was without them. When I dated Steve Giza, I wore cut-off shorts and black half-tops and was AC/DC’s biggest fan. With Jackie Clark, I morphed into the picture of preppiness. And when in a relationship with each of the three Michaels I dated from the roller skating rink, one after the next, I impersonated a diva, grooving to BeeGees music beneath the glittering Roller Palace disco ball, wearing black, stirrup leggings and a silky pink baseball jacket. Rocking very high hair. Each boy was literally my “other half,” or maybe even “my other three-quarters.” I believed I was just an empty shell without them.
This trend continued into adulthood… even with the man I married. I became a country music fan, because he was. I drank beer out of a bottle as I tapped my foot to Alan Jackson songs. But that wasn’t really me. And thankfully, Mr. Mia was understanding as I grew into the real Mia who can listen to acoustic cover tunes all day on Sirius XM’s Coffee House, and who drinks way too much Pomegranate Arizona Iced Tea. And has a passion for chocolate and her four kids and too many cats. But it was a long time coming.
I wish I’d focused more on friendship when I was young. I wish I pushed through the awkwardness, and spoke my mind. Or maybe I should have invested time in finding the right kind of friends. I should have given more consideration to the kids who weren’t on my radar—the quiet kids, the “weird” kids, the nerds. Because I had so few friends as a child and a teen, I missed out on a lot.
Friendship offers opportunity that romance often can’t.
FRIENDSHIP: *can tolerate complete honesty *is dependable, especially in times of trouble *allows you total freedom *calls you out when you are wrong *celebrates your success without reservation *grows stronger with disagreements *is able to forgive and overlook *helps you live longer *makes you want to be a better person To bring this “friends really do matter” essay to a conclusion, I’d like to quote a few wise people who have figured this out.
A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow. ~William Shakespeare
Everybody understands friendship, and friendship is different than love - it's a different kind of love. Friendship has more freedom, more latitude. You don't expect your friend to be as you think your friend should be; you expect your friend just to love you as a friend. ~Carole King Where would you be without friends? The people to pick you up when you need lifting? We come from homes far from perfect, so you end up almost parent and sibling to your friends - your own chosen family. There's nothing like a really loyal, dependable, good friend. Nothing. ~Jennifer Aniston A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself. ~Jim Morrison
About the Author
Mia Kerick is the mother of four exceptional children—all named after saints—and five nonpedigreed cats—all named after the next best thing to saints, Boston Red Sox players. Her husband of twenty years has been told by many that he has the patience of Job, but don’t ask Mia about that, as it is a sensitive subject. Mia focuses her stories on the emotional growth of troubled men and their relationships, and she believes that sex has a place in a love story, but not until it is firmly established as a love story. As a teen, Mia filled spiral-bound notebooks with romantic tales of tortured heroes (most of whom happened to strongly resemble lead vocalists of 1980s big-hair bands) and stuffed them under her mattress for safekeeping. She is thankful to Dreamspinner Press for providing her with an alternate place to stash her stories. Mia is proud of her involvement with the Human Rights Campaign and cheers for each and every victory made in the name of marital equality. Her only major regret: never having taken typing or computer class in school, destining her to a life consumed with two-fingered pecking and constant prayer to the Gods of Technology. Contact Mia at [email protected]. |
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