Lauren is smiling because she knows those chunky black sandals totally make her outfit!

You’re further from me than the 21-year-old version of us, but I like you better than I like her.  And I’ll let you in on a secret:  most everyone else will, too, but only one of your high school friends will have the guts to say that to your face.  When he does – when he tells you on the day of your college graduation that he’s glad you’re leaving Yale because he didn’t like who you were there – it’ll sting, but you’ll know he’s right.  You won’t have liked yourself all that much while you were there, either.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Right now you’re 16 and you’re not even thinking about college yet.  And you shouldn’t be.  You should be doing exactly what you’re doing:  working hard in school, hanging out with your friends (who, by the way, are some of the coolest girls you’ll ever meet and are largely responsible for how cool you are right now), and expressing your opinion as often and as loudly as you can.  That opinion of yours, it’s what sets you apart.  It’s what makes you YOU.  In a few years you’ll start holding it back, second-guessing yourself, wondering what people will think of you if you say what’s really on your mind.  It’ll take you the better part of a decade to discover that what other people think of you doesn’t matter.  The crazy part is, at 16 you know that.  So what happens to make you lose sight of it?

Going her own way, Lauren bucked the shoulder-length-hair trend at her 16th birthday party!

You won’t believe me, but people will soon start telling you you’re pretty, and this will screw you up.  Nope, I’m not talking about Mom or Dad or Stacy – I know they’ve been saying it your whole life.  I mean other people.  Cute boys.  Cool girls.  And hearing them say it will change you.  Not all at once, but over time.  It’ll become important to you to be pretty, to stay pretty, and you’ll start acting the way you think pretty girls are supposed to act.  Cocky.  Shallow.  Petty.  I know, I know – you can’t stand girls like that.  That won’t keep you from becoming one of them in a few years (thankfully, at 24, you’ll snap out of it).

I know how hard it is for you to imagine being a Pretty One, especially right now, as you’re sporting the worst haircut of our entire life.  Yeah, your hair will never look as bad as it does right now. Oh, I know what you’ll say, that you like it short and choppy.  It’s exactly how you wanted it.  Lies!

As Lauren’s hair began to grow out, she favored an old man’s comb-over style.

You hate it, you just don’t want to admit that you care enough about your hair to be upset about the fact that Mom’s stylist gave you a boycut when you came in asking to look like Monica on Friends.  To prove to yourself that you don’t care, you’ll go so far as to maintain this hideous haircut for the better part of a year.  This is a mistake.  Start growing it out NOW.  You’ll hate your senior photos because your hair will still be too short to do anything with it.

Then again, you’ll do just fine with your awful hair, because it doesn’t define you.  In fact, you barely even think about it.  This is awesome, Lauren.  In a few years you’ll start obsessing over your appearance and your weight (so much so that Mom and Dad will worry about you, as they should – don’t shut them out when they try to help, okay?), and you’ll start missing out on a lot of cool thoughts because your brain will be too jammed full with self-defeating nonsense.  You’ll spend hours in front of the mirror wishing you could change this or that, and you’ll never be able to, and the pursuit of it will just waste your time.  Time that could be spent doing something really awesome.  Like writing.

Grown-up Lauren!

You are a good writer.  When you get to college you’ll start to doubt that, so much so that you’ll give up on writing all together.  That’s okay, though, because if you stick with it, you might end up pursuing it instead of going to law school.  No, law school will not be the best three years of your life.  And no, sorry, you will not love being a lawyer.  But you’ll meet the man you’ll marry in law school, and he is absolutely the love of your life (don’t be discouraged by the fact that he has a girlfriend when you meet him – it’ll take a few months, but he’ll break up with her and ask you out).

No, you do not marry the boy you’ll fall in love with your senior year of high school, the one you date on and off through college.  He’s a good guy, though, and loving him is something you’ll never regret.  But when you promise each other than you’ll always be friends, even after you marry other people?  Cute idea, but it won’t happen.  The day you call to tell him you’re engaged is that last time you’ll ever speak.  He won’t return your calls after that.  That’s okay, though.  By then you’ll be ready to let go of all the drama in your life and just enjoy being real and kind and happy.

And you will be.  Happy.  So happy.  Not the fleeting emotion you feel when something goes your way, but the deep joy that comes from becoming the person God created you to be.  It might be a few years (or 15), but you’ll get there, Teen Me.  I promise.

Oh – and one more thing.  That keg party you’ll go to your senior year, the one in the cul de sac of the unfinished neighborhood down the street from your house?  Don’t drink that beer.  The cops will show up approximately sixty seconds after you finish it.

Take care of yourself, Teen Me.

Love,

Me-at-33

HarperTeen, May 2013.

Lauren Miller wrote PARALLEL while on maternity leave from her law firm job and blogged about it, an experiment she called “embracing the detour” (also the name of her blog).  Many people told her she was crazy.  When she realized they were right, she told no one and kept writing.  These days, she’s practicing law as little as she can and working on her second novel, which will be out from HarperTeen next year.  Born in NYC and raised in Atlanta, Lauren now lives in Los Angeles with her husband and daughter.  You can find her online atwww.laurenmillerwrites.com.

Teen Vince in his yearbook!

You had another good game last night. Congratulations. I know how much you like to hear the crowd roar its approval, but you’d better get ready to hear some things that you aren’t going to enjoy very much.

Skill and courage on the athletic field are commendable, but they are short-lived and tempt you with a false set of priorities. You should enjoy sports as a way to stay fit, as a lesson in teamwork and, above all, as a way to have fun with your friends. This is why it’s called a “game.” It’s not real life. When you’re my age you will see that what you perceive now as a valiant and noble pursuit is only going to amount to a few faded photos in a yearbook. Roll your eyes if you must, but fasten your seatbelt because I’m just getting started here.

Because you have a problem with stuttering, you use sports to inflate your sense of self-worth. You want your friends to see you as a star athlete instead of as a classmate who is afraid to read aloud or recite in class. You want everyone to applaud your courage as you run, throw and catch, but what you don’t understand is that you can’t pick and choose your times to display courage. There is no on-off switch.

When you hide from what you fear most, you only give those fears a better climate in which to grow. Your attempts at speech therapy have all been in vain because you never would let yourself fully accept the fact that you did have a problem. You choose to hide, sidestep and compensate. In sports you are taught never to let yourself be vulnerable. That may work on the fields of play, but it’s a bad choice in life.

You got so good at finding ways around having to speak in public that you started taking the easy way out on other things. You are quick to say that you aren’t very good in math. How about all the batting averages, field-goal percentages and yards per carry you calculated? You never made a mistake in those.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re  going to tell me that the reason you concentrate so much on athletics is that you thought you would never be able to earn a living any other way. In a couple of years you will see your first 95-mph fastball. Let me know then what you think about playing ball for a living. We have this thing now called the state lottery where your chances of winning are hundreds-of-millions to 1. That’s probably better odds than you would have trying to play professional sports. Just to be clear, don’t play the lottery either. That’s a fool’s game as well.

Grown-up Vince! (Photo by J. Miles Carey.)

As I write this letter, I learned that Ken Venturi, the famed golfer, has just died at age 82. He won the U.S. Open in 1964, only a few days after your high school graduation. Venturi was a person who stuttered but went on to become a highly regarded sports broadcaster. There is no doubt in my mind which feat he regarded as his greatest accomplishment.

You will make what feels like a rational decision in a few more years. You will decide that since you still can’t talk the way you think you should that you will just write, maybe as a reporter for a newspaper. Here’s a shocker for you. Reporters have to talk in much greater quantity than they write.

Do you see what I’m getting at here?

You can’t run from your stuttering. You can’t hide from your problems. You face them head on without excuses or apologies. No matter how conniving you think you are, there is no other way. I spent many years searching for the magic pill. It doesn’t exist. The only answer to a problem that threatens your quality of life is hard work and the sooner you get to it the better.

You feel sorry for yourself because you can’t talk like your friends. I’ve got the biggest shocker of all for you now. Fifty years hence you will learn that half of those friends never knew you stuttered in the first place and the other half could care less. Yes, part of this is because you hid it so well, but mostly it was because they were your friends no matter how your speech sounded.

I’m sure you’re getting tired of hearing all this and you’re eager to go outside and shoot free throws, but I guarantee you that your best Friday night under the lights or your best afternoon at the plate will never compare to standing in front of an audience and saying exactly what you want to say.

Vince Vawter

Delacorte Books for Young Readers, May 2013.

VINCE VAWTER, a native of Memphis, retired after a 40-year career in newspapers, most recently as the president and pubisher of the Evansville Courier & Press in Indiana. PAPERBOY is his first novel.

www.vincevawter.com

Your acne never clears up. You try everything, but those nasty creams only dry your skin. Stress makes you break out further, so stop obsessing, which is far more unattractive than pimples. On the bright side, zits divert attention from the “wise lines” invading your face in your thirties.

Teen Daria reeling in a catch on Captiva Island, Florida. Yes, she’s rocking asymmetrical shades, and, no, nobody but her thought they were cool. (She also threw the fish back after her dad unhooked it.)

And you know how you can eat anything you want without ever having to move up a pants size? Sorry, but during freshman year of college your racehorse metabolism abruptly vanishes, and no amount of StairMastering brings it back. So beware of the cafeteria’s self-serve froyo machine…just because it says “fat free” doesn’t mean it’s low-cal.

Then shortly after college, your appendix nearly explodes. Don’t worry, you come through the emergency operation okay (and the surgeon swears all that froyo wasn’t the culprit). But you might have caught the problem before it got too serious had you sought a second medical opinion right when the agonizing stomachaches began months earlier. Doctors are kind of like boyfriends—it’s rare the first one is right for you.

Teen Daria and her dad during her sweet sixteen party at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas, Nevada. It was important to her to keep the festivities low-key.

Okay, now on to happier stuff:

Your liberal arts education isn’t totally useless! Of course you forget most of the facts and figures you study, but the experience of churning out a book-length honors thesis grants you the confidence to try your hand at fiction.

Going through law school improves your prose as well. Legal writing professors impose strict page-count maximums, which forces you to identify and delete all superfluous words. This vital skill of trimming fat proves invaluable while revising your bloated first novel.

Teen Daria and her dad after wolfing down Baked Alaska at Antoine’s Restaurant in New Orleans, Louisiana. Most huggable dad ever!

Grown-up Daria!

Lastly, and most importantly, you don’t die from a broken heart. Yes, nothing smarts quite like rejection, be it from boys, universities, or employers. But each disappointment compels you to work harder and draw closer to family, who love you loyally no matter how woefully you fail.

Even when your greatest fear is realized in 2013 by Dad passing away (I know, I should’ve prepped you for this in the “bad news” section, but bear with me), you manage to carry on feeling no hole in your heart. Actually, your heart expands because he lives there now. And facing your greatest fear rewards you with a peaceful certainty that you’ll rise to other challenges life throws your way and realize any dreams you pursue passionately enough, just like Dad said you could all along.

Therefore, Teen Me, toss out the Noxzema and savor dinner with your parents tonight. You’ll never regret that time well spent.

Love,

Grown-up Daria.

Delacorte Books for Young Readers, January 2013.

Daria Snadowsky is the author of young adult novels Anatomy of a Boyfriend and Anatomy of a Single Girl. She also contributed the essay “To Sir Anthony, With Love” to the anthology Crush: 26 Real-life Tales of First Love. Visit her at www.daria-snadowsky.com.

Teen Sarra!

Hello you,

I’m going to start by saying that I’m really proud of you because not many people say that to you.

You’re passionate about the things that you love (and also the things you hate.) You’re politically engaged enough that you’ll spend a Saturday afternoon marching for a good cause but also because you really enjoy shouting “Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Out! Out! Out!” into a loudhailer.

When you’re not being all agit-prop, you go to art exhibitions and French films and you buy too many magazines and rereread the same books and you let the music devour you.

I’ll tell you now that the good causes and the art and the film and the dogeared paperback fiction and the needle dropping down on the vinyl and that static hiss before the beat kicks in saves you again and again, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

See, if I’m writing a letter to you, the me that was, I don’t want to give too much away. What if I reveal too much and you try to alter your destiny and some awful rift opens up in the time space continuum? You feel me? I’m a bit hazy on the details because I still haven’t got round to watching Back To The Future. And hey, we never get round to watching the Star Wars trilogy either – they made even more films, these things called prequels – and is like you always suspected, it’s more interesting to people that you’ve never seen the Stars Wars films, then if you’d seen them and hadn’t like them.

What I will tell you is that there are good times ahead. There are also bad times. The bad times absolutely suck and you don’t always deal with them in the best way you should, but that’s why they’re called bad times.

But you get to do what you love. You write. You earn your living from writing and I know how much that will blow your sixteen-year-old mind. You might not ever lose that feeling that you don’t fit in; that you’re not cool enough for the cool kids and everyone else thinks you’re kind of odd but somehow you manage to build a career on connecting with people who feel the exact same way.

I know! Who’d have thought it?

Adult Sarra! Photograph by Charlie Hopkinson. © 2012.

So, without giving the game away, let me tell you five things that aren’t going to tear a massive hole in the fabric of time or whatever, but will give you a leg up on life.

1. Stop dicking about with forays into frosted lilac lipstick. Really, what are you thinking? Stick with the red. A bluey red. Clinique 100% Red, until MAC cosmetics are created and invent Ruby Woo. While we’re talking about make-up, wear that liquid eyeliner with pride, girl, but it will go on much easier if you draw a line in pencil liner first, then the brush will glide over it. Also, foundation is meant to even out your skin tone, not completely obscure it and give up on that green stick that’s meant to tone down your rosy cheeks. It makes you look like you’re from Mars.
2. You know that rail of 50’s summer dresses in Camden market at a fiver each? Buy whichever ones you can get into. Buy the whole rail. Never underestimate cheap good vintage clothes.
3. I know our adolescence was blighted by not living near enough to a tube station. There was a lot of leaving early to get the last bus or missing the last bus and having to walk from Edgware or worse, Hendon, but the worst places that you live in are the places you choose because they’re near to a tube station. Buses are cool. Eventually they run all through the night, but I can see that’s not very helpful to you right now.
4. Right now, you think that smoking’s cool but secretly you don’t understand what all the fuss is about because it doesn’t really do anything for you. Let’s try and keep it this way. You might as well stop your sporadic smoking now, before you get taught to inhale and twenty years later, you’ll have spent THOUSANDS of our English pounds on smokes. I’m not even going to try and tell you what damage you’re doing to our perfectly pink teenage lungs. THOUSANDS of pounds. Being cool is not worth that much.
5. 5. Be braver. Stop being so scared. Don’t listen to people telling you that you can’t and that you never will, but especially don’t listen to that voice inside your head that shouts it out the loudest.

So, that’s it. That’s all I’ve got. You’ll be fine and when you’re not, as ever, the music and the books and all that beautiful stuff will pull you through. I promise.

Live on,

Sarra x

April 2013, Little Brown Books

Sarra Manning is a British author, who lives in London. Adorkable is her shiniest, newest YA novel. Find her at www.sarramanning.co.uk.

Yes, the calendar is for real. So is the gel-spiked hair.

Dear Sean-at-18:

Lock the door.

That’s the first thing I’ll tell you.  It will save you three days of suspension, getting kicked off Student Council and Honor Society, missing the baseball playoffs, getting nixed from speaking at graduation, and mountains of embarrassment.

What am I referring to?  Well, let’s just say that, in April of your senior year, you’ll go to Austin for a Student Council convention.  As part of that, you’ll get to stay in a hotel.  And while the rest of the Council’s at a dance, you’ll have dinner with your friend, then the two of you will go back to the room, and …

… about twenty minutes later, your Student Council sponsor will walk through the door you forgot to lock.  Followed by a bunch of your classmates.

Sean couldn’t afford an undershirt, so he just used red trash bags.

But then again, if you had locked that room, things might’ve progressed – to your first time – and you might have ended up dating and even marrying that friend.  But I don’t want that for you.  (Turns out she was a raging Republican.)

What I do want is for you to know that, whatever you do, whatever you choose, will be the right choice.  That’s the thing I’ve learned, that I’m still learning, that’s the hardest thing of all for me.  For you.  For us.

Right now, at 18, on the cusp of finishing high school, you’re wondering what you should do.  But what you’re really wondering is, “What do other people think I should do.”  Well screw that, Sean.

That’s the second thing I’ll tell you.  Every time you wonder what other people think?  Screw that, Sean.  Focus on you.  What you want.  Want to take art in college?  Do it.  Want to try acting?  Do it.  Want to wear a rainbow shirt and dance in the halls and tell off your step-dad (and your real Dad) and be a writer?  Freaking do it.  What other people think?  Does. Not. Matter.

Performing senior Spring Fling skit. Sean is the one in red.

The door of you, Sean?  You keep that bolted so tight not even the best salesman in the world could sneak a peek.  Yes, that’s a crappy metaphor, but I’m sticking with it.  Unlock that damn door.  Throw it open, let people in.  It’s amazeballs (try using that phrase in 1989) in that room.  Because it’s you.

But you probably won’t do that.  You won’t listen.  You’re too cocky (insecure) to let people see what you think they might not like.  It’ll take you over twenty years to start to figure that out.  And that’s fine.  Whatever you do, it’ll be fine.

And that’s the last thing I’ll tell you.  24 years later, you’re in a great place, but still learning.  Some things are awesome, some things suck, but it’s an amazing ride.  Enjoy it, my friend.  I’ll be here waiting.

– Sean-at-42

P.S.:   Seriously, though, think about that hotel door.

Grown-up Sean!

Sean Petrie is a writer of fiction (though all events in the letter are true).  He has an MFA in Writing for Children & Young Adults from Vermont College, and is represented by Marcy Posner of Folio, Jr.  He’s lived in Ohio, Dallas, D.C., New York, and Stanford, and worked as an attorney, the number “3” in the Texas lottery ads, and a Care Bear at the Columbus Zoo.

He currently lives in Austin, and loves to run and read and eat donuts.  When not doing any of those things, Sean teaches legal writing at the University of Texas School of Law.  He’s also a member of the newly-formed Typewriter Rodeo.  Giddyup!

Teen Jessica!

Dear Teen Me,

I’d like to hug you, even though you say that you hate being touched. (This is a lie, and you can’t lie to me, I’m you!) You know deep down you love to be hugged, to have an arm around you, to have someone squeeze your hand, but you’re too afraid to admit it. You’re afraid that the person hugging you doesn’t really like you. You’re afraid that you’ll start crying. You’re afraid that you’ll look stupid or pull away too soon or not soon enough or that their arm will get caught in your big permed hair.

Not to candy coat: those are all valid fears.

But hug someone anyway, would you? Mom. Dad. Jenn. Rachel. Store up those hugs, because you need them. Everybody needs hugs, but you need them more than most. I know that you’re trying really hard to be special right now, to be different, and guess what? You are! Just not in the way you want! Yaaay . . . ?

The “tantrums?” The insomnia? The black feeling that rolls over you and makes it hard to breathe? That’s called depression. And guess what again: It doesn’t just go away. Not when high school ends. Not when college ends. Not when you turn thirty. It’s your own little black raincloud, and it’s with you for always.

Teen Jessica…with books!

But it’s not going to stop you. It’s trying, it’s definitely trying. It’s trying to stop you from having friends, from having fun, from living your life the way you want to, but it won’t. Nothing will stop you. Not the raincloud, not your catty “friends,” not being the only girl you know not going to the senior prom. None of that stops you, believe it or not. (And I know you won’t believe it, but I’m telling you anyway. Because I/we have all the persistence and just as much good advice as our mother.)

I wish that I could hug you tight, my prickly, permy teenage self, and whisper in your ear all the things you think you’re not going to have. Because, and I know you won’t believe this, but you have so much that you dream about, and so much you didn’t even dare to dream about.

You have things like:

A college degree—in speaking languages and reading fairy tales, no less! (Two words: Comparative Literature.)

A passport. A real no foolin’ passport. With stamps from your trips to places like . . . oh . . . Germany . . . Romania . . . AND NORWAY. (The wish in that silver necklace? IT WORKED.)

A husband. Yes. Apparently, you do NOT need to go to senior prom to meet your future husband. Who knew? And yes, he is cute. Also, he does housework! WIN!

Adult Jessica!

Kids! That’s right! You, who hate babysitting, have kids! And they’re adorable, too! That girl’s name you love so much? Oh, yes! Your daughter is four years old now and a strawberry blond! On the other hand, your husband has put the kibosh on the name “Thorleif.” Can’t win ‘em all . . .

And books? That constant ache in your heart, that lurch in your stomach when you walk into a bookstore and think, Will I ever see a book here with MY name on it? Will I ever be able to write something good enough to be published?

Bring it in, girlfriend. Give us a hug. Because book number nine just hit those shelves.

Yes, Jessica, you will do all these things and more. You. And you deserve them.

Does that mean it’s easier to be you in the future? Well, not really. I’m sorry, but none of these things will be handed to you. That raincloud won’t go away. Also, your stomach and liver are currently in revolt. (Don’t worry about it. Just put the can of Dr. Pepper down. Yes, you can feel martyred. Just put the can down first.) But the struggles make the things you accomplish even more wonderful.

Life is amazing, even your life. Believe.

Now go hug someone! Laugh! Write down those story ideas! (That thing with the horses? It’s going to be awesome!) Don’t be afraid to tell people about books you love. Don’t be afraid to tell people you’re a writer. Don’t be afraid, period. Because black is an amazing color ON you, but it’s not amazing when it’s IN you. Wear that Depeche Mode t-shirt with pride, baby, and smile while you do. High school only feels like forever, and you need all your strength to face the rest of your life, because you have things to, people to see, and books to write!

But for the love of all that’s holy, GET RID OF THAT PERM!

Bloomsbury Childrens, May 2013

Jessica Day George earned a BA in Humanities/Comparative Literature from Brigham Young University, where she enjoyed classes in Pottery and Old Norse, and dutifully forced herself to take Algebra and Biology. Originally from Idaho, she now resides in Salt Lake City, Utah, with her husband and three young children. Find her at www.jessicadaygeorge.com.

Teen Jus!

You’re familiar with bullies. You always have been. A little on the quirky side, no one will really get you for a few years still. The truth is, people have a hard time accepting things they don’t understand, and you my dear, are original. Right now you think bullies only use words, but soon you’ll find out that there are different kinds of bullies. It’s going to be a hard road, but I promise—I swear—it will make you a better, stronger, and kinder person in the end.

You won’t see it coming—or know how it happened—but you’ll catch the attention of the wrong group of people. They’ll use lit cigarettes. You’ll tell your parents you fell and they won’t question it. You are, after all, clumsy. Stuff like this happens all the time. Bruises, cuts, scrapes—you’ll always have an excuse.
The burns are going to leave scars. In fact, you’re going to have a lot of them. Mental and physical. That’s okay though, because when you get older and look back, they’ll take on new meaning. You’ll see badges of courage—not signs of weakness. You’ll see the things that shaped you into the amazing person you were destined to become.

Some of the adults at school will know what’s going on. The science teacher will see them poking you with Xacto knives and touching you. He’ll turn away when they throw rocks during class. You’ll go to the guidance counselor. The nurse. Even the vice principle. They’ll call you a liar and say you’re only looking for attention. Grow a thicker skin, they’ll say.

Don’t let people tell you that you should have tried harder. They wouldn’t have listened. No matter what you say or show them, not the marks on your shoulders or the burns up and down your legs, will make them change their minds. Words like trouble maker and self-inflicted will be whispered as you walk down the hall. I know it sucks now, but ignore it. These people are ignorant and if anything, you should feel sorry for them.

Sometimes you’ll wonder if maybe you are crazy. Maybe you’ve got some sort of weird split personality thing going on. You don’t. I promise, you are a perfectly normal person who has just gotten stuck is a shitty situation. Trust me. Don’t let it make you numb. If you’re numb, then you won’t get angry. If you don’t get angry, then you won’t step up.

In your junior year it will all change. You fight back. It’s not something you set out to do. It will just happen. Like a switch in your head flipping, suddenly allowing you to see things so much clearer. There will be a fight out behind the school. You don’t start it, but you don’t stand there and take it this time, either. There will be blood and broken bones—yours and his—and blame. Lots of blame. You were the one branded a trouble maker, so it all lands on you.

Grown-up Jus!

Ultimately, that one act of self defense will get you kicked out of school. At that point, it might seem like everything is starting to unravel, but the truth is, it’s the opposite. Your parents will find out the truth and insist on a GED instead of simply switching schools. I want to tell you to argue with them, but you won’t. You’ll accept it and close yourself off because it’s easier. Safer. That’s okay. You need this time to heal.

As I write this, I wish I could say that when you get older, the bullies grow up. That, as adults, there are no cliques or harsh rumors. People don’t say horrible things behind your back for no apparent reason other than to lift themselves up or push themselves ahead. But it would be a lie. There will always be people looking to bring you down.

The good news though? You’re stronger now. You’re a black belt (which some guys find incredibly hot!) and no one will ever hurt you again. You’re a bestselling author (which is something you dreamed about. How many of those people got to follow their dream? (Um, none. You checked ). And you have an amazing husband who wants nothing more than to let his entire world revolve around making you happy.

For every bully out there, there’s a bright light waiting in the wings. A person willing to take the time to work past your walls. Someone who sees that it’s worth pushing forward to get to know you—even when you don’t make it easy on them. There won’t be many, but the few friends you have, the ones that take the time to get to know the real you, will be worth the world’s weight in gold. Or, better yet, coffee.

Those bullies are not worth your time. They’re not worth your tears or anger. Focus on the good people. Because even if you can’t see it now, they are out there.
They’re just waiting for you to give them a chance.

Entangled Teen, May 2013.

JUS ACCARDO spent her childhood reading and learning to cook. Determined to follow in her grandfather’s footsteps as a chef, she applied and was accepted to the Culinary Institute of America. At the last minute, she realized her path lay with fiction, not food, and passed on the spot to pursue writing. Jus is the bestselling author the popular Denazen series from Entangled publishing and is currently working on the first book in a new adult series due out summer 2013. A native New Yorker, she lives in the middle of nowhere with her husband, three dogs, and sometimes guard bear, Oswald.

Right now, you’re 16 years old and you’ve just discarded a lifetime of classical fine art training in favor of your new Life Goal: become a corporate lawyer. You’re going to go to NYU and study history for undergrad, and go to Georgetown for law school and generally be flawless and fabulous all over the place. You’re going to emerge from your fat cocoon and be gorgeous. And because all the worst bullies you’ve ever encountered in life have been teaching your classes versus in your classes, you are never going to take shit from The Man again.

You might want to sit down for this.

I don’t know how to break it to you, but almost everything you want goes completely wrong, or doesn’t happen at all. You’re going to fail a bunch of math classes, not from lack of effort of willingness to try, but because you’re one of those lucky people who finds out young that there is just some stuff you cannot do; it doesn’t matter how many after-school tutoring classes you take or how late you stay up trying. You’re not going to get into any of your first choice colleges, and the less said about the summer after freshman year of university the better. You still don’t fit into a size zero, which is the new size six. You’re never going to be a lawyer — the closest you get is setting your DVR to record The Good Wife — and your inability to successfully navigate adult life is so well known that when you move to your newest apartment, our mom’s first comment is going to be, “Oh, good! It’s so close to the ER.”

Before you do anything melodramatic like tear 28 year-old us a new asshole via the medium of journaling and cranking up your Alanis CD, I do come bearing good news, too.

Because even though absolutely everything went wrong — often in the wrongest way possible — you’re absolutely fine.

You’re probably going to roll your eyes at this, but sometime toward the end of middle school an art teacher of yours pulled you aside during one of your more neurotic moments and said, “You know, Pru. If failing a class is the worst thing that ever happens to you, you’ve lived a pretty amazing life.” At the time, and probably still now, these words are blasphemy. Failing a class has long-term ramifications for your GPA and would probably deep-six your chances to get into NYU or Georgetown. From there, the obvious trajectory is one directed steadily downward, concluding in a ditch.

Failing a class isn’t the worst thing that happens to you, neither is failing to get into NYU and Georgetown. There are some rough years and bad decisions coming down the pike, and in a way that will feel very frightening for a long time, your carefully made plans will fall away.

Grown-up Pru!

But everything you need to get through it you already have: your stubborn temperament, your high tolerance for douchebags, your curated interests. I know you worry a lot that you’re not smart or tough; even now I don’t know what the appropriate benchmarks for optimal intelligence or tenacity are — all I know is that you’re smart enough and tough enough to do the things you want. The Russian judge will never give you high points for execution, but you’re going to get it done. The mistakes that feel world-ending right now will feel smaller as you get older; you stop beating yourself up so much. It’s going to be a really nice change.

Telling you how everything shakes out is pointless. There’s no way you’d believe me if I told you that between the ages of 18 and 28 you’ll move six times and live in five cities, that you’ll lose a best friend and find five new ones, that you’ll have absolutely amazing adventures and that your so-called Life Goal? You haven’t thought about it in a decade. Furthermore, the person that derailed you was a high school English teacher, who saw in you the drive to become serious grown up with a law degree and saw beyond that to a nerd who just wanted to tell stories.

It’s going to be terrible and great, and if you take nothing else away from this letter, take away this: it’s going to be fine.

Not because there are no consequences to bad life choices or you’re destined for greatness, but because you’re not as bumbling as you sometimes fear and you’re oftentimes luckier than you deserve. Enjoy it. Not the moving parts. The moving sucks, and so does the weird case of strep throat you get in 2013 that knocks you out for a week and a half.

Also, skip AP physics. Seriously what are you even doing in that class?

Sincerely,

Pru Shen.

PS — Spoiler: your motto at 28 is “Eh. Why not?” No, I’m not kidding. Sorry.

First Second, May 2013.

Prudence Shen is a writer and caffeine addict who pays rent in New York even though she mostly lives in airports. NOTHING CAN POSSIBLY GO WRONG is her first book. She loves robots. Not like that.

Teen Kevin!

I’m only giving myself an hour to write this because I (you) have a book due at the end of the week (Your tenth! I know! You did (will do) it!) So, let’s make this quick:

First, the bad news: No Mars. No flying cars. And the prequels completely suck and ruin everything almost forever. There, got that out of the way. You okay? Oh, also, it’s never going to work out with Sarah (but you’ll learn a lot from trying).

Dude, there’s a lot I could tell you, but… the thing is, I don’t want to spoil any of the highlights (or corrupt your personal timeline; it’s a Dr. Who thing). You’ll have a pretty surprising trip, which in and of itself is a gift. By being the crazy dreamer you are, there are going to be these moments now and then where you feel the big empty universe spin into concert in a way that feels divine. And those are the moments!

Everything’s going to take longer to happen than you hoped. But don’t worry, there’s still a long way to go from where I’m at. 38 sounds like forever, but when you get there, you still feel like you’re just beginning.

That said, put down that Clive Barker book and go read Hitchhiker’s Guide! When you finally get to it senior year in college you will feel like an idiot. Also, the goth kids are right about The Cure (I know they freak you out).

Teen Kevin, hanging out at the lockers.

I could tell you not to do the stupid thing where you try to cheat on your history term paper by handing in the one you wrote for English (even though your History teacher had agreed to let you write historical fiction instead of a paper. Ugh! It was on a tee for you, kid!), but, now, that’s a great story to share when you talk to school groups about your books. Same with how you never read the books for your English class, and just read Stephen King instead. Should you show someone that novel you’re working on? Maybe. Or not. It’s a good attempt, but maybe only good enough as practice (and for getting college girls interested in you… well played!)

There is one thing, though, that we should talk about: you know that feeling? The one that keeps you up late into the night, where you imagine yourself dead and there’s this endless nothingness and it causes an adrenaline waterfall and sweats and you lie there in bed paralyzed with fear? It’s not going to go away. It’s anxiety. Go get it checked out. Finding out when your thirty-one isn’t too late, but you could probably save a few miles on the odometer, and treat a few people better along the way.

Grown-up Kevin.

The problem is, the anxiety is part of what drives you. It makes you run when others might walk. It’s the motor that will keep you working on stories and songs when you could just be drinking beers and watching baseball, or taking vacations. But it’s also a trap. It will also make you want to run from everything good you’re ever in, almost starting the moment you’re in it. But your heart knows better. It’s made of duct tape. You’re going to wrestle so much between the two, but you will do pretty well at choosing paths that seem to lead to long term happiness: stable fulfilling relationships, rewarding careers, people who don’t threaten you, and yet the entire time a part of you will want to run, to flee. You will name this fear over time: Traveling Music, “guy and a bag.” You will yearn to run and regret not doing it every day. The anxiety wants to run. The heart wants to stay. So far, your heart is stronger. Sometimes that will be annoying.

But it’s a good thing, because I think you’re heart knows something your malfunctioning brain is only now beginning to figure out: the anxiety is afraid so much of death, but your heart knows that death is being alone.

So, dear teen me: run, but not by yourself (except the time in London; trust your instincts there). And try to sleep easy, when you can.

Walden Pond Press, February 2013.

Kevin Emerson has never been abducted by aliens, at least not that he remembers. He has been to Roswell, but all he found there was a cool key chain. Kevin is the author of a number of books for young readers including the Oliver Nocturne series, Carlos is Gonna Get It, The Lost Code and The Dark Shore¸ the first two books in the Atlanteans series, and the recent The Fellowship for Alien Detection. Kevin is also a musician. His current project is the brainiac kids’ pop band the Board of Education. A former elementary school science teacher, Kevin continues to work with kids and teens at 826 Seattle Arts & Lectures. He lives in Seattle with his wife and two children. You can visit him online at www.kevinemerson.net.

Teen Christie!

You know that boy that you are certain is going to break up with you because you don’t want to go all the way, and you know you’ll just die when he does? Well, you’re wrong. Not that he won’t break up with you. He will. But you won’t die. You’re making the right decision. I know it’s hard being you. I know you feel as if you don’t fit in. Even saying “here” when the teacher calls your name makes you cringe. But don’t worry, once you find your real passion in life, all those insecurities will fade away. Someday, you’ll stand up in front of thousands of people and give talks. You’ll make them laugh; you’ll encourage them to believe in themselves like you have learned to do.

I know you think I’m lying because you feel as if you’re not good at anything. The one thing you felt successful at was gymnastics. So short. So limber. Then you got boobs in fifth grade, before everyone else, and you were too embarrassed to do flips in front of people because they jiggled. Guess what? They’re going to jiggle a lot more when you’re older. But don’t worry, gymnastics didn’t turn out to be your passion. And yeah, school is really hard. You feel stupid, and those report cards validate that. Well, when you’re an adult, you’ll discover that you’re dyslexic and you never were stupid. As a matter of fact, you’re a lot smarter than you think you are.

Grown-up Christie!

But here’s the one thing you’re going to love knowing most of all . . . all those teachers and adults telling you if you don’t get your head out of the clouds you’ll never amount to anything? Little do they know that’s how you’ll make your living—that, young lady, is your passion. Funny how you haven’t even considered being a writer. That won’ happen until you are twenty-three. But getting lost in your head, in your dreams, creating stories about all those cute guys, that isn’t a waste of time. That is grist for the mill, a writer in training. As an adult, you even take these hard times you’re experiencing now—your parents getting a divorce, losing a family member, not fitting in—and you plagiarize your own life to create your character, Kylie Galen in the Shadow Falls Series. Yeah, you’ll have to work hard to learn to put your stories down on paper, but you’ll eventually prove all those people wrong. You are going to amount to something. So don’t give up.

Oh, you’re going to make mistakes. Getting married so young, that wasn’t smart. But you know what? All those mistakes you make mold and shape you into the person you are today. So don’t worry so much about the mistakes, just learn from them. Because making a mistake isn’t so bad, it’s repeating them that makes us failures. So take a deep breath, get though the tough times of the teenage years, and the not so happy early twenties. You have a lot of life to live.

Sincerely,

The Adult Me

St. Martin’s Griffin, April 2013.

C.C. Hunter grew up in Alabama, where she caught lightning bugs, ran barefoot, and regularly rescued potential princes, in the form of Alabama bullfrogs, from her brothers. Today, she’s still fascinated with lightning bugs, mostly wears shoes, but has turned her focus to rescuing mammals. She now lives in Texas with her four rescued cats, one dog, and a prince of a husband, who for the record, is so not a frog. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, spending time with her family, or is shooting things-with a camera, not a gun.

C.C. Hunter is a pseudonym. Her real name is Christie Craig and she also writes humorous romantic suspense romance novels for Grand Central. www.christie-craig.com