For Ages
12 to 99

“A fifteen-year-old creates an alter ego to woo his dream girl. Compulsively readable.” —The New York Times
 
This quirky, flirty, and smart story will appeal to fans of Frank Portman’s King Dork, John Green’s An Abundance of Katherines, and Rainbow Rowell’s Eleanor and Park. It’s not exactly a love story . . . but it’s pretty close.
 
It’s 1977. Fifteen-year-old Vinnie is recovering from the worst case of acne his dermatologist’s ever seen. His girl moved to California without saying good-bye. And the ink on his parents’ divorce papers is barely dry when his mom announces they’re moving from Queens to Long Island. The silver lining? Moving next door to Patsy, everyone’s dream girl. Not that she’d ever notice him. But when Vinnie calls Patsy one night, it leads to a chain of anonymous midnight conversations, and the two develop a surprisingly strong connection despite the lies it’s built on. But as Vinnie gets to know Patsy in real life, it’s clear that both identities can’t survive. . . .

An Excerpt fromNot Exactly a Love Story

One
On my fifteenth birthday, January 16, 1977, I slogged through a New York City rainstorm of hurricane proportions to buy the Sunday paper.
Actually, several newspapers, including those from Chicago and Houston. I didn’t get the California papers. If I’d been born at the same moment on the West Coast, with the three-hour time difference, I’d have been born yesterday. Plus, the rain had already reduced the California paper to papier-mache.
I’m a Capricorn, the sign represented by a goat with a fish’s tail. Altogether, five horoscopes told me these things:
--I would suffer a disaster that would lead to a major discovery about myself. Good, with reservations.
--I would make a career move. We-ell.
--I would have an opportunity to see more of the country. Um, good.
--I would find romance. Good, but at the time, I felt I had romance. I decided this meant my interest would be reciprocated.
--I would learn that some kinds of long-term relationships are irreplaceable. My God. My mom. Or my dad? Maybe just a grandparent.
Just?

Two
My dog died.
I grant you, she was a pretty old…

Under the Cover