Dear Teen Me: Authors Write Letters to Their Teen Selves (True Stories) (44 page)

I do have good news for you. Despite that injured part of you that sometimes gives too much of yourself away to the wrong people, despite being gun-shy because of past friendship debacles, when you’re—no, you know what, I’m not going to tell you when or how or with whom this is going to happen. The utter unexpectedness of it all is part of what you will love, part of what will be so—I’m sorry, I know this sounds kind of woo-woo—so
healing
.

I’ll just say: It’s going to be sweet. There may even be friendship bracelets involved. And here’s the rest of that poem, my promise from me to you. Me.

You look a long time till you find the right ears.
Till then, there are birds and lamps to be spoken to,
a patient cloth rubbing shine in circles,
and the slow, gradually growing possibility
that when you find such ears,
they already know.

Jennifer Ziegler

Dear Teen Me,

Back away from the curling iron! Back away now!

I know, I know. You’re going for the über-tousled Belinda Carlisle look. Wild random curls that will reveal a confidence you don’t yet possess and a madcap personality you’ll never have. Why do you bother? You know very well that by your 10:00 am history class, your hair will be as limp as a mop’s head.

Your tenacity is to be admired, however. You’re like a physicist, experimenting day after day, trying to hit upon that magical combination of heat and hair spray that will allow your dishwater-blond locks to defy gravity—and genetics. But believe me, nothing will work.

You have straight hair, sweetie. Not sleek, shiny Pocahontas straight either. Straight meaning that it just hangs there, curl-free, but with enough kink to thwart the Indian princess look. At least you’re not alone in your failings. Your school is full of fine-haired girls drooping out of their Madonna headbands.

What? What’s that you’re saying? A home perm?!

Dear God, no! Their toxic contents will mutate you into a longwool sheep! On especially humid days, your hair will have lift without curl. You’ll be a walking Chia Pet! Put it down! Put it down, I say!

Now let’s talk makeup.

Again, you’re going for the look of an MTV pop star—but the end result is more…scary clown. Boy George instead of Pat Benatar.

Since you started kindergarten at age four, you’ve been a year younger than your classmates, and you were baby-faced to begin with. But smearing your lids with four different eye shadow shades and wearing dark lipstick doesn’t make you seem older—it makes you look like a Madam Alexander doll someone marked up with crayons.

Here’s the deal: You mistakenly believe that perfect looks will translate into a perfect, problem-free life. Only there’s no such thing as a perfect face. And everyone has difficulties—always. But guess what? You can still be happy.

Poise doesn’t come out of a bottle. True confidence comes from succeeding as yourself—wilted hair and all. Soon you’ll recognize that your real friends love you no matter what the day’s frizz factor may be. And those guys you like? They
really
don’t care about your hairstyle. (Well, there is that one guy in drama class who loves to discuss beauty products with you. He’s cute, yes, but trust me—he’s not for you.)

So instead of trying to copy celebrities, just…be you. Put away the styling tools and twenty-five-color eye shadow kit. Make peace with your hair and let your real face show (or at least go light and neutral with the makeup).

Here are some bonuses to taking my advice:

You won’t have to get up at 6:00 am to battle your hair and do your twelve-step cosmetic routine.

You’ll save money.

The boys will appreciate not getting Revlon “Cherries in the Snow” on their lips when they kiss you. (And they will kiss you.)

Remember, I believe in you. In a sense, then, you already do, too. So act like it!

I’ve been writing the acknowledgements page for my first book in my head for so long now that I’m terrified of leaving someone out in the real thing. Dear Teen Me is a project that begins and ends as a community project. We couldn’t have done this on our own.

First I want to thank Miranda Kenneally, without whom this whole thing would have been just a pile of disorganized emails and a neon Tumblr. Seriously. This lady is so talented and I’m so privileged to work with her.

And then I want to thank every single author who said “yes” when I sent that first email. Without your willingness to share your stories on the Real Live Internets, we would have had a very bright but also very empty Tumblr feed.

Of course, I have to also thank the authors I was with at Spider House café in Austin when I sent out that initial email: P.J. Hoover, Jessica Lee Anderson, and K.A. Holt. Thank you so much for encouraging me (and convincing me that Dear Teen Me wasn’t a crazy idea in the first place). You’ve got my back! Thanks also to all of the other writers at #THEPLACE who have supported me throughout this project: Madeline Smoot, Stephanie Pellegrin, Mari Mancusi, Cory Putman Oakes, Jennifer Ziegler, and Bethany Hegedus. You’re amazing.

Thanks to Hallie Warshaw, who found me in the exhibit hall at ALA and thought our blog sounded like it would be a great book. The rest of Team Zest, too! Not to mention Sara Megibow, who has guided us so thoughtfully throughout this process. Sara, you’re a gem!

And where would I be without my home team? Nikhil, my heart, my number one support—thank you for staying up late with me, for bringing home junk food, for tolerating the paperback takeover of our home. Thank you for listening to me read aloud, for keeping the lights on, and for holding my hand. Misha and Tim, you’re the best friends a girl could ask for. And Ali and Megan, too! Thank you all for being as excited about this book as I am, and for pretending to be interested even when I talk about the boring parts of publishing. Emma, Sarah, Amber, my online critique partners—your support means the world to me, no matter where in the world you are!

Last but not least, my family. I wouldn’t be doing what I love today without the love and encouragement I was given as a child, as a teen, and as a young woman. I’m lucky to have had family who nourished my wild dream of becoming an author. Mom, Dad, Joe, Allie, Nini, Papa, and Grammy—I can’t wait to share this book with you.