Lancaster - Here I Go Again

Other Titles by New York Times
Bestselling Author Jen Lancaster

Bitter Is the New Black

Bright Lights, Big Ass

Such a Pretty Fat

Pretty in Plaid

My Fair Lazy

If You Were Here

Jeneration X

JEN
LANCASTER

Here

I Go

Again

New American Library

N EW A MERICAN L IBRARY

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First published by New American Library,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Copyright Jen Lancaster, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

REGISTERED TRADEMARKMARCA REGISTRADA

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

Lancaster, Jen, 1967

Here I go again/Jen Lancaster.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-101-59876-4

1. Self-realization in womenFiction. 2. SuburbsIllinoisChicagoFiction. I. Title.

PS3612.A54748H47 2012

813'.6dc23 2012021417

PUBLISHERS NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

For Stacey, the reigning queen of a good idea

PROLOGUE

Every high school has a Lissy Ryderyou know, the girl whos absolutely untouchable. She goes by many names, but you might have known her as the Prom Queen.

The Head Cheerleader.

The Mean Girl.

The Bitch.

She was the richest and the prettiest, with the blondest hair, the thinnest thighs, and the hottest car, and she never let you forget it. Nothing made her happier than stealing your boyfriend, just to see if she could.

And she could.

Of course she could.

She was Lissy Ryder.

Lissy Ryder spent her teen years making yours miserable. Shes the one who accidentally tripped you on the bus, mocked the sweater your sweet old Nana knitted, and told the boys you stuffed socks in your bra, despite being the one who taught you how to do it. (Ankle socks. The trick is using ankle socks.)

Every time she looked at you, sighed, and rolled her eyes, a little piece of you died inside.

You hated her.

You wanted to destroy her.

But you were satisfied just to graduate and get away from her.

So you went to college, grew up, and now live a successful, fulfilling life, vaguely wondering if that thing called karma ever comes for the Lissy Ryders of the world.

Hmm... lets find out.

CHAPTER ONE

Perfection Is Overrated

Oh, honey, no.

I scan the womans outfit up and down. A thong-bottom leotard worn over neon tights? With high-top Reeboks? Seriously? Im sorry, were you possessed by the ghost of 1983?

I sigh into my Bluetooth. What are people thinking when they come here dressed as extras in an Olivia Newton-John video? This is the West End Club, not some nineteen-dollar-a-month Boys Town storefront, full of old StairMasters and HPV germs. So shameful. So inappropriate.

I glance at my properly clad self in the mirror across from where Im paused on the elliptical machine. Lululemon Wunder Groove cropped capris paired with a Back on Track tank in Heathered Pig Pink?

Check.

Long blond layers of honey and ash (never platinumI mean, who am I? Holly Madison?) pulled into a messy yet attractive high pony?

Check.

Smashbox O-Glow blush and a swipe of MAC Lipglass in Early Bloomer?

Check.

I continue. The West End Club is a sophisticated place and youre pretty much nobody in Chicago if you dont belong. I mean, Oprahs a member, for Gods sake. I wish the Big O were here right now, because shed be all, My friend Jane Fonda called and she wants her leg warmers back.

Nicole is my go-to person for phoning when Im working out, because shes always home. Id urge her to get a life, but frankly its kind of nice being able to chat with her whenever I want. She hesitates on the other end of the line, finally saying, Um... Lissy, I thought you werent allowed to come within five hundred feet of Oprah.

I slowly begin to pedal. That was a suggestion, Nicole, not a law. Like its my fault she thought I was too aggressive for sneaking into her massage room. I mean, the world of PR is all about differentiating yourself. Youd think shed want to work with the publicist who tried something different to catch her attention. I begin to pedal harder. Whatevs. Doesnt matter anyway, because shes totally pass now that her shows over. Enjoy your obscurity!

Okay, the truth is that unpleasantness with Oprah still stings even though it was years ago. I know Id have done an outstanding job for Harpo, Inc., but she wouldnt even hear me out, which is rude, considering I forked over ten thousand dollars I didnt have back then (thanks, Daddy!) to join this place to get close to her.

To be fair, she didnt have my club membership revoked. I grudgingly give her credit for that.

I blot my face with a thick Turkish towel and pat the area around my Bluetooth so I dont, like, accidentally electrocute myself. Theoretically Im not supposed to use a cell phone in here, but I think thats because the management wants patrons to keep both hands on the machines. Liability and all. A couple of the regulars are shooting me dirty looks, but if they cant multitask while getting their cardio on, thats not my prob.

Who else is there today? Nicole asks gamely.

Um... I scan the room. Theres the Chris Colfer doppelgnger who lip-synchs to the Glee sound track and is always talking about his girlfriend. Youre not fooling anyone, sweetie! The closets wiiiiiide open! Come out already! I take a swig of filtered water from my skull-print SIGG bottle. Lets see... Hey, theres Cougar Town who takes Pilates with me. She told me she can wrap both her ankles around her neck. Im all, Really? Did you do porno back in the sixties or something? And there are the two fake-titted twentysomethings who date Bulls players. Theyre totally fat.