Jen Conley - Seven Ways to Get Rid of Harry

SEVEN WAYS TO GET RID OF HARRY

Jen Conley

PRAISE FOR SEVEN WAYS TO GET RID OF HARRY

Seven Ways to Get Rid of Harry is a poignant nostalgia trip to being thirteen in the 1980s that also has a sharp bite. It tugs at your heart-strings while making you laugh out loud. Never has the attempt to get rid of your moms evil boyfriend been so charmingly portrayed. A must read! Lee Matthew Goldberg, acclaimed author of The Mentor and the Desire Card series

Jen Conley brought me back to my childhood with this gripping debut. Danny Zelko battles with his mothers abusive boyfriend amidst the helplessness, confusion, and tumultuous friendships of his formative thirteenth summer. Sometimes harrowing, often funny, this is a great and necessary read for anyone who wants to understand what its like for boys in that liminal stage, when faced with the challenge of a bad role model. Thomas Pluck, author of Bad Boy Boogie

Very few writers can do what Jen Conley does. In fact, right now, writing this, I cant think of any who can. In Seven Ways to Get Rid of Harry, Conley strikes the perfect balance between voice, character, and setting. But technical proficiency isnt what makes the book so special. Her story of a screwed-up kid learning to live without his father is heartbreaking, hopeful, at times hilarious, but above all, flat-out powerful. This book will be placed in the YA section. And thats fine. It is a young adult novel. But it is so much more. If I had to pick a comparison, Id go with the movie The Breakfast Club. Not because of era or even subject matter. But because the heart of this book is so goddamn big. Maybe its because, with this book taking place in 1983, Danny Zelko wouldve been born the same year as I was. Maybe its because I, too, had problems with authority, fitting in, and loved all things Pink Floyd. All I know is I couldnt put the book down. The story and dialogue are strikingly authentic, and the prose zips along. Mostly, though, I just wanted to put my arms around the kid and tell him that, yeah, thirteen sucks, and, no, Im not gonna lie; it doesnt necessarily get better. But the bastards wont always be able to keep you down. As long as you keep fighting, kid. Joe Clifford, author of the Jay Porter Thriller Series

Seven Ways to Get Rid of Harry is a dark, heartfelt and hard-to-put-down novel. Conleys stark, realistic prose transports readers to a time and place when we were all 13 going on 14, and crafts the kind of YA story that feels exceedingly real and unique with a healthy dose of noir. Seven Ways to Get Rid of Harry is the kind of book that slithers into your brain and never leaves. Alex Segura, acclaimed author of Dangerous Ends and Blackout

Copyright 2019 by Jen Conley

All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

For Jay

FIRST

When I enter the vice principals office, I do my best to be presentable. My dad once said that a man, when being questioned for trouble he may or may not have caused, needs to stand straight, hands at the side, head up, mouth closed. Make eye contact and shut up. There is no blaming, begging, or weeping. Wait your turn until you are afforded the opportunity to talk. Then when you do speak, speak with your brains, with focus, and with honesty. If honesty is the smart way to go.

Sit down, Danny, Mr. Cage says.

I sit.

It has come to my attention that you physically assaulted Richard Plimpton in the locker room.

This is news to me because I didnt do it. And why would I physically assault Richard Plimpton? We were best buddies in second and third grade. We never talk now because thats how things go when you get to eighth grade, but I have no beef with him.

Richard Plimpton said that you pushed him into the locker room wall, the wall near the emergency exit, then punched him in the stomach three times and gave him a wedgie.

I want to defend myself but its not my turn to speak. I keep my hands at my side, my mouth closed. There is no window in his office and nothing hangs on the orange walls. On his desk there are four things: a yellow notepad, a ballpoint blue pen, a desk calendar that has todays date, Wednesday, May 4, 1983, and a framed, grainy, colored snapshot of four soldiers standing in front of a tent. They are wearing green fatigues and holding guns. One soldier is a younger Mr. Cage.

I remain silent.

Mr. Cage leans back in his chair. Hes a wide-shouldered man with black hair, wears brown-framed glasses and has a handlebar mustache. He never smiles. People say he had eighty-four kills in Vietnam.

So, son, did you do it?

I shake my head. No, I did not.

You had no participation in this incident?

No.

Were you in the locker room during third period?

Yes.

But you say you didnt do it.

I didnt do it.

Did you witness this incident?

No. I got dressed and then I left.

Where did you go?

My next class. Social studies .

Mr. Cage glares at me. Richard sat right here in this office, in the same chair you are sitting in, and claimed that you were the perpetrator.

I was not.

Why would Richard lie?

I can feel my shoulders slump, so I sit up straight.

Mr. Zelko, answer me. Why would he lie?

And this is the part where I screw up, completely forgetting my fathers advice, which is stupid and I know its real stupid as soon as the words come spitting from my mouth. How would I know why Richard would lie? Maybe hes touched in the brain? Its not like Im in his head or anything. My shoulders slump again and I lean to one side, feeling my lip curl, completely ticked off. I dont look at Mr. Cage because I know my presentable self is gone and my real self is here. Im gonna get blamed for this wedgie crap. I just know it.

Sit up, boy, Mr. Cage says. Clean up your attitude.

Rage bursts through my veins and I grit my teeth.

Sit up.

Fine. Ill sit up. But Im gonna say what I need to say: I didnt touch Richard Plimpton. I dont know why hes blaming me.

Mr. Cage furrows his thick dark eyebrows and stares me down. Richard Plimpton is an excellent student and has a clean reputation.

This isnt happening. Im gonna take the fall for this, arent I? Nobody cares about my side of the story. Im always getting blamed for crap, at school, at home. I didnt do it! I suddenly shout, frustration screaming out of my lungs. Why are you blaming me? I didnt give that damn loser turd a wedgie!

Mr. Cage doesnt move. Doesnt blink. Doesnt react. Hes famous for this. But make no mistake, if theres a fight, hes like a superheroswoops in, wraps you around the neck with one arm, and wrenches you away. Ive seen it twice. Its terrifying yet impressive.

I swallow, waiting for Mr. Cage to leap over the desk and put me in a headlock.

Mr. Cage stands. Hes a tall, tall man. He moves slowly around his desk, towering over me like Godzilla. My heart knocks against my rib cage. Why did I open my mouth?