Anna Woltz - Talking to Alaska

PRAISE FOR

TALKING TO ALASKA

Talking to Alaskas strong characters and intriguing plot are powerful hooks into this heartfelt story.

Florentyna Martin, Waterstones Childrens Book Buyer

Parker and Sven cant stand each other but I loved them both from the very first page. Feisty and believable, both vulnerable in different ways, they are linked together by Alaska, Parkers beloved dog who, she discovers, now belongs to Sven. Themes of friendship, loneliness, damage and privacy are woven into a tense story with characters that jump off the page

Jill Coleman, Director of Childrens Books, BookTrust

Original in both the prose and the characterisation, this friendship drama and mystery story is a cut above. Nicolette Jones, author and critic

Big issues are dealt with in a sensitive accessible way and the story moves at a terrific pace. Highly recommended.

Simon Key, The Big Green Bookshop

This is a riveting story with an intricate plot, wonderfully told Adolescent surges of feelings such as loyalty, anger and love are skilfully integrated into the plot. The translator, Laura Watkinson, deserves special thanks for bringing her considerable skill to making this story accessible to an English audience.

Clare Morpurgo, The School Librarian

For Fabeltje

Contents

SVEN

So this is the plan for today: to pull off such a brilliant stunt within the first five hours that the whole school instantly finds out who I am. They need to know me before they hear about me.

I have no idea how Im going to do it. I dont want to get thrown out of school on Day One, of course. But its got to be big.

If I dont act soon, then within a week Ill be that loser from 1B. The kid who gets brought to school every day by his dad and picked up by his mum. Whos never allowed to be alone. The guy with the watch that beeps every couple of hours because its time for some more pills.

I am not going to let that happen.

PARKER

My bike whizzes along the streets, because all the traffic lights are green today. Its as if the world wants to say to me: Hey, look! Im not really that bad.

Im in 1B this year, with twenty-seven other kids, and Ive already met almost everyone. One boy was sick on the getting-to-know-you afternoon in June. Weird he doesnt know a single other person in the class yet. Im glad I cant remember what being born was like. Lying there, completely naked, in a world full of strangers. Faces you dont know, hands you dont know, nostril hairs you dont know. Maybe thats why babies scream so much.

Down one more long street, and then Ill be there. My breaths racing too, and my black dress is flapping in the wind. As I cycle past a man with a dog, I close my eyes for a moment. Less than a second, but its long enough to picture Alaska.

Ive been missing her for four months now, so during the daytime it feels almost normal for her not to be there. Im used to the dog-shaped hole at home. I know I dont need to be careful with the door any more, and all the blankets covered in white hairs went into the washing machine ages ago.

But at night I dream about her. Sometimes shes been hurt, and I run along dark streets to a brightly lit animal hospital thats eighty-seven storeys high. And sometimes and this is way worse shes just there. Shes lying beside me on the sofa and Im stroking the soft bristles on her nose. Calmly, quietly, because I know well sit there together a thousand more times.

And then I wake up and feel empty.

Im not going to pay any attention to the Tips for First Years on the internet. Im planning to skip puberty. Why would I want to pimp my rucksack with glittery flowers? And who exactly gets to decide that lunchboxes are dumb, and sandwich bags are cool? Those websites give you all these long lists full of tips, and then right at the end they always go and say: But whatever you do, always be yourself.

Well, its not like I was going to pretend to be a leopard, is it? Or a hot-air balloon? Nope, of course not. But, be yourself? Is that what they tell the bullies and the liars and the people who are cruel to animals too? And all the people who are in prison and everyone who hasnt been caught yet?

Hey, bad guys! Dont forget the most important thing of all: just be yourself!

If I ever have to give anyone some tips, Ill say: You know, maybe you just happen to be a massive idiot. Or a coward. And in that case, youre better off being someone else.

SVEN

My dad dropped me off at the gates. I wanted him to stop one street sooner, but he refused.

Its hot for September. Im not wearing a coat, so everyone can see the blue strap around my wrist. Its supposed to look like some kind of cool wristband, but I still feel like an animal. A lost pet wandering around with its owners telephone number.

As I walk towards the school, I deliberately dont think about my friends who are still on holiday. On the other side of the country they dont go back to school until next week. Theyll be in the second year. But Im starting all over again, back in the first year.

I head inside, pretending to be normal.

The floors are black and white. The lockers are green and yellow. Nine hundred students all together thats a herd. A screaming mob with bags that bang into everything, fists that shove, spots about to pop, mobiles that vibrate as soon as they pick up the school Wi-Fi.

Im not scared.

Im never scared.

But when I see the stairs, three storeys of rock-hard concrete steps, I stand still for a moment.

When my mum started going on about the stairs to the headmaster, I could have killed her. And last week, when I got that email with all the rules for my special key for the lift, I spent the rest of the day slamming doors.

But heres the worst thing. Now that Im standing here surrounded by all that bare concrete and all those floors Im glad.

Im thirteen, not eighty. But Im glad that Ive got a special key for the lift.

A deafening bell rings throughout the building. It sounds as if the universe is on fire.

Now you can really tell whos new. The First Years all jump and start trotting. The rest dont speed up one bit.

So Ive got the lift key. But wheres the lift?

PARKER

Were sitting in complete silence, looking at the French teacher, but I know everyone else is fizzing and popping inside too, just like me. Maybe that girl at the front, the one with the black curls, will be my best friend. Maybe Ill like that boy with the freckles.

Everyone in my old class has gone to other schools. No one here knows me, and no one knows what happened this summer. This is a new beginning, I tell myself. Maybe its not just the traffic lights this morning that are turning green for me. Maybe the world really isnt that bad after all.

Bienvenue! shouts Mr Gomes. Hes wearing a checked shirt with short sleeves. A dragon tattoo coils around his forearm. Jespre que vous avez tous pass de bonnes vacances.

I dont dare to move. Am I the only one who cant understand a word hes saying? Did we have homework for today? Already?

And then the classroom door swings open.

Standing in the doorway is a boy with messy blond hair and faded jeans. I know who it is right away: its him. The twenty-eighth member of 1B the one who was ill on the getting-to-know-you day. As quickly as possible, I try to take everything in: blue eyes, medium build, grey T-shirt, plaster on his chin, a bit taller than me, dirty trainers.

Alors! shouts Mr Gomes. Vous tes en retard. Que sest-il pass?

Um, says the boy in the doorway. He gives the teacher a puzzled look.