My Big Nose and Other Natural Disasters

A Novel

Sydney Salter

• Publisher: HMH Books for Young Readers
• Year: 2009
• eBook ISBN: 9780547488967

“Simultaneously painful and hilarious . . . Captures the awkwardness of adolescence while driving home a message about self-acceptance” ( Publishers Weekly ).
 
It’s the end of junior year, and the Summer of Passion is about to begin. At least that’s Jory Michaels’s plan, as she starts exploring the possibilities of her future—and the possibility of scoring a boyfriend. Only one obstacle seems to stand in the way of her happiness—her curvy, honking, bumpy nose, or as she calls it, Super Schnozz . . .
 
Jory takes a job delivering wedding cakes to save up for a nose job at the end of the summer, just in time for senior year. She even keeps a book filled with magazine cutouts of perfect noses to show the doctor. But nothing is ever easy for accident-prone Jory—and before she knows it, her Summer of Passion falls apart faster than the delivery van she crashes. In this hilarious and heartbreaking novel, Sydney Salter delivers a story about broadening your horizons, accepting yourself, and finding love right under your nose.
 
“Teens will enjoy Jory’s comic self-deprecation.” — Booklist

Chapter Four

The Bonfire

Saturday night, I sat scrunched in the back of Bugsy as we wound up a dusty road into the hills, searching for the ex-seniors’ bonfire party. So far, we’d found nothing. Megan cranked up Sleater-Kinney on her stereo, in spite of Hannah’s begging to listen to something more “now.” Between the bumpy road and the music, the whole car rattled, along with my stomach. I totally hoped to see Tyler. I wanted to talk to him in a way that didn’t involve apologizing for my lacking softball/volleyball/soccer skills. I hated not being in school and not hearing about his reaction to our decorations. Had he seen us? Would he guess it was us? And if so, would he be glad? Or mad? Maybe he thought it was guys from the ski team—though probably not, with the hearts and stuff. So many girls liked him. He’d never really dated anyone, but there were rumors about the gorgeous senior he’d escorted to the McQueen prom. Rumors I chose to ignore. Yesterday I thought I saw his car pulling away from Starbucks as I was coming out of Scolari’s with my mom, but I wasn’t sure. No one had reported any vandalism in the Caughlin Rancher. That was a good sign. At least he wasn’t call-the-police angry or anything.

“Read the e-mail again,” Megan said. I did.

diploma, Ring. ahead Road unseen. I’s not 80. don’t Drive me 2 far East. let’s Exit where Sage fills View. we Go, forgetting Past, our Skeleton selves, Houses familiar onto Unpaved, untaken Roads. changing, Watch me Glow. old Senior identity Inferno. a Fairy godmother If i Needed one. pass this on to those you love.

“I don’t get it,” I said.

“Mrs. Muir would definitely fail this idiot poem,” Megan said. “I’m surprised that whoever wrote it actually graduated. Why don’t we skip the party and go get some cheese fries?”

Megan acted so uninterested, but she’d worn her tightest jeans and a blouse that would’ve been a dress-code violation if she’d worn it to school. Plus, she’d practically begged me to get directions. I wasn’t about to mention that I’d gotten the directions by sneaking into Finn’s e-mail; his password is always his favorite soccer player. How pathetic is it for a new senior to have to get party details from a sophomore? Almost as pathetic as Megan pretending she has no interest in high school while still struggling to become popular.

“Let me see it.” Hannah grabbed the paper from me and flipped on the overhead lights. Her bare shoulders shone with glitter spray that perfectly accented the sequins she’d sewn onto her shorts.

“I can’t exactly see where I’m going with that light on.” Megan sounded tense. A rock popped up and hit the windshield. “Oh, Bugsy!”

“Give me a minute to feel the message.” Hannah mumbled as she read through the e-mail. “This is important.”

“Not as important as surviving,” Megan said. “I have bigger plans than high school parties . . .”

Ignoring Megan’s rant (so predictable), I leaned back and once again questioned my choice in T-shirts. Did light green truly show off blond hair? I should’ve dressed up more, like Hannah and Megan, but part of me wanted to look casual, as if I’d just stumbled upon the party, in case someone made a fuss about our slightly uninvited presence. I smoothed my new jean mini over my thighs. Mom had taken me pity shopping after the disastrous awards ceremony. At least my bottom half looked decent.

“Okay,” Hannah said. “It has weird capitals. Let’s only read those words. Ring Road.”

“Duh. We took McCarren.” Megan gripped the steering wheel hard as she turned downhill. Gravel crunched and the tires squealed as she hit the brakes over and over again. And people complain about my driving!

The car slid a few feet. I imagined slipping into some ravine. It would take weeks for searchers to find my dead, virginal, too-pathetic-to-find-the-biggest-party-of-the-year body. At least I had on clean, never-before-worn underwear (red, for good luck).

“I’s not 80,” Hannah repeated over and over again. “That’s strange.”

“It means we should take I-80,” I said. “I told you guys that the party would be out that way.” Maybe I should admit that I stole the directions from Finn. We could go get cheese fries or whatever, head home, and watch a movie. I’d continue my safe, if not quite fulfilling, fantasy relationship with Tyler. No. This is the summer before senior year; my last chance to make high school mean something more than mediocre grades, unrequited crushes, and complete Super Schnozz—induced insecurity. Could I make it happen?

“Okay, okay.” Hannah switched off the overhead light. “We go two miles—well, two somethings—on I-80, take the Sage View exit, go past some skeleton—maybe new—houses, and watch for the senior inferno.”

“Senior inferno?” I asked. “Did they change the name or something?”

“Maybe they’re trying to be clever,” Hannah said.

“Yeah, this is all so clever.” Megan shook her head but then smoothed her hair back into place. “Poor Bugsy’s never going to be the same.”

I flew back against the seat as Megan sped up on McCarren, driving toward the freeway. I have to learn to take chances. I wished I could be more like Hannah, not caring what people thought. Guys seemed to love that about her—as if the fact that she liked herself made it okay for them to like her too. All those years of wearing a scoliosis brace and dealing with nasty Hunchback Hannah comments gave her more confidence. Utterly perplexing!

“Are we sure we still want to do this?” Megan asked.

“Yes!” Hannah and I said simultaneously. Megan didn’t say much as we drove out of town; she took the Sage View exit and rumbled along on another, slightly less bumpy, dirt road.

“Up there!” Hannah pointed to a glow in the distance. “Do you think the cops will bust it again this year? I hope not. I mean, since this is my first time and all.”

I looked around at all the nearly finished houses. “We aren’t going to have any hills left for our party when we graduate,” I said.

“Oh, come on, Jory,” Hannah said. “Live in the moment.” Hannah moved her hands to the duh-duhduh-duh beat blaring from the speakers. “You’re right, Meg, these guys are great.”

Megan checked her lip-gloss in the rearview mirror. “Classic.”

“Do you think Tyler knows it was us?” I asked.

“For the zillionth time,” Megan said, “I don’t know, but you’d better hope so since you’ve been trying to get him to notice that you’re alive for over a year now.”

“He knows I’m alive.”

Proof that Tyler Briggs knows I’m alive:

• At the Dickensons’ Fourth of July barbecue, he mistook me for a girl in his English class.
• He apologized every time he hit the volleyball anywhere near me in PE.
• On March 16 he said, “Great sweater,” when I passed him in the hall.
• May 6, he said, “Nice choice,” when he stood behind me as I ordered a strawberry frappuccino at Starbucks.

I shook my head so my hair fanned around my shoulders. My nose itched, but I couldn’t scratch it because I’d wipe off my special nose-minimizing makeup. Mom had taken me to her favorite makeup lady at Dillard’s and bought me two hundred dollars’ worth of special “enhancing products.” It took me a half-hour to shade my nose, as if I were some kind of Renaissance painter. Actually, I think it just made me look smudgy. When I came downstairs, Mom said, “You look great,” but her mouth looked a little tight. Maybe she’d gotten another Botox treatment and hadn’t told Dad. Or maybe I looked like a zebra nose, with dark lines going down the sides. The lady swore it was the same makeup used by magazine models. Yeah, right! The whole time she worked on me I imagined Super Schnozz flying from building to building shading everything with a giant “enhancing pencil.” When she was done, all the downtown buildings would look really tall and skinny. Next she’d go shade all the fat ladies at the health club so they looked slender. No need for unsightly bulges of any kind; enhance it away.

Megan stopped and stared at the steep hill in front of us. “There’s no way I’m driving Bugsy up that.”

A few other cars had also stopped at the bottom of the hill. We parked next to a shiny graduation-present Honda (license plate: PRD O U) and climbed out of the Bug. No one else was around and it was pretty dark without the headlights. I looked up at the stars shining above and tried to find some kind of destiny there, some kind of message that this summer would be different. That tonight would be different. Better.

“Do you think we have to walk up there?” Hannah asked. “I’m wearing my sparkly ballet flats.”

“I’ve got flip-flops on.” I imagined my dusty feet with little rocks between my toes. So much for my Dragon’s Breath nail polish and going for the casual-yet-sexy look. (I read in some magazine that most guys like feet.) I saw myself all sweaty and dusty after walking up that hill. My “enhancing makeup” would be dripping onto my upper lip like a chocolate-milk mustache. Yeah, I’d be a real winner.

Headlights appeared at the top of the hill. A green (green!) Jeep rumbled down.

“Omigod!” I screamed. “Is that—”

“Good old Player 5,” Megan said. “Stay calm. Maybe this is what the note meant about a Fairy godmother. A play on words with ferry.”

“I’m going to die laughing.” Hannah covered her mouth.

The Jeep’s gears rumbled, and my stomach felt bubbly when Tyler stuck his head out the window. “Need a lift, ladies?” His voice sounded low and sexy.

When Megan opened the passenger door I noticed a little smudge of yellow mustard in the crease of the side mirror. Hannah giggled as she climbed into the back after Megan.

They saved the front seat for me. Looked like my luck might be changing after all. Was this a sign or what?

Tyler wore a snug, muscle-enhancing My Morning Jacket T-shirt with a bulldog on the front, and long shorts that highlighted his calves. He had on flip-flops—just like me. So cool!

He turned and looked at me, arching his perfect eyebrows, nodding. “You’ll be happy to know that there is absolutely no volleyball being played up there.” He tossed me a dimpled smile.

“That’s good.” My voice sounded squeaky and weird. I touched my nose, and immediately remembered the makeup. Oh, God. Had I smeared zebra stripes all over my nose? Did my nose look like a nasty old plaid sofa now?

The Raconteurs—another Tyler T-shirt band—blared through the speakers.

“I love these guys,” I lied. Tyler grinned and turned the music up even louder.

“Still have that four-point-oh, Meg?” he asked above the music.

“Yeah, whatever.” Megan always sounded casual about her grades. Most people never saw how she stressed and obsessed about test questions. What did you get for number three? What about number seventeen? She’d go on for hours.

“Pieretto screwed me on the final.” Tyler ran his hand though his spiky, dark blond hair. “I got a three-point-five, and my dad threatened to send me to summer school.”

“That’s so not supportive,” Hannah said.

“Want to be my mom?” Tyler asked.

We all laughed, though I totally felt jealous. Tyler shifted, and his hand brushed against my bare knee. Little shocks pulsed through my body. No one said anything as we climbed up the hill. At times it seemed like we would tip over backward. The whole experience made me woozy: the loud music, his hand near my knee, his deep voice, the steep hill. But I didn’t want it to end.

“It’s getting kind of wild up here,” Tyler said as we climbed out of the Jeep. “You ladies be careful.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Anytime, Jory.” He winked. He winked. He said my name and he winked (at me!) before turning the Jeep around and heading back down the hill.

We could feel the bonfire’s heat from where we stood. Dave Richards got up and screamed, “Cheers!” Everyone, including Hannah, yelled back, “Cheers!” Dave chugged a beer, crushed the can, and tossed it into the fire. Loud indie electronic music played from speakers in a shiny graduation-present truck. No license plate yet.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Megan drew her long brown ponytail into a bun.

“Because you’re still a teenager.” Hannah reached up and pulled Megan’s ponytail out of the bun. “Come on, let your hair down.”

“You’re such a hippie.” Megan shook out her hair.

Hannah pushed a hunk of stiff-looking hair behind her ear and ran her tongue across her teeth; Megan had absolutely freaked when Hannah started flossing her teeth in Bugsy. Hazard of having a dentist daddy: Hannah had major dental-hygiene issues.

“Hanegan!” Dave Richards noticed us. “I mean, Han. No, Meg. Hanegan!” He started laughing. He was pretty wasted, as usual. Megan stepped away from him as he tried to put his arm around her. He stumbled into Hannah, who stumbled into me. Next thing I knew, we were all on the ground.

“Get off me. Yuck!” Hannah shoved Dave off her so that he fell on me. He smelled like a drunk ashtray.

Suddenly, a big, warm hand pulled me off the ground. Zane Zimmerman smiled at me. His blond hair flopped over one eye. So cute!

“Sorry about Dave,” he said.

“No biggie.” I looked down at the blue stripe on Zane’s high-tops and at the bulge of his calf muscle.

He reached over and touched my hair. “Stick.” He showed me the twig he’d pulled out. Great. Tyler was going to come back and I’d look like I’d been rolling around in the dirt with the whole basketball team. Well, the starting forward, anyway.

I shook my hair as Zane smiled his lazy smile. “See ya, Jory.” He sq...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Contents
• Copyright
• Dedication
• June: Summer of Passion?
• The Job Interview
• Graduation Night
• The Bonfire
• First Day on the Job
• Just Another Day at Work?
• Wooster Guys and Greasy Fries
• Chocolatinis and Judith
• Popcorn and Possibilities
• Hard Lemonade and the Greek Alphabet
• July: Down Dogs and Cabbage Soup
• Dickensons and Wieners
• Dickensons and Doughnuts
• Bumping and Breaking
• Pouting and Picnics
• Margarita Madness
• Cheers and Cheetos
• Secrets
• Doldrums, Deliveries, and a Date?
• Ice Cream and Big Questions
• August: Beads and Bonding
• Room Party!
• Cakes and Crushes Crushed
• Senior Photos, Nosy Mom, Big Fight
• Nose Doctors, Witches (Me), and Big Trouble
• Tantrums, Beading, Boys?
• Jeweling
• Charming
• Gideon
• More Ice Cream and Photo Shoots
• A Special Delivery of Thanks
• About the Author