Title: How You Ruined My Life
Author: Jeff Strand
ISBN: 9781492662020
Release Date: April 3, 2018
Publisher: Sourcebooks Fire
Summary:
A new hilarious novel from the author of The Greatest Zombie Movie Ever and Stranger Things Have Happened.
Rod’s life doesn’t suck. If you ask him, it’s pretty awesome. He may not be popular, but he and his best friends play in a band that has a standing gig. Yeah, it’s Monday night and they don’t get paid, but they can turn the volume up as loud as they want. And Rod’s girlfriend is hot, smart, and believes in their band—believes in Rod. Aside from a winning lottery ticket, what more could he ask for?
Answer: A different cousin. When Rod’s scheming, two-faced cousin Blake moves in for the semester, Rod tries to keep calm. Blake seems to have everyone else fooled withgood manners and suave smile, except Rod knows better. Blake is taking over his room, taking over his band, taking over his life! But Rod’s not about to give up without a fight. Game on. May the best prankster win…
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Excerpt from How You Ruined My Life:
Thanks for coming out tonight! Are you ready to rock?”
A couple of people in the audience indicate that yes, they are indeed ready to begin the process of rocking. A few others don’t look up from their cell phones, but I’m confident that they’ll discover their readiness to rock as soon as we start playing. The rest of the eleven or so people in the club haven’t bothered to walk over to the dance floor. Presumably, they’re waiting for the headline act before committing to whether or not they’re mentally and physically prepared to rock.
“We’re Fanged Grapefruit,” I say into the microphone. “This first song is an original called, ‘You Can’t Train a Goldfish to Catch Popcorn in Its Mouth, So Don’t Even Try.’ One, two, three, go!”
I can’t remember which of us came up with the name Fanged Grapefruit. I think it was Clarissa, our drummer. I consider myself the creative driving force of the band, but if you see Clarissa, you’ll understand why she doesn’t lose many arguments. She’s at least six foot three (though I’ve never measured her), and you wouldn’t want to arm wrestle her unless you were willing to lose an arm. When she really gets going, her drumsticks become a blur. And when she’s done with a set, the sticks look like they’ve been gnawed on by beavers.
Mel, short for Melvin, is lead guitar and background vocals. I’m lead vocals and rhythm guitar. Ironically, Mel is a worse guitar player and a better singer than me. Not everything we do in Fanged Grapefruit makes sense.
Mel doesn’t look like he should be in a punk rock band. He looks like he should be president of the Chess Club. Which he is, but I assure you, the guy plays chess with attitude. He also gets straight A’s and is likely to be our class valedictorian, and if so, I hope he’ll pause his inspiring commencement speech for a wicked guitar solo.
I’m Rod, short for Rodney. Nice to meet you. I’m pretty much average, I guess.
Other band names we’d brainstormed included Untidy Reptiles, Autocorrected Text Fail, Rod & the Whacknuts, Carnivorous Vegans, Impolite Music for Unruly People, The RMC Experiment, Say Goodbye to Your Ears, Pawn Takes Rook, Crunchy Noise, Crispy Noise, Chicken Fried Noise, (The Parentheticals), Apes with Monkey Faces, Hairnets Gloriously Aflame, Dog Eat Dog Eat Munchkin, The Self-Diagnosing Hypochondriacs, Sequel II, and Sushi Gun.
We play at this club, the Lane, every Monday, which is the only day you can get in if you’re under eighteen. We go onstage around eight, and we’re home by nine fifteen, so all our parents are cool with us being out on a school night. It also helps that they’ve never actually been inside the Lane, which is a bubbling pit of health code violations. If you have to go to the bathroom, hold it. Trust me.
I’m sure we’d have a much bigger audience if we could play on a Friday or Saturday night, but Clarissa, Mel, and I are only sixteen, so we’ve got a couple of years to go. (Sorry if it was insulting that I did the math for you.) We hope that by the time we’re old enough to play there on a weekend, we’ll have upgraded to venues where your feet don’t stick to the floor as often.
Anyway, we begin to rock out on our guitars and drums, and select members of the audience begin to move to the music. Well, okay, only two of them. And one is my girlfriend, Audrey. You might say that she doesn’t count, but we got together because I was in a band, so I think she does count, thank you very much.
Audrey runs our merch table. We never sell anything, though she gives away free stickers to people who look like they might be band managers. She’s as tiny as Clarissa is non-tiny. You won’t believe me if I say she’s the most gorgeous girl at our school, so all I’ll say is that if you look at her and look at me, you’d say, “Wow, how did that happen? He must be in a band.”
By the end of our set, three people in the audience are bopping their heads to the music. That’s a fifty percent increase from when we started. Fanged Grapefruit rules!
* * *
After dropping off Clarissa, Mel, and then Audrey (because I always pick her up first and drop her off last, even though she lives the furthest away), I go home, take a shower, and start packing my lunch for the next day.
“How was your gig?” Mom asks, walking into the kitchen.
“Great! Every show gets a little better.”
“I was going to do that for you,” she says, pointing to the sandwich I’m making.
“I know.” Mom works two jobs, both of which suck, so I’m always happy to make my own lunch. Plus I’m very specific about the spread of my peanut butter. It should be as close to the edge of the bread as possible without spilling over, and the thickness should be consistent. Generally, I’m a pretty casual guy, but not when it comes to peanut butter application. We all have our quirks.
“I’ve got news,” she says.
“Dad got out of prison?”
Dad isn’t really in prison. He left us two years ago. We joke about him being in prison as a coping mechanism.
“No.”
“I’m finally going to get a baby sister?”
“Ha. You wish.”
“You got a raise?”
Mom shakes her head. “I did get a five-dollar tip on an eighteen-dollar meal though. That was nice.”
“Wild panthers have run amok in our neighborhood, gobbling up people left and right?”
“Maybe you should stop guessing.”
“Maybe I should. So is this good news or bad news?” I ask.
“Well…”
I set down the butter knife. “That doesn’t sound like a good ‘well…’”
“I wouldn’t necessarily call it bad news,” Mom says. “It’s definitely not the worst news ever. Nobody died or anything.”
“Tell me.”
“You know your aunt Mary and uncle Clark?”
“Of course.” I don’t think I’ve seen Uncle Clark since I was six. We live in Florida, and they live in California. He and Dad never got along, so every couple of years, Aunt Mary would visit us by herself. With Dad out of the picture, I assumed we’d see more of our extended family, but it never really happened.
“Aunt Mary and Uncle Clark are going on a cruise.”
“That’s cool.” I consider that for a moment and then get very excited. “Are they taking us with them?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“It’s one of those around-the-world cruises. Three whole months. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Did I mention that Aunt Mary and Uncle Clark are rich? You probably picked up on that when Mom said they were going on a three-month-long world cruise.
“Is Blake going with them?” I ask.
“No. He’s not.”
Suddenly, I have an idea where this conversation is headed. It doesn’t make me happy. “Maybe you should spell this out for me,” I say.
“Your cousin Blake is going to live with us for three months. Isn’t that exciting?”
I stare at her for a few hours.
(Possibly, I’m exaggerating.)
“Starting when?” I ask.
“Next week.”
“You mean before the school year ends?”
“Yes. He’s going to transfer to your school.”
“That’s messed up!”
Mom shrugs. “They got a good deal on the cruise.”
“Where’s he going to stay? We don’t have a guest bedroom.”
“Well, I thought…you know…”
“He can’t share my room!” If I wasn’t almost an adult, I would have stomped my foot.
“Honey, it’s only for three months.”
“That’s a quarter of a year! I thought we were broke,” I say. “How are we going to pay for all that extra food?”
“We’re not that broke, and obviously, your aunt and uncle will help pay for groceries.”
“Isn’t he a spoiled brat?”
“You haven’t seen him in ten years,” Mom says.
“Well, ten years ago he was a spoiled brat.”
“I’m sure he’s fine now.”
“Doesn’t he have any friends he can stay with in California?”
My mom sighs. “Rodney, he’s family. Family is always welcome in our home.”
I hope I’m not coming off as whiny and selfish. If a hurricane tore the roof off their house and they lost all of their worldly possessions, sure, I’d happily donate half of my room to Cousin Blake while they rebuilt their lives. But asking me to give up my privacy so Aunt Mary and Uncle Clark can go on a luxury cruise seems kind of unreasonable.
However, I’m pretty sure this is a done deal, and my mom has enough stress in her life without me continuing to protest.
“All right,” I say.
“Thank you.” Mom gives me a hug. “I think you’ll enjoy having him here.”
Who knows? Maybe I will. Maybe my cousin is a really cool guy. Maybe he has good taste in music. And maybe he’s witty and entertaining. And maybe he’ll be willing to help with emergency cleanup if we’re having a wild party and Mom calls suddenly to say she’s on her way home early.
We might end up being the best friends that any two cousins could ever be. We’ll giggle and frolic and be inseparable.
But probably not.
I can’t believe I have to share my room.
I return to making my lunch. I’ll try to be optimistic and pretend that these will be the best three months of my life. How bad could it be?
Other Works by Jeff Strand:
Summary:
When your best friend is just a tiny bit psychotic, you should never actually believe him when he says, "Trust me. This is gonna be awesome."
Of course, you probably wouldn't believe a voodoo doll could work either. Or that it could cause someone's leg to blow clean off with one quick prick. But I've seen it. It can happen.
And when there's suddenly a doll of YOU floating around out there—a doll that could be snatched by a Rottweiler and torn to shreds, or a gang of thugs ready to torch it, or any random family of cannibals (really, do you need the danger here spelled out for you?)—well, you know that's just gonna be a really bad day ...
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Summary:
Wilderness Survival Tip #1
Drinking your own sweat will not save your life. Somebody might have told you that, but they were trying to find out if you'd really do it.
Henry Lambert would rather play video games than spend time in the great outdoors—but that doesn't make him a wuss. Skinny nerd? Fine. But wuss is a little harsh. Sadly, his dad doesn't agree. Which is why Henry is being shipped off to Strongwoods Survival Camp.
Strongwoods isn't exactly as advertised. It looks like the victim of a zombie apocalypse, the "camp director" is a psycho drill sergeant, and Henry's sure he saw a sign written in blood...
Wilderness Survival Tip #2
In case of an avalanche, don't despair. You're doomed, but that's a wicked cool death.
Wilderness Survival Tip #3
If you're relying on this book for actual survival tips, you're dead already.
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Summary:
After producing three horror movies that went mostly ignored on YouTube, Justin and his filmmaking buddies decide it’s time they create something noteworthy, something epic. They’re going to film the Greatest Zombie Movie Ever. They may not have money or a script, but they have passion. And, after a rash text message, they also have the beautiful Alicia Howtz—Justin’s crush—as the lead.
With only one month to complete their movie, a script that can’t possibly get worse, and the hopes and dreams of Alicia on the line, Justin is feeling the pressure. Add to that a cast of uncooperative extras and incompetent production assistants, and Justin must face the sad, sad truth. He may actually be producing The Worst Zombie Movie Ever…
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Summary:Harry Houdini. Penn and Teller. David Copperfield. Marcus Millian the Third.
Okay, so Marcus isn’t a famous magician. He may not even be a great magician. But his great-grandfather, the once-legendary and long-retired Zachary the Stupendous, insists Marcus has true talent. And when Grandpa Zachary boasts that he and Marcus are working on an illusion that will shock, stun, and astonish, Marcus wishes he could make himself disappear.
The problem? Marcus also has stage fright—in spades. It’s one thing to perform elaborate card tricks in front of his best friend, Kimberly, but it’s an entirely different feat to perform in front of an audience.
Then Grandpa Zachary dies in his sleep.
To uphold his great-grandfather’s honor, the show must go on. It would take a true sorcerer to pull off the trick Marcus has planned. But maybe he’s the next best thing…
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About the Author:
Jeff Strand has written more than twenty books and is a four-time nominee of the Bram Stoker Award. Three of his young adult novels were Junior Library Guild picks. Publishers Weekly called his work “wickedly funny.” He lives in Atlanta, Georgia. Learn more at JeffStrand.com.
Social Media Links: Website | Twitter | Facebook
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this author sounds really fun. His books are so unique!
ReplyDeleteI agree, all the covers are different but cool.
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