Name: Laurie Litwin
Genre: YA Contemporary
Seventeen-year old Taylor is supposed to be the homecoming queen, not the girl who shows up drunk at school and barfs on the vice principal. She’s spent three years climbing the social ladder at her prestigious private high school, snagging the hottie tennis star boyfriend, and landing the head cheerleader spot, all while maintaining a perfect GPA. So what if she needs a few drinks to cope with the pressure of maintaining her Miss Perfect image.
But that was before the hottie dumped her and she walked in on her dad banging a blonde bimbo. Not only is she without Blake, but her family is falling apart. And nothing terrifies Taylor more than being alone and unloved.
Suddenly, a couple of harmless drinks a week become a few dozen. Several benders later, Taylor is showing up at school drunk, tanking exams, getting into drunken fistfights at house parties, and sabotaging the chance at a relationship with the intriguing college guy in her advanced calc class.
One frigid December night, drunk and pissed off after an argument with her arch-frenemy, she gets behind the wheel of a car and slams into a tree – and the truth. She’s doesn’t know how to survive without alcohol and she'd rather die than give it up.
There’s no bullshit in math.
Numbers aren’t flawed. They don't lie. There's a solution for every problem. One solution. And there's only one way to get it. Two plus two never equals five.
Also, numbers can be perfect. For example, the number six. And the number twenty-eight. This is what I strive for every day. To be like the number six.
I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. Everything is falling into place, and just in time for Senior year.
Captain of the Varsity Cheer squad. Check.
Hottie tennis star boyfriend. Check.
All honors and AP. Check.
My parents should be proud. I’ve done everything they’ve asked the last three years. Now maybe they’ll back off. Let me enjoy being a senior without all of the pressure.
I pull into the driveway, glad to have the first week of senior year behind me. The house looks empty, but that’s not a surprise. My parents are never home. The place is like a freaking museum. Cold, quiet, sterile. Everything inside immaculate and perfectly placed.
Grabbing my purse and advanced calculus book off of the passenger seat, I head up the walkway and let myself in the front door, kicking the door closed behind me. Like an itch that needs scratched, a subtle tugging in my gut propels me to the kitchen. Without thinking, I grab my favorite glass from the glass-fronted cabinet. It’s a tasting glass from the Cupcake Winery. It has a pink cupcake etched on it.