Dear Teen Me: Authors Write Letters To Their Teen Selves (True Stories) - Plot & Excerpts
Amy Kathleen Ryan Dear Teen Me, I know you hate to be told what to do with your face. Elderly men in particular love telling you to smile—for which you reward them with a sarcastic smirk. Good work. They should mind their own business. But since I’m you, and your face is mine, I have every right to make this suggestion: Slap a grin on your mug. You know how you never get asked out on dates? That’s because you lurch through the hallways of your school with your head down as if you were ducking enemy fire. I can’t blame you. High school isn’t easy. You’ve got all types—from motorheads to eggheads to potheads—crammed into a single building at high density, and you have to get through the day without erupting into civil war. I have news for you, too: Adults wouldn’t be able to do it. In adulthood, people have self-sorted into pockets of like-minded compadres. The computer geeks work together at Microsoft, the debate members have all joined law firms, and the drama kids are launching off-off-Broadway plays in Minneapolis.
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