Jodi Picoult - Between the lines

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Between the lines: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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New York Times bestselling author Jodi Picoult and her teenage daughter present their first-ever novel for teens, filled with romance, adventure, and humor.
What happens when happily ever after.isn't?
Delilah is a bit of a loner who prefers spending her time in the school library with her head in a book – one book in particular. Between the Lines may be a fairy tale, but it feels real. Prince Oliver is brave, adventurous, and loving. He really speaks to Delilah.
And then one day Oliver actually speaks to her. Turns out, Oliver is more than a one-dimensional storybook prince. He's a restless teen who feels trapped by his literary existence and hates that his entire life is predetermined. He's sure there's more for him out there in the real world, and Delilah might just be his key to freedom.
Delilah and Oliver work together to attempt to get Oliver out of his book, a challenging task that forces them to examine their perceptions of fate, the world, and their places in it. And as their attraction to each other grows along the way, a romance blossoms that is anything but a fairy tale.
***
“REAL FAIRY TALES are not for the fainthearted. Children get eaten by witches and chased by wolves; women fall into comas and are tortured by evil relatives. Somehow all that pain and suffering is worthwhile, though, when it leads to the ending: happily ever after. Suddenly it no longer matters if you got a B- on your midterm in French or you’re the only girl in the school who doesn’t have a date for the spring formal. Happily ever after trumps everything.
But what if ever after could change?”
JODIPICOULT.COM
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN
HAPPILY EVER AFTER…
ISN’T?
Delilah hates school as much as she loves books. In fact, there’s one book in particular she can’t get enough of. If anyone knew how many times she has read and reread the sweet little fairy tale she found in the library, especially the popular kids, she’d be sent to social Siberia…forever.
To Delilah, though, this fairy tale is more than just words on the page. Sure, there’s a handsome (well, okay, hot) prince, and a castle, and an evil villain, but it feels as if there’s something deeper going on. And one day Delilah finds out there is. Turns out, this Prince Charming is real, and a certain fifteen-year-old loner has caught his eye. But they’re from two different worlds, and how can it ever possibly work?
Together with her daughter, Samantha van Leer, #1 New York Times bestselling author Jodi Picoult has written a classic fairy tale with a uniquely modern twist. Readers will be swept away by this story of a girl who crosses the border between reality and fantasy in a perilous search for her own happy ending.

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I open the window and stretch a leg out I swear the tree has moved Like - фото 71

I open the window and stretch a leg out. I swear the tree has moved. Like, three feet away.

Taking a deep breath, I jump from the windowsill, and to my great shock wind up hugging the trunk tightly. I shimmy down, thinking of Oliver, who has to climb a cliff wall every day.

With a thump I hit the ground and tiptoe down the block, to the cul-de-sac where Jules is parked and waiting, just like we’d arranged. She looks weird sitting behind the steering wheel of a car. When she sees me, she grins and lowers the power window. “You owe me big-time,” she says.

I never would have guessed it based on her personality, but Jules drives like an old lady. She putts along ten miles below the speed limit and puts on her turn signal miles before she actually veers off the exit. “So,” she says, when we have been driving for ten minutes on the highway, “when are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Wellfleet I say On Cape Cod Jules nods flexing her hands on the - фото 72

“Wellfleet,” I say. “On Cape Cod.”

Jules nods, flexing her hands on the steering wheel. “Okay,” she says. “ Why are we going?”

I take a deep breath. “What I’m about to tell you isn’t going to make a lot of sense,” I say. “But I need you to listen to the whole story and not judge me, okay?”

Wordlessly, Jules holds up her right hand for a pinkie swear.

I start, well, at the very beginning. I tell her how I got a shock the first time I touched the spine of the fairy tale, and how even though it was a kids’ book, I couldn’t manage to put it down. I tell her about Oliver, the prince who grew up without a dad, like me. I explain how, one day, the illustrations changed before my eyes, and how without even trying, I could hear Oliver speaking to me-words that weren’t written for him but that came from the heart.

I tell her about the spider and how the book caught fire and how I wound up getting sucked into it and then ejected.

I tell her that I might just be in love with Oliver.

When I’m done, Jules keeps staring straight at the road, completely silent.

“So?” I say.

Jules doesn’t respond.

“You think I’m crazy.”

Jules shrugs. “No.”

“That’s it?” I ask, incredulous. “You believe me?”

“Well,” she responds, “I believe you believe it. And I’m your best friend. So that’s good enough.”

For the next few hours, everything seems almost normal. My best friend is my friend again; I don’t have to pretend that this book means nothing to me. It’s like old times. Jules and I play I Spy and eat a whole bag of Cheetos that she’s brought along from home. Finally, the GPS tells us we have arrived at our destination. Jules pulls over on the side of the main street of Wellfleet, Massachusetts, hitting the curb with her tires.

“You just failed your driver’s test,” I joke.

“But think of how many hours of practice driving I’ve got under my belt now,” Jules says. She looks into the rearview mirror. “So where are we going?”

Well. I haven’t quite figured that part out yet. I don’t have a street address for Jessamyn Jacobs, just the town in which she lives. But this much I know-I have to go by myself. Jules has already done enough for me; I’m not going to drag her into this mess. “Not we,” I say. “Me.”

“I’m not leaving you down here by yourself.”

I shake my head. “Jules, your parents are already going to kill you for stealing your father’s car.”

She laughs. “That’s my master plan. I’d rather be in reform school over the summer than with Aunt Agnes.”

She unhooks her seat belt and gets out of the car as I grab my backpack. “Are you okay driving home by yourself?” I ask. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“Piece of cake,” Jules says.

I give her a tight hug. “Thank you,” I whisper, and I watch her get into the car and put on her signal in preparation for pulling out of the parking spot.

Before she does, though, she unrolls her window. “I hope you find him,” Jules says with a smile. “Your prince.”

* * *

There’s a tiny coffee shop in the center of town. A bell rings when I walk through the door, and a waitress looks up at me. “Is there a restroom I could use?” I ask.

“Sure.” She points down the hall, and I lock myself into the small room and pull the book out of my backpack. I suppose I could have talked to Oliver in the car, but it was nice to spend some time with just Jules. I’ve missed that.

As soon as I open to page 43, Oliver starts yelling. “Where have you been? You left me hanging in the middle of a very important conversation. This Jessamyn Jacobs woman-”

“Lives here,” I interrupt.

I see Oliver peeking over my shoulder, taking in the scenery behind me. “Where are you?”

“Well, in a bathroom. She doesn’t live here. But I’m in her town, and I’m going to figure out how to get to her house. If anyone knows how to get you out of the story, it’s going to be the woman who wrote it.”

Oliver scowls. “You can’t very well walk up to her and say, ‘I’ve fallen head over heels for one of your characters.’”

I smile. “Oh yes, that Socks is a sexy beast.”

He laughs. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” I tell him. “And I don’t really have a plan yet.”

“And that’s supposed to inspire confidence?” Oliver says.

“No,” I tell him. “It’s supposed to inspire trust.”

I start to close the book, but I’m stopped by the sound of Oliver’s voice. “Delilah?” he says. “I never really got a chance to say thank you. For everything you’re doing to help me.”

I look at the hope written across his face, as clear as any of the words on the page. “Don’t thank me yet,” I answer.

After I return the book to my backpack, I flush the toilet and wash my hands, so as not to seem too suspicious. The waitress is still wiping off the counter when I walk back into the coffee shop. “Party of one?” she asks.

“Actually, I’m just looking for directions,” I say. “This is totally embarrassing, but I’m here to surprise my aunt for her birthday-I came in on the bus-and I can’t remember how to get to her house.” I offer my brightest I’m-not-a-psychopath smile. “Jessamyn Jacobs? Do you know her?”

The waitress looks at me uneasily. “She doesn’t much like visitors.”

“Visitors!” I say. “I’m family.

The girl frowns. “Well, she’s the last house on Wilson Street. It’s the purple Cape that overlooks a cliff.”

“Right!” I slap my hand against my forehead. “Duh. Wilson Street.”

The waitress goes back to work.

“Can I ask just one more question?” I say, and I wait till she looks up. “How do I get to Wilson Street?”

* * *

Jessamyn Jacobs’s house perches on the edge of a cliff overlooking the water, like a swimmer afraid to jump in. It’s painted the color of a plum, and all the windows have curtains drawn down to their black trim. For a long moment I stand on the porch, running through possible introduction scenarios in my head.

Hi! I’m selling Girl Scout cookies-

No, too eager.

I’m doing a voter survey…

Nope. I don’t look old enough to work for a political action committee.

I’ve lost my pet cat. Have you seen him?

No. What are the odds it would be hiding in her house?

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