PDF Every single day A becomes another person. In Someday, the third book in David Levithan's series of books featuring A, Levithan raises more existential. Levithan, David. Every day / by David Levithan. . As I take Justin's books out of his locker, I can feel someone hovering on the periphery. I turn, and the girl. When not writing during spare hours on weekends, David Levithan is editorial director at Scholastic and the cover image of Dash & Lily's Book of Dares.
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DAVID LEVITHAN is a children's book editor in New York. City and the author .. Choose Respect. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. PDF accessed. Every Day & Another Day by David Levithan - Free download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read online for free. Every Day tells the story of A. Every day in. A New York Times Bestseller A girl falls in love with someone who wakes up in a different body each morning in this enthralling and poignant follow-up.
Plot summary[ edit ] Every Day is about the story of A, a person who wakes up occupying a different body each day. The story begins with A waking up in the body of a teenage boy named Justin. Upon arriving to school, A meets Justin's girlfriend, Rhiannon, and feels an instant connection to her. Based on Justin's memories, A can tell that Justin and Rhiannon are having a rough time in their relationship, so in order to learn more about her, A invites her to the beach.
The pair open up to one another, though A's sharing is limited and very carefully worded. A had never felt such a connection with anyone before, and so attempts to discover a way by which to stay in Rhiannon's proximity in days to come.
A then does their best to convince Rhiannon that the day shared at the beach was not between her and Justin, but rather between her and A. A spends almost every day following this event trying to figure out the best way to approach Rhiannon, since they are luckily never more than just a car ride away. After going through some trouble, A is finally able to convince Rhiannon of who they are, and the phenomenon they experience every day.
While she does believe A, and understands how hard it must be, she also realizes that a relationship with A would be impossible, even if she wished to be in one. As the story progresses, we follow A as they wake up in body after body, still chasing Rhiannon.
Boy Meets Boy
Meanwhile, they are forced to contend with a boy whose body A inhabited early, and who tracks them down in order to gain answers as to who A is and how they were able to take over their body and mind, as well as a priest working with that boy, who gathers a following of people who inhabit the bodies of others. Every day, A wakes up in a different body, accessing that persons' memories and essentially becoming them for 24 hours before inhabiting another body involuntarily.
They have no gender and go by the pronoun "they", and they have known no life other than the one they lead. A chose their own name as a small child but has never shared the story. There's nothing cool about being a sophomore. Even a new kid would know that. A girl has appeared behind him. She is dressed in a lethal combination of pastels.
She's young, but she looks like she could be a hostess on the Pillow and Sofa Network. She trudges off. It is clear that he is supposed to follow. We hover for a second. Our momentary outro of regret. Then he says, "I'll see you around.
I can flirt with the best of them—but only when it doesn't matter. This suddenly matters. He leaves as Zeke begins another set. When he gets to the door, he turns to look at me and smiles. I feel myself blush and bloom. Now I can't dance. It's hard to groove when you've got things on your mind.
Sometimes you can use the dancing to fight them off. But I don't want to fight this off. I want to keep it. Zeke is packing up his gear. We're leaning against the front of his VW bus, squinting so we can turn the streetlamps into stars.
He was in Art and Architecture the whole time Zeke was playing. Then you caught his eye and he ambled over. It wasn't Self-Help he was after. Where's Tony? His eyes are closed. He is listening to the music of the traffic going by.
I climb over the divider and tell him study group's almost over. Then, as he's getting up, he adds, "I like it here. Is it this island, this town, this world? More than anything in this strange life, I want Tony to be happy. We found out a long time ago that we weren't meant to fall in love with each other. But a part of me still fell in hope with him. I want a fair world. And in a fair world, Tony would shine. I could tell him this, but he wouldn't accept it. He would leave it on the island instead of folding it up and keeping it with him, just to know it was there.
We all need a place. I have mine—this topsy-turvy collection of friends, tunes, afterschool activities, and dreams. I want him to have a place, too. When he says "I like it here," I don't want there to be a sad undertone. I want to be able to say, So stay. But I remain quiet, because now it's a quiet night, and Tony is already walking back to the parking lot. I tell him it sounds like a bird.
A bird from somewhere far, far away. Hey Tony. Hey folkie chick. He's walked up-just as we're about to drive out. I can hear Tony's parents miles away, finishing up their evening prayers. They will expect us soon. Ted's car is blocking us in. Not out of spite. Out of pure obliviousness. He is a master of obliviousness.
Her irritation is quarter-hearted, at best. Ted and Joni have broken up twelve times in the past few years. Which means they've gotten back together eleven times. I always feel we're teetering on the precipice of Reunion Number Twelve.
Ted is smart and good-looking, but he doesn't use it to good effect, like a rich person who never gives to charity. His world rarely expands farther than the nearest mirror. Even in tenth grade, he likes to think of himself as the king of our school. He hasn't stopped to notice it's a democracy.
The problem with Ted is that he's not a total loss. Sometimes, from the murk of his selfnotice, he will make a crystal-clear comment that's so insightful you wish you'd made it yourself. A little of that can go a long way. Especially with Joni. Ted moves his car, and we're off again. Joni's clock says it's , but we're okay, since it's been an hour fast since Daylight Saving Time ended.
We drive into the blue-black, the radio mellow now, the hour slowly turning from nighttime to sleep. Noah is a hazy memory in my mind. I am losing track of the way he ran my nerves; the giddiness is now diffusing in the languid air, becoming a mysterious blur of good feeling. Maybe he's right. Paul is Gay I've always known I was gay, but it wasn't confirmed until I was in kindergarten.
It was my teacher who said so. I saw it on her desk one day before naptime. And I have to admit: I might not have realized I was different if Mrs. Benchly hadn't pointed it out. I mean, I was five years old. I just assumed boys were attracted to other boys. Why else would they spend all of their time together, playing on teams and making fun of the girls? I assumed it was because we all liked each other. Imagine my surprise to find out that I wasn't entirely right. Benchly caught me at her desk and looked quite alarmed.
Since I was more than a little confused, I asked her for some clarification. Benchly looked me over and nodded. I pointed over to the painting corner, where Greg Easton was wrestling on the ground with Ted Halpern. Benchly answered. I found it all very interesting. Benchly explained a little more to me—the whole boys-liking-girls thing. I can't say I understood. Benchly asked me if I'd noticed that marriages were mostly made up of men and women.
I had never really thought of marriages as things that involved liking.
I had just assumed this man-woman arrangement was yet another adult quirk, like flossing. Now Mrs.
Benchly was telling me something much bigger. Some sort of silly global conspiracy. My attention was a little distracted because Ted was now pulling up Greg Easton's shirt, and that was kind of cool. Benchly told me. Always remember that. Sort of. That night, I held my big news until after my favorite Nickelodeon block was over. My father was in the kitchen, doing dishes. My mother was in the den with me, reading on the couch.
Quietly, I walked over to her. She jumped, then tried to pretend she hadn't been surprised. Since she didn't close her book—she only marked the page with her finger—I knew I didn't have much time. I thought, at the very least, my mother would take her finger out of the book. But no. Instead she turned in the direction of the kitchen and yelled to my father. Paul's learned a new word! But eventually they got used to it. Besides my parents, Joni was the first person I ever came out to.
This was in second grade. We were under my bed at the time. We were under my bed because Joni had come over to play, and under my bed was easily the coolest place in the whole house. We had brought flashlights and were telling ghost stories as a lawn mower grrrrred outside. We pretended it was the Grim Reaper. We were playing our favorite game: Avoid Death. It's spreading up your arm. At first, I figured I had her stumped. Then she leaned over, her eyelids closing.
She smelled like bubblegum and bicycle grease. Before I knew it, her lips were coming near mine. I was so freaked out, I stood up. Since we were still under my bed, I crashed into the bottom of my mattress.
Her eyes opened quickly after that. It was with Joni's help that I became the first openly gay class president in the history of Ms. Farquar's third-grade class.
Joni was my campaign manager. I'M GAY. I thought it rather oversimplified my stance on the issues pro-recess, anti-gym , but Joni said it was sure to generate media attention.
So the A was struck, and the race began in earnest. My biggest opponent was I'm sorry to say Ted Halpern. Joni threatened to beat him up, but I knew he'd played right into our hands.
When the election was held, he was left with the rather tiny lint-head vote, while I carried the girl vote, the open-minded guy vote, the third-grade closet-case vote, and the Ted-hater vote. It was a total blowout, and when it was all over, Joni beat Ted up anyway. The next day at lunch, Cody O'Brien traded me two Twinkies for a box of raisins—clearly an unequal trade.
The next day, I gave him three Yodels for a Fig Newton. This was my first flirtation. Cody was my date for my fifth-grade semi-formal. Or at least he was supposed to be my date. Two days before the big shindig, we had a fight over a Nintendo cartridge he'd borrowed from me and lost. I know it's a small thing to break up over, but really, the way he handled it lying! Luckily, we parted on friendly terms.
Joni was supposed to be my back-up date, but she surprised me by saying she was going with Ted. She swore to me he'd changed. This was also symptomatic of bigger problems. But there was no way of knowing it then. In sixth grade, Cody, Joni, a lesbian fourth grader named Laura, and I formed our elementary school's first gay-straight alliance. Quite honestly, we took one look around and figured the straight kids needed our help. For one thing, they were all wearing the same clothes. Also and this was critical , they couldn't dance to save their lives.
Our semi-formal dance floor could have easily been mistaken for a coop of pre-Thanksgiving turkeys. This was not acceptable. Luckily, our principal was cooperative, and allowed us to play a minute or two of "I Will Survive" and "Bizarre Love Triangle" after the Pledge of Allegiance was read each morning. Membership in the gay-straight alliance soon surpassed that of the football team which isn't to say there wasn't overlap.
Ted refused to join, but he couldn't stop Joni from signing them up for swing dance classes twice a week at recess. Since I was unattached at the time, and since I was starting to feel that I had met everyone there was to meet at our elementary school, I would often sneak out with Laura to the AV room, where we'd watch Audrey Hepburn movies until the recess bell would ring, and reality would beckon once more.
In eighth grade, I was tackled by two high school wrestlers after a late-night showing of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert at our local theater. At first, I thought it was a strange kind of foreplay, but then I realized that their grunts were actually insults—queer, faggot, the usual. I wasn't about to take such verbal abuse from strangers—only Joni was allowed to speak to me that way. Luckily, I had gone to the movies with a bunch of my friends from the fencing team, so they just pulled out their foils and disarmed the lugheads.
One of them, I've since heard, is now a drag queen in Columbus, Ohio. I like to think I had something to do with that. I was learning that notoriety came with a certain backlash. I had to be careful. I had a gay food column in the local paper—"Dining OUT"—which was a modest success. I'd declined numerous pleas to run for student council president, because I knew it would interfere with my direction of the school musical I won't bore you with the details, but let me, just say that Cody O'Brien was an Auntie Mame for the ages.
All in all, life through junior high was pretty fun. I didn't really have a life that was so much out of the ordinary. The usual series of crushes, confusions, and intensities. Then I meet Noah and things become complicated.
I sense it immediately, driving home from Zeke's gig. I suddenly feel more complicated. Not bad complicated. Just complicated. I hope that he's looking for me, too. Joni promises me she'll be my search party spy. I'm afraid she'll get too carried away with the job, dragging Noah over to me by the ear if she finds him. But the connection isn't made. No matter how far I drift from the hallway conversations I'm having, I never drift into him.
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The halls are awash in Homecoming Pride posters and postweekend gossip. Everybody is jingling and jangling; I look for Noah like I'd look for a pocket of calm. Instead I run into Infinite Darlene. Or, more accurately, she runs on over to me.
There are few sights grander at eight in the morning than a six-foot-four football player scuttling through the. If I wasn't so used to it, I might be taken aback. Perhaps it was back when she was still Daryl Heisenberg, but that's not very likely; few of us can remember what Daryl Heisenberg was like, since Infinite Darlene consumed him so completely. He was a decent football player, but nowhere near as good as when he started wearing false eyelashes.
Infinite Darlene doesn't have it easy. Being both star quarterback and homecoming queen has its conflicts. And sometimes it's hard for her to fit in. The other drag queens in our school rarely sit with her at lunch; they say she doesn't take good enough care of her nails, and that she looks a little too buff in a tank top. The football players are a little more accepting, although there was a spot of trouble a year ago when Chuck, the second-string quarterback, fell in love with her and got depressed when she said he wasn't her type.
I am not alarmed when Infinite Darlene tells me things are such a mess. For Infinite Darlene, things are always such a mess; if they weren't, she wouldn't have nearly enough to talk about. This time, though, it's a real dilemma. He wants me to march with the rest of the team. But as homecoming queen, I'm also supposed to be introducing the team. If I don't do the proper introductions, my tiara might be in doubt. Trilby Pope would take my place, which would be ghastly, ghastly, ghastly.
Her boobs are faker than mine. Of course she would stoop that low. And she'd have gravity problems getting back up. But Trilby Pope is her weak spot. They used to be good friends, able to recount an hour's worth of activity with three hours' worth of conversation.
Then Trilby fell into the field hockey crowd. She tried to convince Infinite Darlene to join her, but football was the same season. They drifted into different practices and different groups of friends. Trilby started to wear a lot of plaid, which Infinite Darlene despised.
She started to hang with rugby boys. It all became very fraught. Finally, they had a friendship break-up — an exchange of heated classroom notes, folded in the shape of artillery. They averted their glances dramatically when they passed in the halls. Trilby still has some of Infinite Darlene's accessories, from when they used to swap. Infinite Darlene tells everybody except Trilby that she wants them back. My attention is beginning to wander from the conversation. I am still scanning the hallways for Noah, knowing full well that if I see him, I will most probably duck into the nearest doorway, blushing furiously.
Because while Infinite Darlene feels comfortable telling me everything, I am afraid that if I tell her something, it will no longer be mine. It will belong to the whole school. I think I'm off the hook, but then she adds, "Is it someone special?
I pray that it's not nothing. I say to her: I don't ask for much. I swear. But I would really love Noah to be everything I hope he'll be. Please let him be someone I can groove with, and who wants to groove with me. My denial has sent Infinite Darlene back to her own dilemma. I tell her she should march with the football team while wearing her homecoming queen regalia. It seems like a good compromise to me.
Infinite Darlene starts to nod. Then her eyes see something over my shoulder and flash anger. Of course, I turn and look. And there's Kyle Kimball walking by. Turning away from me like he might catch plague from a single bubonic glance.
Kyle is the only straight boy I've ever kissed. He didn't realize he was straight at the time. We went out for a few weeks last year, in ninth grade. He is the only ex I'm not on speaking terms with. Sometimes I even feel like he hates me. It's a very strange feeling. I'm not used to being hated. She's been saying that for a year now, without ever telling me who Kyle's going to learn from. I still wonder if it's supposed to be me.
With some break-ups, all you can think about afterwards is how badly it ended and how much the other person hurt you. With others, you become sentimental for the good times and lose track of what went wrong. When I think of Kyle, the beginnings and the endings are all mixed up. I see his enraptured face reflected in the light of a flickering movie screen; passing him a note and having him rip it into confetti-sized pieces without reading it; his hand taking mine for the first time, on the way to math class; him calling me a liar and a loser; the first time I knew he liked me, when I caught him hovering around my locker before I actually got there; the first time I knew he didn't like me anymore, when I went to give him back a book I'd borrowed and he pulled away instinctively.
He said I'd tricked him. He said it to everyone. Only a few people believed him. But it wasn't what they thought that mattered to me.
It was what he thought. And if he really believed it. But even she knows this isn't true. He is far from the worst. Seeing Kyle always takes some of the volume out of my soundtrack. Now I'm no longer floating on a Noah high.
Infinite Darlene tries to cheer me up. I am sucking at the caramel and nougat when Joni comes up to us with her latest Noah Report. Sadly, it's the same as the last five.
Chuck was helping me before, and Chuck said that he's one of those arty types. Now, from Chuck that wasn't an ultimate compliment, but at least it pointed me in the right direction. I looked at the wall outside the art room and found a photo he did.
Chuck helped me get it. But my inner security device does take notice of the number of times that Joni's namechecked Chuck. In the past, I've been able to tell that things with Ted were getting better when Joni began to name-check him again.
The fact that it's now Chuck has looped me for a throw. Joni takes a small, framed photograph out of her bag. The frame is the color of Buddy Holly's glasses, and has largely the same effect. I hold the photo up to my face, ignoring my own reflection to see what lies beneath. At first I see the man in the chair, toward the back of the photo. He's the age of my grandfather and is sitting in an old wooden rocker, laughing his head off.
Then I realize he's sitting in a room covered by snow globes. There must be hundreds — maybe thousands—of the small plastic shakers, each with its own blurry locale. Snow globes cover the floor, the counters, the shelves, the table at the man's arm. It's a very cool photograph. Infinite Darlene has kept quiet through this whole exchange. But she's about to burst with curiosity. So I do. And I know as I do that he isn't "just some guy. Telling Infinite Darlene this doesn't just feel like I'm setting myself up for gossip.
No, it feels like I'm putting my whole heart on the line. It's the first rally that I've ever been in the stands for. This is due to a fluke of scheduling. Our school has too many activities and teams to be represented in each and every cheering session, so whenever we have a rally, only a dozen groups are spotlighted.
They'd asked me to bring my acting troupe this time around, but I felt such recognition might damage our art—putting the personality before the performance, as it were. So as a result I am sitting in the bleachers of our gymnasium, trying to gauge the Joni-and-Ted barometer. Right now, it looks like the pressure is high. Ted keeps looking over at Joni, but Joni isn't looking as much at Ted. He turns to me instead. Panicked, I look around to see if Noah is in the immediate vicinity.
Luckily, he is not. I am starting to wonder if he actually exists. The principal's secretary gets up to the microphone to start the rally. Everybody knows that she wields the real power in the school, so it makes sense to have her leading things here.
The gymnasium doors open and the cheerleaders come riding in on their Harleys. The crowd goes wild. We are, I believe, the. But I could be wrong. A few years ago, it was decided that having a posse of motorcycles gun around the fields and courts was a much bigger cheer-inducer than any pom-pom routine could ever hope to be.
Now, in an intricately choreographed display, the Harleys swerve around the gym, starting off in a pyramid the shape of a bird migration, then splitting up into spins and corners. For a finale, the cheerleaders rev all at once and shoot themselves off a ramp emblazoned with our high school's name. They are rewarded with massive applause. Already the rally is doing its job. I am proud to be a student at my high school. The tennis team is the next up.
My brother and his friend Mara are the doubles champions, so they get a pretty good reception. I try to cheer loudly so Jay can hear my voice above the crowd.
He's a senior now, and I know he's started to feel sad about everything coming to an end. Next year, he'll be on a college tennis team. It won't be the same. After the tennis team has been cheered, our school cover band comes out to play.
The cover band's stats are actually better than the tennis team's — at this past year's Dave Matthews Cover Band Competition, they went all the way to the finals with their cover of the Dave Matthews Band covering "All Along the Watchtower," only to be defeated by a cover band that played "Typical Situation" while standing on their heads.
After an encore of Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus," the principal's secretary asks for quiet and introduces this year's homecoming king and queen. Infinite Darlene strides out in a pink ball gown, covered in part by her quarterback jersey.
The homecoming king, Dave Sprat, hangs from her arm, a good thirteen inches shorter than her if you count the heels. Infinite Darlene is holding a portable microphone we borrowed from Zeke's van, so she can introduce and march at the same time.
As the school cover band strikes up a skacore version of "We Are the Champions" we're not entirely without tradition , the members of the football team line up for their presentation.
I lean over to Joni. She's fixing her eyes on Chuck. I honestly don't know why. Chuck is the second-string quarterback who fell for Infinite Darlene and got all upset when she didn't return his affections. He was real bitter about it, worse than Ted in his fouler moods. Ted, at least, is able to lose his cool without totally losing his sense of humor. I'm not sure that Chuck's the same way. I wish Tony went to our school, so I could lift my eyebrow and get his take on the situation.
Ted doesn't seem to notice where Joni's glance is taking her. He is looking elsewhere. Because he's Ted, he goes right ahead and points at someone in the stands across the gymnasium. I squint to make out the faces from the crowd. At first, I think he's pointing at Kyle, who is somewhat subdued in his applause for the football players as Infinite Darlene introduces them.
Then I realize Ted is pointing a few rows up. I dont. This was his way of letting me know that I was someone he cared about.
Even at the very beginning. He hadnt meant to tell me. But there it was. And even though hes forgotten a lot of other details about that first date, hes never forgotten what he said.
I warned you! You cant say I didnt warn you! Sometimes this only makes me hold him tighter. The only time our paths intersect in the morning is between first and second periods, so I look for him then.
We only have a minute to share, sometimes less, but Im always thankful. Its like Im taking attendance. Even if were tired which is pretty much always and even if we dont have much to say, I know he wont just pass me by.
Today I smile, because, all things considered, the morning went pretty well. And he smiles back at me. Good signs. I am always looking for good signs.
I head to Justins class as soon as fourth period is over, but he hasnt waited for me. So I go to the cafeteria, to where we usually sit. Hes not there, either. I ask Rebecca if shes seen him. She says she hasnt, and doesnt seem too surprised that Im looking. I decide to ignore that. I check my locker and hes not there. Im starting to think hes forgotten, or was playing with me all along. I decide to check his locker, even though its about as far from the cafeteria as you can get.
He never stops there before lunch. But I guess today he has, because there heis.
Im happy to see him, but also exhausted. Its just so much work. He looks worse than I feel, staring into his locker like theres a window in there. In some people, this would mean 22 daydreams. But Justin doesnt daydream.
When hes gone, hes really gone. Now hes back. Right when I get to him. Im hungry, but not that hungry. The most important thing is for us to be in the same place. I can do that anywhere. Hes putting all of his books in his locker now, as if hes done with the day. I hope nothings wrong. I hope hes not giving up. If Im going to be stuck here, I want him stuck here, too. He stands up and puts his hand on my arm. Way too gentle.
Its something Id do to him, not something hed do to me. I like it, but I also dont like it. Lets go somewhere, he says. Where do you want to go? Again, I think there has to be a right answer to this question, and that if I get it wrong, I will ruin everything. He wants something from me, but Im not sure what. I dont know, I tell him.
He takes his hand off my arm and I think, okay, wrong answer. But then he takes my hand. Come on, he says. Theres an electricity in his eyes. He closes the locker and pulls me forward. I dont understand. Were walking hand in hand through the almost-empty halls.
We never do this. He gets this grin on his face and we go faster. Its like were little kids at recess. Running, actually running down the halls. People look at us like were insane. Its so ridiculous. He swings us by my locker and tells me to leave 23 my books here, too. I dont understand, but I go along with ithes in a great mood, and I dont want to do anything that will break it. Once my lockers closed, we keep going. Right out the door. Simple as that.
Were always talking about how we want to leave, and this time were doing it. I figure hell take me to get pizza or something. Maybe be late to fifth period. We get to his car and I dont even want to ask him what were doing. I just want to let him do it. He turns and asks, Where do you want to go? Tell me, truly, where youd love to go. Hes asking me as if Im the one who knows the right answer. I really hope this isnt a trick. I really hope I wont regret this. I say the first thing that comes to my mind.
I want to go to the ocean.Running, actually running down the halls. Were together. It feels too simple. Because I keep talking and talking. But that night as I boarded the train home, I saw him sitting alone on a three-seater, already halfway done with the book we'd both bought.
Why are you bringing this up? Music, he says. Ive had enough of the loud and the obnoxious, and I sense that shes had enough of it, too. Please let him be someone I can groove with, and who wants to groove with me. We're leaning against the front of his VW bus, squinting so we can turn the streetlamps into stars.
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