Excerpt: Confessions of a High School Disaster by Emma Chastain

About Confessions of a High School Disaster

(Part of Chloe Snow's Diary)

In the tradition of Bridget Jones’s Diary, a lovably flawed high school student chronicles her life as she navigates the highs and lows of family, friendship, school, and love in a diary that sparkles with humor and warmth.

I’m Chloe Snow, and my life is kiiiiind of a disaster.

On the plus side, I got the lead in the musical!

On the down side…

1. I’m a kissing virgin (so so so embarrassing).
2. My best friend, Hannah, is driving me insane.
3. I think I’m in love with Mac Brody, the most popular senior guy, whose girlfriend is so beautiful she doesn’t even need eyeliner.
4. My dad won’t stop asking me if I’m okay.
5. Oh, and my mom moved to Mexico to work on her novel. But it’s fine—she’ll be back soon. She said so.

Mom tells me everything is copy. So I’m writing down all the horrible things that happen to me in this diary.

This is the worst year of my life so far, unless maybe it’s the best.

Excerpt:

Monday, August 10 

Mom’s gone. Not forever, obviously. For 4 months at the most, she said. 

She came in here all shaky, with swollen eyes, and pressed her forehead into my forehead. Her breath smelled like pad thai. She was like, “Please know how much I love you.” We both cried. She explained everything: she’s going to Mexico to work on her novel. She knows it’s sudden, but she also knows I’m mature enough to handle a little surprise. We’ll be in touch all the time. We can Skype and chat and talk on the phone whenever we want. Maybe I can go visit her. 

She gave me her blue and white porcelain rabbit, which I’ve always loved, and a journal, and said, “If there’s one thing I want you to remember, it’s the importance of creating memories.” I don’t really want to remember this, actually. Plus I already write in this diary every day, but it seemed rude to tell her that. 

Tuesday, August 11 

Dad made me breakfast before he went to work: banana pancakes, bacon, and a strawberry smoothie. He sat there watching me eat. So did Snickers. I never give Snickers food from the table, but he never stops hoping. 

“This is really good,” I said. 

“You don’t have to finish it,” Dad said, but I did, because he looked so sad. 

“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s not for very long.” 

He unscrewed the blender from its stand. He wasn’t looking at me. 

“She has to work on her novel,” I said. “It’s impossible to get anything done here. She needs a room of her own.” 

He laughed, but not a real laugh, and said, “Right.”

Wednesday, August 12 

Things I love about Dad:

1. His dad jeans
2. His crinkly eyes

3. He sends me cat videos 

4. He never yells 

5.  He still wears the fugly brown tie I got him for Father’s Day when I was 8 

6. He knows all the words to every eighties song 

7. His dad smell (peanuts and limes)

Thursday, August 13 

I try to forget that I’m starting high school in a few weeks, but sometimes the fact rushes into my mind and I get sweaty with fear. 

However bad it is, it can’t be worse than junior high. My theory is, they put the 2 most evil grades in 1 building to keep them from infecting everyone else with their awfulness. Basically all I did in junior high was text, straighten my hair, add to my Benedict Cumberbatch shrine, and worry about how to be more popular. Thinking about it makes me cringe. 

I want to be different in high school. Like a new person. 

And I want to make out with someone. It’s so humiliating that I’m a kissing virgin at this advanced age. Everyone halfway normal in my grade had their first kiss at, like, age 10. I’ve never even gotten a peck on the cheek (I’m not counting my parents or Uncle Julian). And the longer I go un-smooched, the more freakish I feel. If I graduate high school without being kissed, I’ll be too embarrassed to kiss anyone during college, and then I’ll most likely die without ever even getting to second base. Something has to change fast. This I vow: I will kiss a guy before New Year’s Eve. Or maybe it’ll happen on New Year’s Eve. OK, this I vow: I will kiss a guy before New Year’s Day. Vow taken. 

Friday, August 14 

Before Dad left for work, he said, “Don’t just sit online all day, OK, kiddo?” so I invited Hannah over, and we went to the pool. She put on SPF 1 billion because she’s so pale she’s basically light blue. She wouldn’t shut up about how scary the first day of school will be. Finally, to get her to stop, I told her my mom left for Mexico on Monday. She gasped. 

“It’s not a big deal,” I said, irritated. 

“It seems like kind of a big deal.” 

I put my sunglasses on. 

She said, “What’s going on with her and your dad?” 

“Nothing. She’s working on her novel. That’s it.” 

“Chloe, I’m so sorry.” 

“Ugh! Don’t be sorry! She’s writing, not dying.” 

I know I shouldn’t be mean to Hannah, but she seriously drives me insane. The more intense and touchy-feely she gets, the more I turn into a block of ice. 

Saturday, August 15 

I pulled all my boxes of fall and winter stuff out of the closet, and I. Hate. Everything. It all says, “I have no identity of my own, so I’m going to wear the most generic clothing possible in a desperate quest to blend in.” My flowered sneakers from Hannah I love. The rest I would burn if I could. 

I need a makeover. No, not a makeover—that sounds like some gross magazine. I need to dress like the person I really am. Which is . . . what? Hipster. Hippie. Stoner. Emo. Preppy. None of those.

Sunday, August 16 

The first thing I do in the morning, lying in bed, before I’m all the way awake, is check everything on my phone. I don’t even want to; it feels like I have to catch up on what happened while I was asleep, so I don’t fall behind. I’ve tried to do a phone cleanse before, but the longest I’ve lasted is 3 hours. I don’t understand why it feels so good to click while you’re doing it and so disgusting after you’re done.

Monday, August 17 

I just talked to Mom!!!!! It wasn’t for very long, because her phone was dying. She’s in a small town with cobblestone streets and a bullring. She rented a 1-room apartment that looks out on a courtyard.

“I miss you like crazy,” she said. 

“I miss you, too!” 

“I can’t wait to show you my place, babe. There are these Argentinean kids staying downstairs from me, and they have drum circles under my window 24/7. This morning, a stray cat showed up on my doorstep. She’s orange, with 1 white paw. Doesn’t that seem lucky?” 

I asked if she wanted to talk to Dad, but she said she had to go find cat food before the stores closed, and she’d call him later. 

At dinner, I told Dad everything Mom said. He nodded and smiled. He looked like he had a migraine, but when I asked him if he wanted an Advil, he said he was fine, just tired. 

Tuesday, August 18 

Things I love about Mom:

1. Artistic 

2. Did yoga before it was cool 

3. Genius writer 

4. Lets me skip school all the time to hang out with her 

5. Lets me watch and read whatever I want, because you can’t shield your children from the world; you have to introduce them to it

6. Beautiful 

7. Compliments me a lot

Wednesday, August 19 

Hannah’s mom drove us to the mall. She was wearing a pink short-sleeved cardigan and cork wedges with pink straps. On the way there, we talked about Hannah’s older brother, Brian, who just left for his first semester at Dartmouth, which according to Mrs. Egan is the best school in the world. 

“I’m telling you, Chloe, it’s all about the family dinner. Eating together as a family is scientifically proven to raise your SAT score, did you know that?” 

Hannah hissed, “Mom.” 

“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Egan said, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “Hannah told me about your mother.” 

I gave Hannah a look of death. 

“She’ll be back in December,” I said. “Of course she will!” 

I refused to talk to Hannah in the mall until she bought me a soft pretzel and a Diet Coke. Even then I was being a total B. I went to all the stores with her, but I wouldn’t try anything on. I sat in the armchairs they put there for boyfriends and husbands and pretended to fall asleep. 

Even when Mom was here, we didn’t have family dinner. Usually Dad would make something for him and me, and we’d eat while Mom worked upstairs. Then she would eat carrots and hummus standing up at the kitchen counter. She can’t be on a regular schedule, because she’s an artist. I’ll do way better on the SAT than Brian. He’s the kind of guy who says “She’s driving with Mike and I” because he thinks “I” sounds fancier.

Excerpted from CONFESSIONS OF A HIGH SCHOOL DISASTER © Copyright 2017 by Emma Chastain. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.

About the author

Emma Chastain is a graduate of Barnard College and the creative writing MFA program at Boston University. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and children. BECOME A FAN