Mean Girls: New Girl / Confessions of an Angry Girl / Here Lies Bridget / Speechless

Mean Girls: New Girl / Confessions of an Angry Girl / Here Lies Bridget / Speechless
Hannah Harrington

Paige Harbison

Louise Rozett

Never mess with the Queen Bee!In high school, popularity can mean everything – especially when you don’t have it. This collection of four young adult novels tackles the ups and downs of climbing the slippery high school social ladder with sharp biting humour, powerful emotion and characters that every teenage girl will relate to!Featuring New Girl and Here Lies Bridget by Paige Harbison, Confessions of an Angry Girl by Louise Rozett and Speechless by Hannah Harrington

Mean Girls

New Girl

Paige Harbison

Confessions of an Angry Girl

Louise Rozett

Here Lies Bridget

Paige Harbison

Speechless

Hannah Harrington

www.miraink.co.uk (http://www.miraink.co.uk)

New Girl

Paige Harbison

PRAISE FOR PAIGE HARBISON

“For fans of Gossip Girl.” —Teen Vogue

“Here Lies Bridget is an ideal read for victims of this abysmal behaviour [bullying], offering keen and witty insight into the emotional motivations of privileged narcissists … What’s so engaging about Here Lies Bridget is its honest insight into Bridget’s self-perception … [A] solid and intriguing read.” —Los Angeles Times

“The novel unfolds with a certain sweetness and a lack of

cynicism, which I found refreshing. This may be because

author Paige is only twenty years old, so her connection

with a young audience is natural and easy.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jen Lancaster on Here Lies Bridget

“Ms Harbison wrote a fantastic book. It was filled with

great life lessons as well as great entertainment.”

—Books with Bite blog, 5 Bites

“I totally loved this book! From the moment I opened

it up and read the first page I was hooked. I seriously

couldn’t put it down … Overall a fantastic, captivating

page-turner every high-school-aged girl should

pick up and read.”

—My Precious: The Ramblings of a

Kindle Addict blog

“Here Lies Bridget is a fun, sweet, cruel and wonderfully delightful story that is part Mean Girls and part A Christmas Carol.” —Fiktshun blog

To Angela Petrunick,

who lost her computer privileges at work because of this

book—and who helped me make it what it is today

“Oh, for the time

when I shall Sleep

Without identity.”

—Emily Brontë

chapter 1 me

THE PANORAMIC VIEW OUTSIDE THE WINDOWS of the bus showed a world that wasn’t mine. It was chilly in early September and the trees were pine, not palm.

I grew up in St. Augustine, Florida. My life so far had been made up of conversations over noisy fans, shrieking at the sight of pony-size bugs in the shower, and coming home from the beach to find an alarmingly sunburned reflection waiting for me in the mirror. When I took my Labrador, Jasper, for a walk, it meant running in the surf and tossing a tennis ball into the waves. I hardly ever got in the car without my thighs sticking to the hot seats, and most of my neighbors were renters or vacationers. It wasn’t Hawaii, but it wasn’t New Hampshire, either. And that, unfortunately for this warm-weather girl, was where I found myself now.

Towering trees of dark, thick green loomed over the highway we rode down. It was fifty-five degrees out, the sun had already set at six, and it was only September second. St. Augustine isn’t bliss all year round, and I’m the first to admit it, but it’s never this cold yet. Not this early in the year. My friends back home were still going for swims after school every day and requesting outdoor seating at restaurants. Restaurants that I was already craving to order from again.

Behind me I was leaving all of the warmth of home, my best friends, and a really comfortable queen-size bed that lay next to a big window that overlooked the beach and filled my room with the smell of salty sand. I was leaving all of that for a boarding school. Up north. Where I knew no one.

I’d never been the new girl before, and I barely knew what to think. But every time I remembered that that would be my new identity, a surge of nervous anticipation spread from my chest right down to the pit of my stomach. I was about to step into the spotlight in front of eight hundred other students. Would they wait for me to dance and entertain them, or would they expect me to walk right across the stage and back out of sight?

And which would I do?

My parents had called this a “surprise.” Poor, deluded, lovely things that they are. It turned out that they had been submitting an application for me every year since I’d begged to go to boarding school in eighth grade. I’d found this place on Google somewhere, and excitedly called them to the computer where I’d gone on and on about how much fun it would be.