When You Were Everything | Woodfolk, Ashley

Lange Beschreibung
For fans of Nina LaCour's We Are Okay and Adam Silvera's History Is All You Left Me, this heartfelt and ultimately uplifting novel follows one sixteen-year-old girl's friend breakup through two concurrent timelines--ultimately proving that even endings can lead to new beginnings.

'Stunning.' --Nic Stone, bestselling author of Dear Martin and Odd One Out

You can't rewrite the past, but you can always choose to start again.

It's been twenty-seven days since Cleo and Layla's friendship imploded.

Nearly a month since Cleo realized they'll never be besties again.

Now Cleo wants to erase every memory, good or bad, that tethers her to her ex-best friend. But pretending Layla doesn't exist isn't as easy as Cleo hoped, especially after she's assigned to be Layla's tutor. Despite budding friendships with other classmates--and a raging crush on a gorgeous boy named Dom--Cleo's turbulent past with Layla comes back to haunt them both.

Alternating between time lines of Then and Now, When You Were Everything blends past and present into an emotional story about the beauty of self-forgiveness, the promise of new beginnings, and the courage it takes to remain open to love.

'Breathtakingly beautiful....Woodfolk has a way of making words sing and burst with light.' --Tiffany D. Jackson, award-winning author of Monday's Not Coming and Let Me Hear A Rhyme

Rezensierung
A stunning story that speaks to the deeply human need to love and be loved in myriad ways. Nic Stone, New York Times bestselling author of Dear Martin and Jackpot

This is a heady, heart-squelching book. I loved it.   Mary H.K. Choi, New York Times bestselling author of Emergency Contact and Permanent Record

'This book has everything I want.... Wise and melancholic, gorgeously nostalgic, Woodfolk s stories pummel your heart and make you stronger for it.' Justin A. Reynolds, author of Opposite of Always

A breathtakingly beautiful and intimate story. Tiffany D. Jackson, award-winning author of Monday's Not Coming and Let Me Hear A Rhyme

A hugely evocative and deeply relatable elegy to friendship, heartbreak, and love, this book is gorgeous in every way. Jennifer E. Smith, author of Windfall and Field Notes on Love

'Digs in to what makes a friend break-up feel life-shattering. Exquisite, intimate, and vulnerable, this story will surely stick with readers long after they finish it.   Mark Oshiro, award-winning author of Anger is A Gift

Ashley Woodfolk's When You Were Everything is a nuanced view of the complicated layers of teenage friendship. In gorgeous, evocative prose, Woodfolk explores the different types of love that feed, wound, and heal us.   Brandy Colbert, award-winning author of Little & Lion and The Revolution of Birdie Randolph

A satisfying coming-of-age friendship story.   Publisher's Weekly, starred review

'Skillfully voices the pain of unexpectedly losing a close friend and explores the choice to remain open despite the risk of future heartache . A well-crafted story of resilience. Kirkus Reviews, starred review

Buchausschnitt

A Theory & A Snowman

When the train finally shows up, it s so crowded that I end up smashed into a corner between a stroller and the doors, and the guy in front of me is wearing a backpack he refuses to take off. One of the buckles is pressing against my boob. 

I want to growl at this guy to put his bag on the floor, for everyone to give me some goddamn space, but I don t, because I don t do stuff like that. If Layla were here, she d tell the dude off. 

But she isn t! I shout inside my own head. For fuck s sake, stop torturing yourself. 

So I imagine a clean sheet of paper. Mentally, I start making the list I need to rid myself of thoughts like these. The steps I need to take to rid myself of Layla . . . for good. The systematic way I m going to unhaunt my whole life. 

I get off a few stops later when we reach Layla s station--the one where she d hop on the train every morning and find me. I d always sit in the first car so she d know to walk to the front of the platform to wait. When the train pulled in, I d look for the smear of her black hair, or the blur of her hand as she waved at me. We met and rode to school every day that way. 

I follow the flow of bodies toward the stairwell, push my way through the turnstile, and step out onto the sidewalk. I slip my earbuds back in, put on Ella Fitzgerald, and look left and right, making sure no one who knows me is around. The coast looks clear, so I turn my music up, cross my fingers, and keep moving. Something about skipping school makes me feel like I m actually in control of my life. 

I walk down Layla s block, taking in all the familiarities of the street. The way the door to the bodega on the corner doesn t close all the way. The ragged rainbow flag hanging from the fire escape of the building beside hers. The same yellowed flyer s been taped in the window of the deli advertising their new kosher salami since I was twelve. 

We always got Popsicles at that bodega in the summer. We challenged each other to jump and touch the hanging threads of that flag whenever we walked past it. We never tried the salami, but we d get sandwiches and ninety-nine-cent Arizona iced teas at the deli almost every time I slept over. If it was warm out, we d eat on Layla s stoop. 

I keep walking, past Layla s building and into the park where we first met. Its lawn is wide and still a little green even though it s February. The grass is dusted with snow and it s still falling fast. I go to the exact spot where I was sitting the day I met Layla--the exact spot where she saw me crying about Gigi and where she started singing to make me feel better--and I text my dad. 

Daddio, I send. You re off today, right?

His response comes almost instantly. Yep.

Can you meet me? 

Cleo . . . 

Daddy . . . 

You better be on your way to school.

Not exactly. 

SIGH.

I start typing another response, but then my phone starts to vibrate with a call. 

I . . . fell on the subway platform, I say to him instead of hello. It s a low blow, but I ll say whatever I need to get him here. The trains were delayed and my leggings are ripped and it s snowing, and you know how the snow reminds me of Gigi. I just had an awful morning, okay? Please don t give me a hard time about this, Daddy. Not today.  

He sighs, long and low. Cleo, this seriously has to be the last time. If it isn t, I ll have to talk to your mother.  

I gasp. Et tu, Brute? My dad knows almost everything about Layla, and that I ve been skipping school to avoid her. But as long as my grades