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Flipped

by Wendelin Van Draanen

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More praise for FLIPPED:

“We flipped over this fantastic book, its gutsy girl Juli and its wise, wonderful ending.”

—The Chicago Tribune

“Delightful! Delicious! And totally teen.”

—BookPage

* “With a charismatic leading lady kids will flip over, a compelling dynamic between the two

narrators and a resonant ending, this novel is a great

deal larger than the sum of its parts.”

—Publishers Weekly, Starred

“A wonderful, light-hearted novel.”

—Library Talk

“This is a wry character study, a romance with substance and subtlety.”

—Booklist

“A highly agreeable romantic comedy.”

—Kirkus Reviews

Dedicated with infinite love to Colton and Connor, who make me feel like so much more than

the sum of my parts.

Special thanks to… my husband, Mark Parsons, who helps me feel the magic,

and my excellent editor, Nancy Siscoe, for her care and insight (and for making me stick to a

reduced-filler diet).

Also, eternal gratitude to Tad Callahan and Patricia Gabel, who were on the ball when we

needed it most.

Finally, thanks to Jeanne Madrid and the staff at Casa De Vida—may you keep the spirit.

CONTENTS

Diving Under

Flipped

Buddy, Beware!

The Sycamore Tree

Brawk-Brawk-Brawk!

The Eggs

Get a Grip, Man

The Yard

Looming Large and Smelly

The Visit

The Serious Willies

The Dinner

Flipped

The Basket Boys

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Diving Under

All I've ever wanted is for Juli Baker to leave me alone. For her to back off — you know, just

give me some space.

It all started the summer before second grade when our moving van pulled into her

neighborhood. And since we're now about done with the

eighth grade, that, my friend, makes more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and

social discomfort.

She didn't just barge into my life. She barged and shoved and wedged her way into my life.

Did we invite her to get into our moving van and start

climbing all over boxes? No! But that's exactly what she did, taking over and showing off like

only Juli Baker can.

My dad tried to stop her. “Hey!” he says as she's catapulting herself on board. “What are you

doing? You're getting mud everywhere!” So true,

too. Her shoes were, like, caked with the stuff.

She didn't hop out, though. Instead, she planted her rear end on the floor and started

pushing a big box with her feet. “Don't you want some help?”

She glanced my way. “It sure looks like you need it.”

I didn't like the implication. And even though my dad had been tossing me the same sort of

look all week, I could tell — he didn't like this girl

either. “Hey! Don't do that,” he warned her. “There are some really valuable things in that

box.”

“Oh. Well, how about this one?” She scoots over to a box labeled LENOX and looks my way

again. “We should push it together!”

“No, no, no!” my dad says, then pulls her up by the arm. “Why don't you run along home?

Your mother's probably wondering where you are.”

This was the beginning of my soon-to-become-acute awareness that the girl cannot take a

hint. Of any kind. Does she zip on home like a kid

should when they've been invited to leave?