Local Girls

Table of Contents

 

 

“Hoffman weaves small threads of wry magic into her plot ... [She] certainly knows how to captivate an audience.”
—The Boston Globe

 

“Ms. Hoffman evokes the intimacy of close attachments—mother, brother, aunt, friend, neighbor, classmate—with tender humor and deceptively simple language.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch

 

“She is one of the best writers we have today—insightful, funny, intelligent, with a distinctive voice ...
[Local Girls]
does a lot to show that Hoffman is an established artist at her peak.”
—The Cleveland Plain Dealer

 

“Outstanding ... elegantly written.”
—South Bend Tribune

 

“Gretel's got a nice way of pointing out the dark side of the so-called good life.”
—The New York Times Book Review

 

“The prose is fluid and even musical at times.”

 

“Lovely ... Hoffman is at her tender best ... A second reading is even sweeter.”
—Deseret News

 

“Hoffman explores her characters' sadness with disarming wit; these stories are never depressing ... She has a light touch and a poet's knack for making diffuse elements fall into place with seeming effortlessness.”—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

 

“Local Girls
is as comfortable and comforting as a book can be ... [Gretel is] a font of wry insights and ironic commentary on the adult world ... The heart of the book is a quiet wisdom about how and why we manage to go on in the face of loss; in the simple words of the narrator, how we ‘decide to live.”'—Marion Winik,
Newsday

 

“Charming.”—
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

 

“A graceful and lovely book ... Readers who haven't read Alice Hoffman would be well-advised to start now.”—
The Buffalo News

 

“This series of vignettes about Gretel Samuelson's teenage years is told with wisecracking humor and poignant honesty. A book that's sure to strike an empathetic chord with readers.”—
School Library Journal

PROPERTY OF
THE DROWNING SEASON
ANGEL LANDING
WHITE HORSES
FORTUNE'S DAUGHTER
ILLUMINATION NIGHT
AT RISK
SEVENTH HEAVEN
TURTLE MOON
SECOND NATURE
PRACTICAL MAGIC
HERE ON EARTH
LOCAL GIRLS
THE RIVER KING
BLUE DIARY
For Children
FIREFLIES
HORSEFLY
AQUAMARINE
INDIGO

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

 

LOCAL GIRLS

Copyright © 1999 Alice Hoffman.

 

 

These stories first appeared in
Agni Review, Boulevard, Cosmopolitan, Five Points, Glimmer Train, Kenyon Review, Ladies' Home Journal, Redbook, Southwest Review, and USA Weekend.

 

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

BERKLEY is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The “B”
design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

 

 

eISBN : 978-1-440-67334-4

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PLEASE VISIT THE AUTHOR'S WEBSITE AT
www.alicehoffman.com

Dear Diary

One thing I've learned is that strange things do happen. They happen all the time. Today, for instance, my best friend Jill's cat spoke. We were making brownies in the kitchen when we heard it say,
Let me out.
Well, we rushed to the back door and did exactly that. We experienced a miracle and now we're looking for more, although Franconia, the town we live in, is not known for such things. Jill and I have known each other our whole lives. One house separates our houses but we act as if it doesn't exist. We met before we were born and we'll probably still know each other after we die. At least, that's the way we're planning it.

 

 

 

 

My mother and I left for Atlantic City so quickly I didn't have time to call Jill. We told people we were on our way to visit an old aunt, but really our departure had something to do with love, or the lack of it, and the aunt doesn't even exist. I know other people whose mothers suddenly pack up when their fathers drink or scream, but for us this is more serious. My mother doesn't do things like go to Atlantic City. She doesn't order room service and cry. She once told me that anyone who gets married had better like herself, because there's nobody else in this world that she'll ever really know, not truly.

We stayed in our room in Atlantic City for three days, and didn't go outside once, thanks to room service. We ate like pigs and didn't even bother to brush our teeth until my mother's cousin Margot, who got a divorce last summer and changed the color of her hair to give herself an emotional lift, came to get us. She drove to New Jersey in the Ford Mustang convertible that she refused to let her ex have, since he'd taken her very soul and raked it over red-hot coals.

“Get dressed right now,” she told us.

We were wearing our bathrobes and watching an old cowboy movie, which, for some reason, made my mother cry. Maybe it was all those men on horseback who were so steadfast and loyal. Their own men had disappointed them, but somehow Margot and my mother both had hope for improvement. Frankly, I had more faith in the horses.

“I mean now, Frances,” Margot said, and because she meant business, my mother actually dressed and put on some lipstick and we went to a Chinese restaurant where the drinks came with little paper umbrellas, which I kept as a souvenir.

Listen to me, Gretel,
Margot told me when we'd gone back to the room to pack and my mother was finally out of earshot.
When a marriage breaks up, it's the children who suffer, so baby, hold on tight.
That's why Margot was relieved that she and Tony had never had children, although she became teary whenever she saw a baby.

“Margot is my best friend, but she's completely full of baloney,” my mother whispered as we were throwing our suitcases into the trunk. “Take it all with a grain of salt. Maybe even a whole shaker.”

Say what you want about the Mustang, it may be gorgeous, but it has very little trunk space. I had to sit in the back seat with the hair dryer and the makeup case on my lap all the way to Franconia, but that didn't stop me from keeping my fingers crossed and wishing we'd wind up someplace other than home.

 

 

 

 

We re in Florida for one week, the week when the turtles die on the beach and there are jellyfish in the ocean. As soon as we checked into the hotel, my brother, Jason, who likes to pretend he's not part of our family, went out to study tide pools and no one has seen him since. My parents are here to try to revitalize their marriage, which seems a pretty impossible feat to all outside observers.
Gretel honey, don't get high hopes,
Margot had already warned me when she took me shopping for a bathing suit, a mission which can give anyone with a less than perfect body a complete nervous breakdown.
When it's over, it's over,
Margot told me, and I had the distinct feeling that she was right.

Long before the plane touched down in Miami we could hear our parents arguing, and at the hotel they locked themselves in their room. If you ask me, working so hard at being married can backfire. It certainly is making my father nastier than usual. Not that his bad temper affects me. I keep my own counsel. I go my own way. I order room service and eat Linzer tortes and shrimp scampi alone in the room I was supposed to be sharing with Jason, not that he was ever planning to show up. Even though I was across the hall from my parents, I could still hear them fighting.

 

 

 

 

I went out to the beach late, later than I'd be allowed to if anyone knew I was alive. That's where I met Jonathan Rabbit, who is now in love with me. He is known as Jack Rabbit, which makes me laugh out loud. Doesn't it figure that the boy who fell for me would be a rodent? He lives in Atlanta and is in the ninth grade, and frankly he's terribly boring. I let him kiss me once, but believe me, I did not hear bells. I only heard the jellyfish sloshing around in the water and the noisy beat of Jack Rabbit's heart.

 

 

 

 

Florida didn't do anytings for my family, but at least it's starting to be spring. Jill and I are keeping our eyes open for miracles. Jack Rabbit calls me constantly and that is something of a miracle. He writes so often you'd think his fingers would start to cramp up. I bring his letters to school, so everyone is well aware that I have a boyfriend in Atlanta. They'll never meet him. They'll never know it's actually possible for a boy to be so boring you'd agree to kiss him just to get him to shut up. I should get paid to listen to him when he calls on the phone. I should get a dollar fifty an hour. Minimum.