DRUNK SINCERITY: A YOUNG ADULT NOVEL by Molly Alyssa Freilich B.S., New York University, 2007 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS in The Faculty of Graduate Studies (Children’s Literature) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) August 2010 © Molly Alyssa Freilich, 2010 ABSTRACT In many young adult novels, teens are portrayed as whiny eye-rollers who seem incapable of taking control of the situations in which they find themselves. In Drunk Sincerity, this is not the case for 15-year-old protagonist Alyssa. Set in Los Angeles, the novel chronicles Alyssa's journey into sobriety, where her sometimes painful, sometimes funny coming of age tale begins. This work is influenced by young adult texts like Rule of the Bone by Russell Banks and The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky, as well as Freilich's own journals from childhood. ii TABLE OF CONTENTS Abstract………………..…………..…………..…………..…………..…………..………ii Table of Contents….………..…………..…………..…………..……………..………….iii Chapter One………..…………..…………..…………..……………..…………………...1 Chapter Two…..…………..…………..…………..……………..………………………...9 Chapter Three…..…………..…………..…………..……………..……………………...16 Chapter Four…..…………..…………..…………..……………..………………………19 Chapter Five………………...…………..…………..…………..……………..…………24 Chapter Six…..…………..………………...………..…………..……………..…………31 Chapter Seven…..…………..…………..……………..………..……………..…………38 Chapter Eight…..…………..…………..…………..……………..…………..………….44 Chapter Nine…..…………..…………..…………..………………………..……………48 Chapter Ten…..…………..…………..…………..……………..………………….…….52 Chapter Eleven…..…………..…………..…………..……………..…………………….57 Chapter Twelve…..…………..…………..…………..……………..……………………62 Chapter Thirteen…..…………..…………..…………..……………..………...…....…...65 Chapter Fourteen…..…………..…………..…………..……………..……………..……72 Chapter Fifteen…..…………..…………..…………..……………..………………….…76 Chapter Sixteen…..…………..…………..…………..……………..……………………79 Chapter Seventeen…..…………..…………..…………..……………..………………...86 Chapter Eighteen…..…………..…………..…………..……………..…………………..90 Chapter Nineteen…..…………..…………..…………..……………..…………….……94 Chapter Twenty…..…………..…………..…………..……………..……………………98 iii Chapter Twenty-One…..…………..…………..…………..……………....……………111 Chapter Twenty-Two…..…………..…………..…………..……………...……………117 Chapter Twenty-Three…..…………..…………..…………..…………….....…………122 Chapter Twenty-Four…..…………..…………..…………..……………..….…………131 Chapter Twenty-Five…..…………..…………..…………..……………..….…………134 Chapter Twenty-Six…..…………..…………..…………..………….…………………142 Chapter Twenty-Seven…..…………..…………..…………..………..………..……….147 Chapter Twenty-Eight…..…………..…………..…………..…………….…………….154 Chapter Twenty-Nine…..…………..…………..…………..…………………..……….159 Chapter Thirty…..…………..…………..…………..……………..……….……..…….167 Chapter Thirty-One…..…………..…………..…………..……………..………………176 Chapter Thirty-Two…..…………..…………..…………..……………..…………...…183 Chapter Thirty-Three…..…………..…………..…………..……………..…………….193 Chapter Thirty-Four…..…………..…………..…………..……………..……………...196 Chapter Thirty-Five…………..…………..…………..……………..………………….202 Chapter Thirty-Six…..………….………..…………..……………..…………………..208 Chapter Thirty-Seven…..…………..…………..…………..……………..…………….214 Chapter Thirty-Eight…..…………..…………..…………..……………..……………..219 Chapter Thirty-Nine…..…………..…………..…………..……………..………...……224 Chapter Forty…..…………..…………..…………..…………..……………………….229 Chapter Forty-One…..…………..…………..…………..……………..………….……236 Chapter Forty-Two…..…………..…………..…………..…………..…………….……241 Chapter Forty-Three…..…………..…………..…………..……………..…...…………246 iv Chapter Forty-Four…..…………..…………..…………..……………..………………252 Chapter Forty-Five…..…………..…………..………..……………..……………….…256 Chapter Forty-Six…..…………..…………..………..……………..…………………...260 Chapter Forty-Seven…..…………..…………..…………..………..…………………..263 Chapter Forty-Eight…..…………..…………..…………..……………..…………...…267 v Chapter One I’m sweating bullets. The room is closing in on me. The smoke is filling my lungs and my pores. I can’t breathe. But I have to stay here. I have to stay seated, mind my manners, and listen. But why the hell do I have to listen? Why can’t I escape? The man next to me is hacking up a lung and talking about metaphorical snakes in the crowd. Jodie looks calm, and for that I despise her. I’m startled by a sound—a voice. “Alcoholics Anonymous is not allied with any sect, denomination, politics, or organization...” I need to leave. Right now. People are still filing in. The room is getting smaller and smaller. Time is passing. I feel an elbow hit my ribs. “Go,” the man next to me says. “Go up to the front.” I’m caught off guard. I toss him a confused look and get off the folding chair, shuffling my feet behind Jodie’s. We’re in a line with a dozen other people who look substantially more fucked up than we do. And it hits me. We’re getting key chains—chips, they’re calling them. Newcomer chips, to be precise. “Jodie, addict/alcoholic.” Jodie smiles, like a pageant winner. Miss Trailer Park 2009. “Hi, Jodie!” I’m next. I freeze. 1 “Just state your name and disease,” the impatient chick holding the Tupperware of key chains tells me in a hissy whisper. “Oh, um, Alyssa. Addict/alcoholic?” I’m not an idiot. I’m just not sure what I’m doing here. I just want to clarify. “Hi, Alyssa! Welcome!” I walk back to my seat, down the narrow aisle, trying to avoid the gazes of the faces in the crowd. I feel like I’m looking at a funhouse mirror or something. Like I’m in an alternate universe where everyone is really excited for life. People are muttering things like “welcome” and “congratulations” to me as I shuffle past them. Congratulations for what? I settle in my seat, fingering the chip in my hand. I’ve seen these before. The chip-woman goes through the various lengths of time—thirty days, sixty days, etc. Then the people with multiple years get up. Years sober. Crazy. “And now, our main speaker and a good friend of mine...” That’s it. I’m past the point of no return. I’m lighting cigarette after cigarette. The cinder block walls do nothing to absorb the stench. It’s like being engulfed by an ashtray full of screwed up people. The windows aren’t helping—my lungs are capsizing. It looks nothing like the scenes I’ve seen in movies of anonymous meetings. I mean, where’s Bob Saget to accuse someone of never having sucked dick for coke? Kidding. But this isn’t, technically, my first time. I zone out. My friend Bobby went missing last year. We had no idea where he had gone until the rumor surfaced that he was in rehab. It’s Los Angeles. These things happen. So, by 2 the time I got wind of his whereabouts, he was out of rehab and living in a halfway house in the Valley. Despite the fact that the Valley is 9000 degrees year round, Tracy and I decided to visit him. Somehow, Tracy and I acquired boyfriends there. Seriously. We go to school with 2000 kids and we found boyfriends at a halfway house. Go figure. Fuck. I miss Tracy. Her boyfriend Jon was (still is) completely nuts (and nearing thirty), so we don’t talk anymore. My boyfriend Devin was the cutest idiot I’d ever met. Long after Bobby had been released from Progress House, Devin was still living there, so I would take the three buses out to the middle of the Valley and visit him. There was one time we were sitting in the garage (where smoking was more than allowed—it was encouraged) and somehow got on the subject of what we wanted our successors to do with our bodies once we died. “I want to be cremated. And then have my ashes shot into space.” Devin told me, his words wandering. “I can understand the whole cremation thing. But why have them shot into space?” I asked, shooting out of my usual daze with a twinge of concern for my boyfriend’s wellbeing. “Well, you know... so when Aliens find my body they can reconstruct me and fix me and teach me their ways.” He returned. “Devin, honey... fire creates a chemical change. Chemical changes are irreversible. Besides, your ashes would spread… And seriously? That’s impossible.” Chemical changes are irreversible—what am I doing? I looked into his doe-eyes that looked so young even though he was eighteen. He had a spark about him, this youth that 3 seeped out of his pores. He had cut his hair oddly the week before and looked like Beaker from the Muppets. “No, you’re missing a major part of the equation.” Oh God, I didn’t even want to hear it. “And what’s that?” “The Aliens have different technology.” Up until that exact moment I was under the impression that girls dated older guys for their mental maturity. It was rough. I was ready to break up with him. But, he was sweet and funny and he really liked me. And he made incredible French toast. He was always trying to drag me to things for AA or NA or CA or some other A. He seemed to go to all of the anonymous programs that existed. I’m not even sure if he did all the drugs that headlined the meetings. Somehow, he eventually dragged me to a CA meeting with him and a few of the other disaffected youth living in the house. Beyond being thrust into a world I had never entered, their house manager slash babysitter bribed me to read the preamble at the start of the meeting. He said he’d buy me a pack of cigarettes if I read it and stood up as a newcomer. I agreed, wondering if taking a screwed up kid to a meeting nullified the act of contributing to the delinquency of a minor. But, I can’t buy my own cigarettes, so, really… think I was going to say no? Devin was having his sobriety birthday that day. I had to do the girlfriend thing. I had to go. I was frightened. These people were telling stories about things I couldn’t imagine. I didn’t want to listen to any of them. I shut them off, observed their faces, and 4 sat in