I don’t even know where to begin when talking (well, writing, if you want to be literal about it) about what Sloppy Firsts has meant to me. Let me preface all of this by saying that I’m in a public place right now: the Starbucks inside a Barnes and Noble, and it’s not really the optimum location for writing about this series because I’m pretty sure I’m going to cry. I didn’t even bring a couple of napkins to the table with me in preparation. Way to go, Kelly. (By the way…off topic, I know, but this Starbucks doesn’t have the brown recycled napkins that Starbucks [Starbuckses?] are supposed to have. They throw piles of white square cocktail napkins on the beverage bar. That seems inappropriate to me, not fitting with the Starbucks vibe at all. How do I know this if I didn’t bring any back to my table, you ask? I used one to wipe the drop of coffee I dripped while mixing my drink, like a good former barista who hated when customers treated me like their personal housekeeper.) Okay, sorry about that. I really hope you’re still reading, ’cause it’ll get better (I think, at least).
I stumbled upon Sloppy Firsts in my public library’s YA section as a college…junior, probably (I’m 28 now). I actually discovered it a little late, because Second Helpings was already out (I know this because I checked it out immediately afterward, then placed one of those free-shipping-over-$25 Amazon orders and bought both books at once). Part of me is envious of girls who were fortunate enough to have met Jess while they themselves were still in high school, because I think that reading these books can instill many high school girls with hope (ha. I swear I didn’t notice that until I was typing my handwritten copy). Looking back, though, I think I came across the series at just the right time.
All my life, I’ve struggled with the push-and-pull of being an insufferably shy late bloomer with an IQ scoring at “gifted” levels. My elementary school teachers pushed my mother to skip me ahead a grade, but she refused, wanting me to have more opportunities for socialization (she didn’t know then just how hopeless that would be; my already low self esteem combined with a tumultuous home life meant that classmates were rarely invited to my house). By middle school, my mother saw how awkward and out of place I was in school and allowed me to do independent studies to graduate high school a year early. College wasn’t any easier, though: I turned seventeen just before my freshman year, didn’t have a license yet, and had to get dropped off and picked up by my mom for the first few months at my local private college (just imagine how many friends were made that way!). Through it all, my grades were stellar, and my teachers told me I was “going places” — I, on the other hand, felt trapped in a body and life that I couldn’t wait to grow into. I couldn’t fall asleep at night, my mind racing through my decisions and conversations of the day, wondering why interpersonal things just seemed so much easier to everyone else and why I couldn’t get the hang of it. My mother lectured me constantly about this, telling me that I “thought too much” and needed to get out of my own head if I ever wanted to enjoy my own life and accept myself. She saw that I was making myself sick with worry and told me that thinking so much wasn’t good for me. I couldn’t help but think that I was the only person who suffered from such an overactive mind and that this was a curse I was destined to try and keep caged up for the rest of my life.
Enter Jessica Darling.
Her GPA and SAT scores were even higher than mine; she had a sarcastic streak that I rarely had the balls to think, never mind speak aloud; and — miracle of miracles! — she was a strong, smart female protagonist with a mind as dizzyingly overactive as my own. Here was someone I could relate to! Sometimes it’s scary to see yourself in a character, because you see your flaws as well as your strengths. However, as I explained to my husband this week when I told him about this anniversary and contest (and found myself, not surprisingly, becoming misty-eyed), Jessica Darling made me feel less alone. She made me laugh, she made me cry, but most importantly of all, she showed me that there were other people like me out there: people who think too much; people who are cynical about most things, especially love; but people who still insist, deep deep down, on hoping for the best out of their worlds. It’s funny, but I don’t think I knew how much I was meant to write until I watched Jess come to the same realization. Keep in mind: I’d been journaling and writing stories since childhood, but I’d never linked my racing thoughts and unique perspectives with my writing before and viewed this as a gift. This blew my freakin’ mind. As I watched Jessica grow, mature, fall, fail, love, learn, cry, and dance, I saw my own life transcribed on the pages in front of me. I’ve disappointed myself more times than I can count, but I am who I am because of what I’ve been through, and because I can’t stop thinking (or writing) about it. Thanks for creating a character that kept me company through the years, that was the best inspiration a girl could have, because she was the me I wanted to be.
Aaaannnnddd now I’m sniffling. The other patrons are gonna think I’ve been writing a breakup letter…
Thank you for this! Jessica Darling has kept a lot of us misfits company over the years.