Free Tesla's Attic (9781423155126) by Neal Shusterman

things she protected herself from with such subconscious force that it exhausted her. But to hear these things out loud—it both condemned her and freed her.
    She broke down into sobs. She knew it was all true. Yet, somehow, hearing herself speak the truth made it seem less powerful. Maybe she didn’t have to be afraid of it. And maybe someday, if she listened to her heart played back enough, she’d truly know herself.

W hile Caitlin’s interest in Nick was, at this moment in time, lukewarm, Petula Grabowski-Jones’s interest in him was red-hot.
    To say that Petula had a specific crush on Nick wouldn’t be entirely accurate. Petula loved anything new, be it technology or people.
    When it came to photography, however, she was very old school, and she enjoyed using her father’s classic 35mm Nikon just as much as her digital camera. “The best results are worth waiting for,” she always said—when referring to photography, but not to people. With people, she wanted instant results.
    As for the old box camera she had picked up at the garage sale, it was classic old school. In fact, it was beyond old school. More like preschool.
    She experimented with it, taking a picture of her father while he was leaning against the wall of the family room, talking on his cell phone and scratching his armpit. Petula preferred candids. They were infinitely more truthful and embarrassing. She developed the large negative in her tiny closet/darkroom, which, while barely adequate, did the job.
    The negative came out almost completely black, which she thought meant the camera was broken, but she decided to make a print from the negative anyway. As the nearly all-white positive image appeared in the tray of developing solution, Petula saw that the photo wasn’t blank at all. She had, in fact, taken a perfect photo of the family room wall, without her father in it.
    For a brief moment she entertained the exciting idea that her father was a vampire who would not appear in a picture, but, alas, he was far too lackluster for that. No, the solution had to be something else. She picked up the camera and looked at it from every side, finding Property of NT engraved in tiny letters on the bottom.
    She filed this information in the area of her brain reserved for things that required further investigation.
    The next day in school, Petula continued her observational study of Nick Slate. Others might call it stalking. Nick was performing his own observational study of Caitlin, who was traipsing around the school with a garage-sale device as well.
    Petula cornered Nick at his locker between classes. “You know she has a boyfriend.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œCome on, you’ve been staring at her like she’s a filet mignon sizzling on the grill. Why set yourself up for disappointment?”
    Nick slammed his locker. “I don’t even know you, Petula. Why are you trying to give me advice?”
    â€œI provide it as a public service,” she said, secretly thrilled that he remembered her name, and that he pronounced it correctly.
    â€œWell, if I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.”
    â€œNo, you wouldn’t. You’re like the other boys—too hormonal to see what’s right in front of your face.”
    â€œWell,” Nick said, “what’s in front of my face right now will make me late for class if it doesn’t get out of my face.”
    â€œSuit yourself.”
    This was going better than most of Petula’s other encounters with boys, and she held high hopes that they might have a future together.
    â€œOnce you come to your senses, check back with me,” she said. “My calendar’s pretty full, but I might be available for a date this weekend.”
    â€œSorry, Petula, but I got over pigtails in fourth grade.”
    That made her gasp. No one, absolutely no one, insulted Petula’s piggies.