Before we dive in, here's a bit about the book from Goodreads:
Growing up across the street from each other, Scott and Cath have been best friends their entire lives. Cath would help Scott with his English homework, he would make her mix tapes (it's the 80's after all), and any fight they had would be forgotten over TV and cookies. But now they've graduated high school and Cath is off to college while Scott is at home pursuing his musical dreams.
During their first year apart, Scott and Cath's letters help them understand heartache, annoying roommates, family drama and the pressure to figure out what to do with the rest of their lives. And through it all, they realize that the only person they want to turn to is each other. But does that mean they should be more than friends? The only thing that's clear is that change is an inescapable part of growing up. And the friends who help us navigate it share an unshakable bond.
And now for a taste of We Are Still Tornadoes:
AGEE’S MEN’S CLOTHING
Where Men and Boys Shop
EAST BLOOMFIELD, MARYLAND
September 2, 1982
I’m appauled that you would accuse me of going through your panties when I left that heartwarming note in your suitcase. Appauled, I tell you. (Did I spell “appauled” correctly? If not, please correct it for me.) Just so we’re clear, are you talking about the yellow bikini ones with the stars on the hip that were packed right beneath your running shoes? Or the light blue bikini ones with the white polka dots? Or the hot pink ones? Or the orange-and-red ones? Or that really big beige pair that you must have stolen from your grandmother?
Seriously, though, your stupid dog knocked over the entire suitcase when I was trying to stick the note inside. I had to scramble to put everything back into the suitcase. And that’s the story I’ll tell the police!
Anyway, unless your roommate hung it up to be funny, the HANG IN THERE, BABY poster is pretty scary. Didn’t Mrs. Wilkins have that same stupid poster behind her desk in fourth grade? But your Elvis Costello poster’s even scarier, if you ask me. You’d never even heard of Elvis Costello until I got you to listen to him over the summer, and now you have his poster up on your wall to try to convince everyone that you’re the cool chick in the dorm? How sad. How very, very sad. You better pray I don’t come down to visit you in whatever state Wake Forest is in and tell all your new buddies about how you were still listening to Tony Orlando and Dawn just a few months ago. Yes, you’d better get on your knees and pray, college girl.
On a different note, my job is terrible. The days are endless. That’s what I get for working at my father’s store, I suppose. Yes, I know, it’s my own damn fault. If I’d just “buckled down” and “put my nose to the grindstone” and gotten some decent “grades,” I could have gone off to college like you and everyone else in our class, but I “didn’t” do those things, and it’s too late to “cry over spilled milk.” I “made my bed,” and now I have to “lie” in it. I imagine I’ll work at “Agee’s Men’s Clothing” until it becomes “Agee & Son’s Men’s Clothing.” Then someday my father will die—it’s going to be a heart attack, in case you want to bet—and it will become “Agee’s Men’s Clothing” again. I will have spent my whole life selling clothes to people in this “one-horse town,” and I will be “fat” and “old” and “disgusting.” But your mother will still have a crush on me.
I think I use quotation marks too much. What do you “think,” college girl?
And I really do think your mother has a crush on me. (By the way, I saw her walking Plum last night. I assume she’s feeding her, too.)
Oh, did I mention that Samantha broke up with me? I know I didn’t mention it, but I waited a few paragraphs to tell you to make it sound casual. Did it work? Anyway, after we agreed that we would date long-distance while she was at college, she sent me a letter telling me she’d met someone else at school and didn’t think it would be fair to lead me on. She sent me the letter after her thirdday at college. Three days, can you believe it? Honestly, I’m more surprised than hurt. I figured we could stick it out until Christmas, at the very least. But three days? I’ve had pimples that have lasted longer than that. I’ve had gas that’s lasted longer than that. You get the point.
I have to go do something very important right now, at least as far as you know. Hope you’re having fun at school, college girl.
P.S. Did I tell you that my dad is giving me a 10% discount off anything at the store? How cool is that? (I’m being serious. I really want to know how cool that is. I think the answer is, “Not very,” but I’m not sure.)
P.P.S. Want me to send you some Tony Orlando and Dawn albums to listen to when you get homesick?
P.P.P.S. Three days! Can you believe it?
September 6, 1982
My Dearest Scottie,
I knew Plum knocked over the suitcase. I asked my mom how you left me a note in my suitcase since my dad made you give back the key to our house after that party, and she said she let you go up to my bedroom, but she heard Plum knock over the suitcase and heard you cursing a blue streak. So you’re off the hook. For now.
And I’ll deal with the dorm room poster thing in a minute.
But first, if you’re going to insist on calling me “college girl,” then I’m going to start calling you “underachiever guy.” Or “really bad speller boy.” How does that work for you? (By the way, it’s “appalled.”)
And yes, you do overuse quotation marks. Particularly since you also misuse quotation marks. Who puts “grades” in quotation marks? Oh, yeah—you do. Which is why I had to “help you” through “English class” all during “high school,” underachiever guy.
I’m sorry work sucks, but I love your dad’s store! I love everything about it. I really do, although I’ve never been there for eight hours at a time. Maybe it will get more interesting when it gets busier for the holidays. Or maybe you’ll move up and get more involved in other aspects of the business. (There are other aspects, right?) I don’t know, but your dad always seems happy and that’s where he’s worked forever, so it can’t be that bad, right? (I have some very fond memories of coming into the store to see you, and your dad calling me his “little Catherine” and sneaking me some hard candies. Speaking of which, you might want to check under that last suit rack in the back corner. I never really liked the orange ones.) Or maybe you’ll change your mind and go to college. Despite your quotation mark “challenges,” and despite your spelling challenges, you are way smarter than most of the people here. Besides me, of course.
You think my mom has a crush on you? Please. My mother is thrilled that you will eat her cooking. My dad and I know better. And yelling the F-word (as my mom would say) at Plum when she knocked over my suitcase didn’t endear you to my mother at all, trust me. Although I have to admit that I enjoyed making her repeat it over the phone.
As for your news about Samantha, because you waited until the end of your letter before telling me about her, I’ve delayed in responding. That’s called tit for tat. (Insert a lame sex joke here.) Samantha, Samantha, Samantha. What to say about Sa-Man-Tha? Um, okay. This is what I’m going to say about Samantha. Nothing. And do you know why? Because by the time you get this, Samantha may have come crawling back to you. Hopefully, literally crawling 200 miles on those bony little knees of hers from the Western Kentucky College for Morons, or whatever the name is of that “college” she’s attending. My roommate, who’s hanging in there, keeps saying, “This is just like camp! This is just like camp!” I’m guessing that she means that this whole college thing doesn’t seem real. So maybe that’s what Samantha’s going through. Maybe she’ll wake up and not be hungover for once in her life and realize what a huge mistake she’s made. That you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her. That she was lucky to have you. And that, really, she didn’t deserve a minute of your time. But until I know that this really is a “breakup” and not just one of her Boone’s Farm–fueled, bubble-headed freak-outs, I’ll keep my opinions to myself.
Okay, on to the dorm room poster thing. Yes, I know you are Mr. Cool Music Guy and got Elvis’s My Aim Is True before anybody else in the galaxy except for Elvis himself and maybe his mother, but I had to put something on my side of the room. Dorothy’s mom showed up with matching black-and-gold Wake Forest bedspreads, curtains, and bulletin boards for both of us. I kid you not. I’d never even met them before, and they’re going to pick out my bedspread? I said something like, “Well, gee, thanks, but I brought my own stuff.” Her mom was clearly miffed and started banging nails into the walls and hanging up all these framed posters all over the place. Elvis is all I had, and I was sort of glad that it clashed with all their matchy-matchy stuff. Besides, “Accidents Will Happen” is like a theme song here. I’ve never seen so many people throw up! In bushes, in hallways, sometimes they even make it to the bathroom. It’s disgusting. And then I hum “Accidents will happen…” and think about riding around town with you, listening to it on the tape deck, and then it’s not so bad.
I have to go to the library. Classes started and there’s a lot to do. They don’t call this place “Work Forest” for nothing. And I have to tell you about my Calculus professor. My parents would die if they knew they were cutting a big check to Wake Forest to pay for this dork. He reminds me of Mr. Laire. Which isn’t a compliment.
Write soon and let me know if Samantha is as dumb as I think she is. About the breakup, I mean.
P.S. No, I don’t want to bet on how your father will die! What is wrong with you?
P.P.S. Your dad’s 10% discount? Not very cool. He used to give me 20% just for being so darned lovable.
P.P.P.S. Tony Orlando and Dawn are awesome, and “Knock Three Times” is super awesome. Don’t pretend I was the only one who would dance to that song. I may even have pictures of you dancing to it that I could use as evidence.
Ha! I don't know about you, but this sounds super cute and I definitely need super cute this week! Plus, it's set in the 80s and I am a sucker for anything set in the era of my childhood :)