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The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks

E. Lockhart
"Frankie is smart, sharp, funny . . . and possibly a criminal mastermind"
The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks – picture

Frankie is smart, sharp, funny . . . and possibly a criminal mastermind

“As a girl, Frankie knows she is supposed to play by the rules, but the rules were made by Old Boys for boys and therefore are not her rules to begin with.” – THE NEW YORK TIMES

So Frankie Landau-Banks decides to take matters into her own hands, outsmarting the secret all-male society at her rich kid boarding school by tricking the members, including her own boyfriend, into believing her increasingly outrageous commands are their leader’s.

Undaunted by her male peers, Frankie contests the old-fashioned idea that it’s the boys who rule the school proving that girls are not to be dismissed – even by her own father, a former member of the all-male society himself!

Witty and sharp from the author of We Were Liars, this book will “challenge girls’ images of themselves, who they are in relation to boys and why.” – THE NEW YORK TIMES

Publication Date: Thu 6 Nov 2014
ISBN Paperback: 9781471404405
ISBN Ebook: 9781471404412

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Author

E. Lockhart

E. Lockhart is the author of nine novels including WE WERE LIARS, a New York Times bestseller; THE DISREPUTABLE HISTORY OF FRANKIE LANDAU-BANKS, a Michael L. Printz Award Honor Book, a finalist for the National Book Award and winner of the Cybils Award for Best Young Adult Novel; FLY ON THE WALL, DRAMARAMA, and the Ruby Oliver quartet: THE BOYFRIEND LIST, THE BOY BOOK, THE TREASURE MAP OF BOYS, and REAL LIVE BOYFRIENDS. She co-authored HOW TO BE BAD with Lauren Myracle and Sarah Mlynowski. Visit her online at: emilylockhart.com or on Twitter: @elockhart.

Extract

Frankie left her stack of books lying on the floor and headed for the mailboxes in the main building. The lobby was deserted but for past headmasters and board presidents glowering down from paintings on the walls. Frankie stuck her tongue out at them and opened her mailbox, hands shaking. Inside was a pale blue envelope sealed with red sealing wax like a Victorian love letter. "Frankie Landau-Banks," the card inside read, in glued-on letters cut from a newspaper. The rest of the words were printed on a computer and would have been the same for all recipients: Tell no one you have received this invitation. On Saturday night, ten minutes after curfew, dress in black. Get some alcohol if you can. Come to the golf course. Do not be seen! Your partner in this life of crime is- And here there was a space, and letters were glued in again: "-Matthew Livingston." There was no signature, no hint of who had sent the invitation. Frankie flipped the card over. Nothing. She looked again at the envelope. Stamped into the red sealing wax was a line drawing of a dog with droopy ears. A basset hound. Senior had been a Basset at Alabaster. Every couple of months he took Frankie and Zada out to a fancy Boston steak house with some old friends of his- Hank Sutton (CEO of a paper company), William Steerforth (a high-profile lawyer), and Dr. John Montague (head of a Boston-area hospital). The men usually finished off two bottles of wine and three large steaks while Frankie and Zada ate cheese fondue. They would get silly, the Old Boys, from all the wine and animal protein-and they'd talk about the Bassets. It was a secret society, but what precisely for was hard to tell. Senior's reminiscences were largely of campus escapades like posting mysterious coded messages on the message boards or sneaking out after curfew. He and his friends seemed to want Frankie and Zada to know the society existed-and that they'd been members; but they didn't want to answer any direct questions. One night as they all sat looking at the remains of a heavy meal spread out across a soiled white tablecloth, the Old Boys did admit they'd kept a record of their misdeeds in a notebook they called The Disreputable History. But when Frankie asked Mr. Sutton what they'd written in it, he laughed and shook his head. "Now if I told you that, it wouldn't be a secret, would it?"