Nick Norah's Infinite Playlist by Rachel. Cohn PDF. CLICK to Download THE BOOK CAN BE DELETED by THE OWNER in THIS CASE (the chapters can be. [PDF] Read Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist by Rachel Cohn AudioBooks Read. Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist by Rachel Cohn. Book Information. The New York . Editorial Reviews. From School Library Journal. Grade 9 Up What happens when two witty, Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist by [Cohn, Rachel, Levithan, David].
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Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist by Rachel Cohn & David Levithan - Free download as caite.info Page 3 05/29/ 3 .. book. From behind him I dont see Caroline but I do see that stupid bitch, Tris, rhymes with. Get news about Young Adult books, authors, and more. Also get news Best Seller. Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist (Movie Tie-in Edition) by Rachel Cohn and. And then, with one kiss, Nick and Norah are off on an adventure set against the to create a book that is sure to grab readers of all ages and never let them go.
Are You Randy? I jump down from the barstool and take off toward Caro- line, but Nicks hand clenches my wrist from behind me, pulling me back to him. Download our Spring Fiction Sampler Now. Its not like I wear a Badge of Straight or anything. And she had said yes, and it hadnt been a lie then.
When not writing during spare hours on weekends, David Levithan is editorial director at Scholastic and the founding editor of… More about David Levithan. Read An Excerpt.
Paperback 2 —. Buy the Audiobook Download: Apple Audible downpour eMusic audiobooks. Add to Cart Add to Cart. Also by Rachel Cohn , David Levithan. See all books by Rachel Cohn , David Levithan. About David Levithan When not writing during spare hours on weekends, David Levithan is editorial director at Scholastic and the founding editor of… More about David Levithan. Product Details.
Inspired by Your Browsing History. Praise "Electric, sexy. Related Articles. Looking for More Great Reads? Download our Spring Fiction Sampler Now. Download Hi Res. And then I seeoh fuck nothat shes not alone, that shes with some guy, and while shell say shes come to watch me, theres no doubt in my mind that shes come so I can watch her.
Its over, shed said, and wasnt that the biggest lie of all? I am stumbling through the notes and Dev is onto the next verse and Thom is playing a little faster than he should, so I have to catch up as she leans into this guy and rocks her head like Im making this music for her, when if I could, I would take it all away and give her as much silence as shes given me pain.
I try to keep up with Dev and Thom. Were called The Fuck Offs tonight, but thats a new name and itll probably only last three gigs before Dev comes up with an- other.
Dude, I had to tell him, nobody wants to see a band called Dickache. Devs out to pierce the pierced, tattoo the tattooed, and have his way with the messy punk boys who come to our shows not knowing theyll end up wanting to mess around with the guy challenging How big is your cocker spaniel?
Devs from a town in Jersey called Lodi, and that makes perfect sense to me, since hes nothing if not an idol in reverse. Thoms from South Or- ange, and has only had an h in his rst name for the past two months. Im from Hoboken, as close to the city as you can get without actually being in the city.
On nights like this, with a chance to play in front of more than just our friends, Id swim across the Hudson if I had to, in order to get to this cave of a club. At least until Tris shows up and I nd myself bleeding invisibly across the stage. Dev is taking the song somewhere its never been before: Im rutting now, waiting for the wind- down.
Thom looks like hes on the verge of a solo, which is never a good place for Thom to be. I move my feet, turn away from her, try to pretend shes not there, which is the biggest fucking joke Ive ever not laughed at. I try to get Devs atten- tion from the periphery, but hes too busy wiping the sweat on his chest to notice. Finally, though, he gets a burst of en- ergy strong enough to end the thing on.
So he throws out his arm and howls and I run us into the ground with a nal lurch. The crowd sends us a burst of their own noise. I try to hear her voice, try to separate that single pitch from the shouts and applause. Three weeks, two days, and twenty-three hours ago. And shes already with someone else. The next band is at the side of the stage.
The owner of the club is motioning that our time is up. I am not so gone that Im not gratied by the calls for more, by that little sound of letdown when the lights go up to show the crowd a clearer path back to the bar.
I am the equipment bitch for this gig, so while Dev jumps into the crowd to nd his most willing ad- mirer and Thom blushingly retreats to his understanding- but-emo boyfriend, I have to immediately detox so I can pack up our gear. I go from chords to cords, amped to amps. One of the guys from the next band is cool and helps me re- cover the cases from the back corner of the stage.
But Im the only one who can touch the instruments, putting them care- fully to bed for the night. Then I offer to help the new band set up, and am glad when they say yes so I can be connecting them to the soundboard instead of spending all my energy resisting her.
My eye is still used to searching for her in a crowd. My breath is still used to catching when I see her and the light is angled just right. My body is still used to hers moving next to mine. So the distanceanything short of contactis a con- stant rejection. We were together for six months, and in each of those months my desire found new ways to be fueled by her.
Its over cant kill that. All of the songs I wrote in my head were for her, and now I cant stop them from playing. This null soundtrack. And then shed said, No, Im tired of you, and I slipped into the surreal-but-true universe where we were over and I wasnt over it. She was no longer any kind of here that I could get to. I keep my back to the crowd as I store the equipment and instruments somewhere safe.
Then comes the moment when I cant keep my back to it anymore, since theres only so long that you can stare at a wall before you feel like an idiot.
I am saved by the next band, which cranks the volume even higher and soon engulfs us all in beautiful chaos. Theyre called Are You Randy?
I dare a glance into the crowd and I dont see her anymore. I dont see very many hers at allits a sea of hims pressing and crashing against one another as the lead singer tells them the state of things, breaking into bits and pieces of I Want You to Want Me and Blue Moon and All Apologies as he dances through his own seven veils. I think Tris will like this band, and the fact that I know this stabs me again, because all the knowledge of what she likes is perfectly useless now.
I wonder who the guy is. I won- der if the two of them knew each other three weeks and three days ago. Im glad I didnt really see him because then Id think of them naked.
Now I just think of her naked, and its such a vivid touch memory that my ngers actually move to take it in. I turn my head, as if Ive been actually seeing her, and see Thom and his boyfriend Scot making out to the mu- sic in a corner-of-the-universe way. Dev, I gure, is still at the bar, still performing.
The crowd is mostly older than uscollege or should-be-in-collegeand Im aware of not really tting in. Some of the older guys in the crowd check me out, give me a nod. Its not like I wear a Badge of Straight or anything. I nod back sometimes, when I think its a musical acknowledg- ment and not an invitation.
I always keep moving. I nd Dev at the bar, talking to a guy our age who looks familiar in that Type kind of way. When I get to where theyre standing, Im introduced as the bass god, Nick, and hes introduced as Hunter from Hunter. Dev thanks me for being equipment bitch, and from the way the conversation doesnt continue from there I know Im interrupting. If it was Thom, my agitation would probably be noticed.
But Dev needs you to spell emotions out for him, and right now Im not in the mood. So I just tell him where I left the stuff and pretend Im going off to search for a clear spot on the bar to summon the bartender from. And once Im pretending thats the truth, I gure it might as well be the truth. I still cant see Tris, and theres a small part of me thats wondering if it was even her in the crowd. Maybe it was someone who looked like Tris, which would explain the guy who didnt look like any- body.
Are You Randy? I wish for their sake I could say the club falls into silence at this, but in truth the air is one-half conversation. Still, thats better than average, and the band gets a lunge of applause and cheers.
The sound is clear and spirited, and makes me think of Little League. The girl is dressed in a annel shirt, and I cant tell whether thats because shes trying to bring back the only fashion style of the past fty years that hasnt been brought back or whether its because the shirt is as damn comfortable as it looks.
She has very pale skin and a haircut that reads pri- vate school even though shes messed it up to try to hide it. The next band opened for Le Tigre on their last tour, and I gure this girls here to see them.
If I was a different kind of guy, I might try to strike up a friendly conversation, just to be, I dunno, friends. But I feel that if I talk to someone else right now, all Ill be able to do is unload.
Thom and Scot would probably be ready to go if I wanted them to, but Im pretty sure Dev hasnt gured out yet whether hes coming back with us or not, and Id be an asshole to put him on the spot and ask.
So Im stuck and I know it, and thats when I look to my right and see Tris and her new guy approaching the beer-spilled bar to order an- other round of whatever Im not having. Its denitely her, and Im denitely fucked, because the between-band rush is pressing toward me now and if I try to leave, Ill have to push my way out, and if I have to push my way out, shell see me making an escape and shell know for sure that I cant take it, and even if thats the goddamn truth I dont want her to have actual proof.
I am the old model and this is the new model and I could crash out a years worth of time on my bass and noth- ing, absolutely nothing, would change. She sees me. She cant fake surprise at seeing me here, because of course she fucking knew Id be here. So she does a little smile thing and whispers something to the new model and I can tell just from her expression that after they get their now-being-poured drinks they are going to come over and say hello and good show andcould she be so stupid and cruel?
And I cant stand the thought of it. I see it all unfolding and I know I have to do something anythingto stop it. So I, this random bassist in an average queercore band, turn to this girl in annel who I dont even know and say: I know this is going to sound strange, but would you mind being my girlfriend for the next ve minutes? Norah Randy from Are You Randy? Trust me. There are certain things a girl just knows, like that a fourth minute on a punk song is a bad, bad idea, or that no way does a Jersey-boy bassist with Astor Place hair who wears torn-up, bleach-stained black jeans and a faded black T-shirt with orange lettering that says When I say Jesus, you say Christ, swing down boy-boy alley; hes working the ironic punk boyJohnny Cash angle too hard to be a mo.
Maybe hes a little emo, I told Randy, but just be- cause he doesnt look like a Whitesnake-relic-reject like all of your band, does not automatically mean the guys gay.
The incidental fact of his straightness doesnt mean I want to be NoMos ve-minute girlfriend, like Im some 7-Eleven quick stop on his slut train. Only because I am the one loser here who hasnt lost all her senses to beer, dope, or hormones do I have the sense to hold back my original instinctto yell back FUCK, NO!
I always have to think about Caroline. I noticed NoMo loading equipment after his bands set while his bandmates abandoned him to score some action. I understand that scene. I am that scene, cleaning up everyone elses mess.
NoMo dresses so badhe has to be from Jersey. And if Jersey Boy is equipment bitch, he has a van.
The vans proba- bly a piece of scrap metal with a leaking carburetor that as likely as not will pop a tire or run out of gas in the middle of the Lincoln Tunnel, but its a risk I have to take.
Somebodys got to get Caroline home. Shes too drunk to risk taking her on the bus. Shes also so drunk shell go home with Randy if Im not there to take her back to my house where she can sleep it off. Groupie bitch. If I didnt love her so much, Id kill her. Shes lucky my parents love her just as much; her dad and stepmonster are away for the weekend, they dont give a fuck what she does, so long as she doesnt get pregnant or date any boy from a non-six-gure-plus-income household.
My parents, they adore Caroline, beautiful Caroline with the long caramel hair, the big cherry Tootsie Pop lips, the juve- nile delinquent arrest record. They wont care if she stum- bles from my room into the kitchen tomorrow afternoon all disheveled and hung over. Shes the one, not me, who meets their expectation of what the daughter of an Engle wood Cliffslivin, fat-cat record company CEO should be: Ive chosen a gap year on a kibbutz in South Africa over Brown. I wrote my Brown admissions essay about all the music Dad appropriated from The Street then goddamned ruined to make prot for The Man.
I am not a fuckin corporate hippie, Dad said, laughing, after he read the essay. Dad wont deny that hes responsible for giving Top 40 radio a disproportion- ate percentage of its suckiest hits, yet hes proud he indoctri- nated me from childhood in the sounds of every other kind of music out there so that now, at age eighteen, I can be a badass DJ when I want, but I am also an insufferable music snob.
My parents have also done me the misfortune of being hap- pily married for a quarter century, which no doubt dooms my own prospects of ever experiencing true love. Gold is not struck twice. My parents would disown me if they knew I was in this club tonight. Hell, I could be scoring weed in Tompkins Square Park right now, on my way to a bondage bar on Ave - nue D, and my parents would only applaud.
But this club, this is the one joint in all of Manhattan Im supposedly for- bidden from going to, owing to a long-simmering feud over a bad music deal between Dad and the club owner, Crazy Lou who used to be my godfather, Uncle Lou, until all that busi- ness leading Lou to be rechristened Crazy. Lous such an old punk he was around when The Ramones were junkie hustlers rst and musicians second, when punk meant some- thing other than a mass-marketing concept designed to help the bridge-and-tunnel crowd feel cool.
She inspires that kind of devotion in peo- ple. Its nauseating, except I am totally under Carolines spell, too, her lead minion, have been since nursery school. Damn, Ive lost Caroline again. She is big on Randy tonight, which is coolAre You Randy? But Im only 5-foot-4 on tippy toes, and 6-foot NoMo is standing in front of me, blocking my view, waiting to nd out if I want to be his ve-minute girlfriend and looking like that lost animal who goes around asking Are you my mother?
From behind him I dont see Caroline but I do see that stupid bitch, Tris, rhymes with bris, cuz thats what shell do to a guy, rip apart his piece. Shes doing her Tris strut with her big boobs sticking out in front of her, wiggling her ass in that way that gets the instant attention of every dumb schmo in her wake, even the gay boys, who seem to be highly repre- sented here tonight, NoMo notwithstanding.
Shes coming right toward me. How did she nd out Caroline and I would be here tonight? Does she have lookouts with text pagers set up every place Caroline and I go on a Saturday night, or what? Boyfriend to the rescue! God, I would do anything to avoid Tris recognizing me and trying to talk to me. I didnt expect NoMo to be such a good kisser. See this, Randy? But I am not looking for chemistry here, just a ride home for my girl.
I am also not looking for tongue, but NoMos wastes no time slid- ing its way into my mouth. My mouth revolts against my mind: Umm, feels good down here, steady girl, steaaaady! No matter how good he tastes, this ve-minute girlfriend still needs a few seconds to come up for air. I separate my mouth from his, hoping to catch my breath and hoping to catch Tris walking away from us without having noticed me after all. I feel like in this riot of people, I have been kicked in the stomach, but by the giddy police.
Forget about the need for oxygen. My mouth wants to go back to the place it just left. Unfortunately, Tris is standing right in front of us, hang- ing on to her latest slobber victim, who is near enough now that I can posi tively ID him as one of Carolines recent re- jects; hes buddies with Hunter from Hunter, whose band, Hunter Does Hunter, is scheduled to play next youre wel- come, Hunter, for the introduction to Lou.
Tris clutches her arm tight around the guys waist, probably squeezing out whatever remaining life that soul-sucking skank hasnt yet gotten out of him in the three weeks or so since Caroline gave him the heave-ho. Tris says, Nick? How do you two, like, know each other? As if her language is not enough indication, there is also the matter of her Hot Topic mallrat outt: She looks like a neon sign bumble- bee by way of early Debbie Harry rip-off.