A fiercely individualist Goth girl wakes up to discover that the whole world has gone Goth and she's actually -- gag -- popular.
Jade Leigh is a nonconformist who values individuality above all else. She has a small group of like-minded Goth friends who wear black, dabble in the dark arts, and thrive outside the norm. They're considered the "freaks" of their high school. But when Jade's smart mouth lands her in trouble -- again -- her principal decides to teach her a lesson she'll never forget.
Taken to a remote location where she is strapped down and sedated, Jade wakes up in an alternate universe where she rules the school. But her best friends won't talk to her, and the people she used to hate are all Goth. Only Clarik, the mysterious new boy in town, operates outside all the cliques. And only Mercedes, the Barbie clone Jade loathes, believes that Jade's stuck in a virtual reality game -- because she's stuck there, too, now living the life of a "freak." Together, they realize they might never get back to reality...and that even if they do, things might never be the same.
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July 07, 2006
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Excerpt from Oh My Goth by Gena Showalter
When people look at me, they automatically assume I'm dark and weird. Why can't they see the truth I'm just a girl, trying to find my place in the world.
From the journal of Jade Leigh
God, I hate school.
I'm sitting in trig, listening (not really) to Mr. Parton drone on and on about angles and measurements. As if I care. As if I'll ever use that stuff outside of this classroom.
Honestly, I'd rather be anywhere else. Even home, where my dad begins almost every conversation with, "You should lose the black clothes and wear something with color." Puhlease. Like I want to look like every Barbie clone in Hell High, a.k.a. Oklahoma's insignificant Haloway High School. Ironically, Dad doesn't appreciate the bright blue streaks in my originally blond/now-dyed-black hair. Go figure. That's color, right
With my elbows resting on my desktop, I dropped my forehead into my upraised palms and closed my eyes. Mr. Parton continued to blah, blah, blah (or, as he'd tell you, talk), and his superior, I-know-the-answers-therefore-I-am-God voice grated against my nerves.
Was I surprised No. He always talked to us like that, as if we were dumb for not already knowing how to work math equations we'd never encountered before. He even got mad when we asked questions ' God forbid we actually learn, right ' and generally treated us like total dumbwits.
Fifteen minutes, thirty-seven seconds before bell. Translation: fifteen minutes, thirty-seven seconds of me wishing for an apocalyptic destruction of the universe so my misery would end.
What had I done to deserve this kind of torture Talk back to my dad Who didn't Ditch a few classes Show me one person who hasn't. Pierce my nose Well '
"If Miss Leigh will give me the honor of her attention," Mr. Parton snapped, "I'll explain the relation between sins and chords."
I didn't glance up, didn't want to encourage him. Really, when would this end
"Are you paying attention, Miss Leigh, or are you praying you never come into contact with a wooden stake "