Download and Read Free Online Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist Free PDF d0wnl0ad, audio books, books to read, good books to. The New York Times bestselling he-said/she-said rock n' roll romance that inspired the motion picture starring Michael Cera (Juno, Arrested Development). Nick Norah's Infinite Playlist by Rachel. Cohn PDF. CLICK to next five minutes? " Nick frequents New York's indie rock scene nursing a broken heart. Norah is.
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Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist Pdf is available here. You can easily download Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist Pdf, Nick and Norah's Infinite. Nick frequents New York's indie rock scene nursing a broken heart. Co-written by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan, co-author of WILL GRAYSON, WILL GRAYSON with John Green (THE FAULT IN OUR STARS), NICK & NORAH’S INFINITE PLAYLIST is a sexy, funny roller coaster of a story that. It all starts when Nick asks Norah to be his girlfriend for five minutes. He only needs five minutes to avoid his ex-girlfriend, whoâ€™s just walked in to his.
My ngers scan the buzz cut of his hair back there, and I feel goose bumps rising on his neck. My parents would disown me if they knew I was in this club tonight. Ill give you a start: Here, Nick, theyre yoursjust write more for me. The next band is at the side of the stage. Cleveland Central Catholic High School. Tris can have Carolines rejects, but shed never offer up one of her own to Caroline.
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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.
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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.
Im going to need another talk with Uncle Lou about standards vis--vis owning and operating a club. The guy can snag great new talentthe raw, hungry kind who are ready to bleed their intestines or other useful body parts onto Crazy Lous stage for the opportunity to perform on itbut he doesnt know shit about how to run this business. Look at the underage Jersey riffraff he lets in! He probably even comps the beers for the band members!
Why do you think so many of these assholes are alcoholics and junkies? Theyve got the music right. They can play the core punk songs with convictionhard, fast, angrybut they havent wised up yet to the fact that the real punk goes down now with a straight edge: The real punk now is the only punk left after all the madness: Well, dudes, drink up, because when I get back from South Africa next year and take over managing this club as Uncle Lou has promised instead of reapplying to Brown as I promised my parents, theres gonna be a new sheriff here on the Lower East Side, my friends.
Have your lecherous, skanky fun now, because the clock is running out on you. I may reconsider the future make-out ban, however. I dont know why, but I do that thing Caroline does to her male victims, where instead of taking the hand of NoMo, I place my hand at the back of his neck and scratch the nape softly, possessively, while Tris watches. My ngers scan the buzz cut of his hair back there, and I feel goose bumps rising on his neck.
I likee. There is some satisfaction in seeing Triss bottom lip nearly fall to her chin in shock. Thats the thing about Tris: Shes never subtle. Whatever Im doing, it works. She storms away, speech- less. That was easier than I expected. I look at my watch. I believe my new boyfriend and I have about two minutes forty-ve before we break up. I close my eyes and do the slight head turn, angling for another visi- tation from his lips.
Caroline says I am frigid. Sometimes I think shes teasing me to repeat the party line of my Evil Ex, so I clarify: You mean Im not easy? She claries: No, bitch, I mean you intimidate guys with a look or a comment before they can even decide if they want a chance with you.
Youre so judgmental. Along with frigid. NoMo must know this about me, because he doesnt come back in for more mouth-to-mouth contact. He says, How the hell do you know Tris? Then I remember. Tris called him NICK. Thats him! The Hoboken boy! Does NICK not think its weird that he dated her that long and never once met any girls from her school? But of course Tris wouldnt introduce him to us. She wouldnt be worried wed rat out her indiscretions to her boyfriendshed be afraid hed fall for Caroline.
Tris can have Carolines rejects, but shed never offer up one of her own to Caroline. Tris is so Single White Female, we like to joke that Caroline should get a restraining order against her, except Tris provides us too much amusement to completely let her out of our reach. Its like a love-hate thing we have go- ing with her. We dont feel guilty about it because theres only a month of school left and I cant imagine well ever see her again after our have a great summer, good luck in col- lege phony sentiment yearbook nales.
And karmically, I have repaid my mean-girl debt to Tris many times over. If she passed Chemistry and Calculus this year, its because of me. Fuck, if she graduates at all, its because of me. I dont bother answering Nicks question about how the hell I know Tris. Ive got to nd Caroline. I stand up on the barstool.
Thats the only way Ill nd her with all these people and this loud music and this stink sweat and this beer energy and this never-ending day that feels like its only beginning in the middle of this night. I place my hand on Nicks head to steady my balance as I scan the crowd, and my hand cant help but rummage through his mess of hair, just a little. I see Caroline huddling with Randy at a corner table by the brick wall just off the stage, to the right of Hunter from Hunter Does Hunter, who is now taking the mic.
I dont know what song his band had prepared but the lyrics Hunter sings are clearly being made up on the spot and have nothing to do with the fast and furious guitar chords: Dev, go home with me, Dev Dev Dev, I want you to fuck this man.
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. Seriously, Nick says, how the hell do you know Tris? His grip pinches the watch on my wrist, and the ow of the pinch turns my eyes from looking for Caroline to looking straight at him. I notice how lost he looks, yet eager for me to stay with him, his eyes kind and angry at the same time, and the noticing makes me remember a lyric from some song he wrote for Tris that she passed around in Latin class because she thought it was so lame.
I would give body parts to have a guy write something like that for me. My kidney? Oh, both of them? Here, Nick, theyre yoursjust write more for me. Ill give you a start: Nick, lets hear some lyrics.
I want to stomp my foot in frustrationfor him, and for me. Because I know that whatever Tris did or said to him, its whats given him that haunted puppy-dog look of pathetic despair. Shes the reason he will probably become an embit- tered old fuck before hes even of legal drinking age, distrust- ing women and writing rude songs about them, and basically from here into eternity thinking all chicks are lying cheating sluts because one of them broke his heart. Hes the type of guy that makes girls like me frigid.
Im the girl who knows hes capable of poetry, because like I said, there are things I just know.
Im the one who could give him that old-fashioned song title of a thing called Devotion and True Love How- ever Complicated , if he ever gave a girl like me a second glance. Im the less-than-ve-minute girlfriend who for one too-brief kiss fantasized about ditching this joint with him, going all the way punk with him at a fucking jazz club in the Village or something.
Maybe I would have treated him to borscht at Veselka at ve in the morning, maybe I would have walked along Battery Park with him at sunrise, holding his hand, knowing I would become the one who would believe in him.