For Annie, lists are how she keeps her whole life in order. And there is a lot to keep track of! Do you love Anastasia Krupnik, Ramona Quimby, and the Penderwicks? Then you will love Annie!
Annie's a shy fifth grader with an incredible memory and a love of making lists. It helps her keep track of things when they can seem a little out of control, like her family, her friends, and her life in a new place.
1. An incredible memory (really, it's almost photographic) that can get her in trouble.
2. A brother who is mad at her because he thinks she is the reason they had to move to Clover Gap, population 8,432.
4. A best friend who she is (almost) certain will always be her best friend.
5. New classmates, some of whom are nicer than others.
6. A rocky start finding her place in her new home.
From the author of The 47 People You'll Meet in Middle School, Annie's Life in Lists finds that even amid the chaos of everyday life, it's important to put things in order.
"Perfect for anyone who's ever worried about starting a new school, saying the wrong thing, dying of embarrassment, or losing a best friend. I loved getting to know Annie through her lists!" --Kelly Jones, author of Unusual Chickens for the Exceptional Poultry Farmer
An Excerpt fromAnnie's Life in Lists
Five things I hate about my real name, Andromeda
1. Everyone says, “That’s a weird name.”
2. No one knows how to spell it.
3. No one knows how to pronounce it. (You pronounce it like this: “Ann-drama-duh.”)
4. No one can remember it. (This one probably bothers me most, because I remember just about everything.)
5. Even though most people call me Annie, my brother says my nickname should be Drama or Duh. (His name is Ted, after my great-grandfather. Apparently, Mom and Dad saved all their naming flair for me.)
Three things I like about my name
1. My mom says I was named after her favorite constellation.
2. My dad says Andromeda was also a mythical princess.
3. My nickname, Annie
I am Annie. This is my life in lists.
Nine things I see when I look in the mirror
1. Freckles. Lots of them. Especially in summer, of course.
2. Indescribable hair color. Not indescribable like “indescribably beautiful!” Just really hard to describe. Not blond. Not brown. My Grandma Elaine calls it “dirty blond,” but I don’t like the sound of that.
3. Green eyes (my favorite part)
4. A bump on the bridge of a long nose (This I get from my mom.)
5. A little gap between my two front teeth
6. Almost always: a T-shirt
7. Almost always: leggings or jeans
8. In summer: flip-flops
9. In winter: sneakers or boots
Three things I never see when I look in the mirror
1. A dress
2. Expensive sneakers (My mom doesn’t “believe” in them.)
3. Smooth hair (It’s always kind of straggly, even five minutes after I’ve brushed it.)
Three things you can’t tell just by looking at me
1. I’m left-handed (although if you looked really closely, you might see that I always have pencil smudges on my left pinky from where my hand has dragged across my writing).
2. I’m allergic to amoxicillin.
3. I have an amazing memory.
Five things about my memory
1. I have a regular memory for things like spelling tests and phone numbers.
2. I have a not-so-great memory for things like bringing permission slips back to school and putting my homework folder in my backpack.
3. I definitely do not have a crime-solving photographic memory like Cam Jansen.
4. I have a weirdly amazing memory for things about people. I remember their names, what they wore on different days, who their brothers and sisters are, what their houses look like, and what their pets are named.
5. I remember things about people that they will never remember about me. In fact, there are kids at my school who don’t even know I exist, but I could tell you their names, their favorite sports, where they went on vacation, and what they ate for lunch.
Four things other people say about my memory
1. My mom says it runs in the family, and that some people just have amazing memories. (Hers is pretty good too. She remembers the names of all my grandparents’ cousins, even on my dad’s side. And her old friends tell her she’s like their “childhood Google,” because anytime they forget something from when they were kids--the name of a teacher, the secret nicknames they had for their crushes, the ending of a crazy story--they just ask her.)
2. My dad says I should be proud of how much I remember.
3. My best friend, Millie Lerner, thinks it’s cool because:
a. I can tell her the names of all the fifth-grade boys she thinks are “interesting.”
b. I remember all the teachers’ first names (from reading the PTA directory one day while I was bored).
c. When someone annoys her, I make her feel better by reminding her of embarrassing things they did when they were younger. (For example, when Millie got glasses, Hannah Krenzler called her a four-eyed freak and I told Millie not to sweat what Hannah says, because she used to shove her teddy bear’s fur up her nose.)
4. Ted says my memory is creepy and makes me seem like a stalker.
I tell him you would not believe how much you would learn if you just paid attention. But Ted still has a habit of nudging me when he thinks I’m going to say too much. Especially when I’m remembering something about him and someone in his grade. Especially if it’s a girl. (Like when we saw Sophia Karlin in Key Food and I reminded him of how he once said she looked like Queen Amidala. He stepped on my toe for that one. Hard.)
What I think of my memory
1. I won’t admit this to Ted, but it can be a little embarrassing. Remembering so much about people can make you feel like no one else is as interested in you as you are in them. For example:
a. Once, Millie and I knocked on her neighbor Sheila’s door to tell her we’d found her cat in the hallway. Sheila’s son Pete had been on Ted’s soccer team three years earlier, and all the boys called him Professor because he was always sharing weird soccer trivia that no one else knew. Of course I remembered this, so when Pete answered the door I automatically said, “Hey, Professor. We found Mittens.” He squinted at me for a second before saying, “Who are you?”
So to recap, not only did I know his nickname and his cat’s name, but he had no idea who I was. Even though I had been at every one of his soccer games. And he had come to the team pizza party at our apartment. And I was his neighbor’s best friend. You’d think he might be embarrassed not to know me, but somehow I was the one who was blushing.
b. On the first day of school last year, when my teacher, Ms. Allen, wondered aloud how we would distinguish between the two Emmas in our class since both of their last names started with “S,” I said, “We could just call one Emma Marie and the other Emma Elizabeth.” Because I remembered both of their middle names. From when they had them written on their plastic Easter baskets at an egg hunt in the park. In kindergarten. Clearly neither Emma remembered this, though, because they both looked at me and said, “How do you know my middle name?” in stereo. Cue red face again.
2. Lately, it’s a serious problem. Since my memory got me kicked out of school, Ted really doesn’t have to worry anymore about me saying too much. Now I keep all this information to myself.