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“Reading STRAIGHTLING is like watching a great horror flick. You really want to cover your eyes, but you just can’t! Compelling. Scary. Totally real.”

—Ellen Hopkins, New York Times Bestselling Author of CRANK

straightling front coverI never was a badass, actually.  Or a slut, a junkie, or a stoner, like they told me I was.

I was just a kid looking for something good, something that felt like love.  I was a wannabe in a Levi’s jean jacket.  Anybody could see that.  Except my mother.  And the professionals at Straight.

So maybe I didn’t find love.  I found other stuff, instead.  Pink Floyd, for example.  And God, and Marlboro Reds.  And Bridgeport, this city that’s always dark, even at noon on Sunday.  Only problem was, those were the exact things Straight used to prove you were an addict.  You know: druggie music, gateway drugs, running away from home…So before I could even learn how to smoke pot right, my mother trapped me in this…this warehouse…full of teen savages.  Straight Inc., it was called. On the outside, Straight was a drug rehab. But on the inside, it was…well, it was something else.

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