Mean Girls: A Novel

By Micol Ostow

A novelization of the cult classic film written by Tina Fey about a social clique that rules a suburban high school, with original bonus content.

Cady Heron grew up homeschooled in Africa with scientist parents as her teachers, monkeys as her classmates and the African plains as her playground. But when her family moves to the suburbs of Illinois, she finds herself a stranger in a strange land: high school. With no prior research to guide her, Cady’s forced to figure out North Shore High all on her own. Suddenly she finds herself sucked into Girl World as a new member of the social elite dubbed “The Plastics.” Cady discovers that unlike the wild, Girl World doesn’t have any rules—especially when you maybe, possibly, okay definitely, have a giant crush on their ruthless leader’s ex-boyfriend. Turns out, life in high school might be even more brutal than a showdown on the Savannah.

Based on the screenplay by Tina Fey, this retelling of the cult classic film includes tons of extra, never-before-seen bonus content.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Sep 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781338087574

Micol Ostow

Micol Ostow has been writing professionally since 2004, and in that time has written and/or ghostwritten over 40 published works for young readers. She started her reign of terror with Egmont with her novel family, which Elizabeth Burns named a favorite of 2012 on her School Library Journal-syndicated blog, A Chair, a Fireplace, a Tea Cozy. Micol's graphic novel, So Punk Rock (and Other Ways to Disappoint Your Mother), was named a 2009 Booklist Top Ten Arts Books for Youth Selection, a Booklist Top Ten Religion Books for Youth Selection, and a Sydney Taylor Notable Book for Teens. She received her MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults from the Vermont College of Fine Arts, and currently teaches a popular young-adult writing workshop through MediaBistro.com.

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Copyright © 2017 Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First edition, September 2017

Cover design by Suzanne LaGasa

Author photo by Jen Painter

e-ISBN 978-1-338-08757-4

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGE

HALF-TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

EPILOGUE

NORTH SHORE HIGH SUPERLATIVES

CAFETERIA MAP

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The social hierarchy among common African jungle animals represents the established order in a group as it correlates to basic survival factors such as: position on the natural food chain, access to resources, and the ability to thrive even under highly unfavorable environmental conditions. One of the advantages of a social hierarchy is the maintenance of social order under the most dominant, or ‘alpha,’ creatures. These hierarchies have been observed equally among mammals, birds, and fish, and can lead to aggressive behavior in the event that the alpha creature’s status is threatened.

— Excerpted from Heron, Betsy, PhD.

Animal Hierarchies on the Savanna.

The Journal of Wilderness Behaviors 4 (2001): 14–22.

"It is the policy of the Administration of North Shore High School that students should not be subjected to forms of bullying, harassment, hazing, or discrimination while at school or school-sponsored activities. The responsibility for effective prevention and response to acts of bullying lies within a collaborative effort of administrators, teachers, school staff, parents, and above all, students. You are encouraged to submit any complaints of discrimination, hazing, harassment, or bullying to the school principal.*

*(Complaints or reports may be made anonymously.)

—Excerpted from the North Shore High School Student Handbook

CADY

My parents were acting like chickens with their heads cut off. Or hummingbirds, buzzing so fast they might explode from the effort. Which would be messy, among other things.

This is your lunch in here, okay? Dad was saying in his don’t-frighten-the-newborn-cubs tone. He held out a brown paper bag. And I put a dollar in there for you to buy some milk. One of the older kids can show you where to do that.

Mom chimed in. Do you remember your phone number? What about your address? 1217 Dempster. I wrote it on this piece of paper for you, just in case. Put it in your pocket. I don’t want you to lose it. She pushed a stray frizz of mom-hair out of her eyes and handed me the folded piece of paper.

And if you get scared today, Dad added, "just go up to your teacher and say, My name is Cady, and I’m feeling a little scared."

Just like we practiced! Mom forced a wavery smile. It wasn’t very convincing. Okay? You ready?

She leaned in, close enough for me to smell the eco-friendly detergent she used on our clothes clinging to her shirt. Her eyes welled up. She squeezed me hard enough to crack a rib as Dad whipped out his camera.

Okay, smile! he commanded. It’s Cady’s big day!

Click.

Right on cue, Mom burst into tears.

I patted her on the back of that wash-faded shirt. I wasn’t sure what else to do. I mean, I guess it’s natural for parents to cry on their kid’s first day of school. But that usually happens when the kid is five.

And the thing is, I’m not five, I’m sixteen. And until today, I was homeschooled: That means my mom was my only teacher, and my dad was the only sub.

I know what you’re thinking: Homeschooled kids are freaks. But my family’s totally normal! I swear.

Except for the fact that both my parents are research zoologists, and we’ve spent the last twelve years in Africa. So, you know, for the most part, my classmates were lions, cheetahs, monkeys, snakes, birds—totally normal.

I learned all the same stuff you learn in normal school:

Spelling (Rhinoceros, complete with live visual aid!)

Science (What other kid gets a monkey as a lab assistant? They’re so cute in their little goggles and lab coats.)

Multiplication (If you’ve never seen breeding season among jungle cats, I’ll tell you: It gets real crowded, real quick. It’s a good thing lion cubs are adorable.)

I had a great life. But then my mom got offered a full professorship at Northwestern University.

There went my lion-cub math lessons and my lab-coated monkey. Two weeks later it was Good-bye, Africa—with your zebras racing across the dusty Savanna—and Hello, Evanston, Illinois.

In Evanston, the only wild animals you saw racing were the frenzied morning commuters. (Although, in their white-button-down-black-pants business-casual uniforms, they did kind of remind me of the zebras.)

I didn’t want to admit it to my parents—they were clearly both stressed out enough for me as it was—but I was a little nervous. I’d never set foot in an American high school. I had no idea what to expect.

Then again, I’d survived the African wilderness. The Savanna. The jungle. The mosquitoes. The mating season.

I mean, high school couldn’t be much worse than that, could it?

NORTH SHORE HIGH SCHOOL MORNING ANNOUNCEMENTS:

*Welcome back, student body! Principal Duvall asks for your patience as he resumes his post—his carpal tunnel syndrome presently recurring. Documents requiring signatures may be slower to turn around.

*Soccer practice to be held after school at its usual time; practice jerseys required.

*Student Activities Committee to meet during late lunch in the library conference room to finalize planning for Spring Fling. We will be soliciting volunteers to contact Walker Brothers Pancake House for the annual gift certificate contribution.

*Keys to the projection room have been reported missing. Please let us know if you’ve spotted them!

CADY

North Shore High School looked like a regular American high school, I guessed. Honestly, I’d only seen them in movies, and the truth was, growing up in Africa, I hadn’t watched a lot of those, either. The building was redbrick, wide and imposing against one of those picture-perfect cheerful blue skies. In front was a big stretch of grass crawling with students. I’d literally never seen so many teenagers in one place in my entire life. It was all denim and backpacks. A messy, chaotic, teenaged blur.

And I was going to be a part of it.

I felt Dad’s hand on my shoulder. He and Mom had driven me to school, which now seemed maybe weird and kind of immature, given that everyone else I saw was piling out of school buses or whizzing by on bikes. But the truth was … I was glad to have them there.

Are you nervous? It’s all right to be nervous. I’m nervous for you. It would be abnormal if you weren’t incredibly nervous. Nervous, nervous, nervous, nervous.

Mom was legitimately freaking out. Nervous didn’t even sound like an English word anymore.

It didn’t help that I knew just how she felt. Every time another set of hands high-fived or a backpack was hiked higher onto someone’s shoulder—basically every four seconds, by my count—I practically flinched. We were so not in Africa anymore.

Thank god Dad was being slightly saner. Cady. He paused. When in doubt, just take a breath, and be yourself.

I took a deep breath and stepped off the curb, preparing to cross the street to my very first day of high school.

HOOONNNNNKKKK!

I leaped back, out of the way of the giant school bus barreling past. Behind me, I heard Mom yelp.

It’s okay, I assured them, ignoring my heart pounding against my rib cage. Sorry. I’ll be careful.

They nodded, unconvinced but trying not to show it.

One last wave, and there was nothing left to do but go inside.

*  *  *

No one had properly prepared me for the chaos known as Homeroom. I don’t know that anyone could have.

I was one of the last to arrive, so when I walked into the classroom, most of the seats were already taken. I thought back to what my dad had said: Just go up to your teacher …

There was a tall woman in a red turtleneck at the head of the room, leaning against the teacher’s desk. I hitched my backpack over my shoulder and approached her with the biggest smile I could muster.

Hi, I said. I don’t know if anyone told you about me. I’m a new student. My name is Cady Heron.

Talk to me again and I’ll kick your ass. She turned swiftly and moved to a seat near the front of the room, leaving me to swallow back my mortification.

Definitely not the teacher. I heard giggling and looked up to see a dark-haired girl in heavy makeup and baggy clothes and a guy with dark curly hair. And they were definitely laughing at me.

I moved toward a seat in the row beside them. I didn’t have many other options.

The girl leaned forward. You don’t want to sit there, she warned. Kristen Hadley’s boyfriend is gonna sit there.

Right on cue, a boy with puffy red hair sprouting explosively from his skinny body took the seat I’d been eyeing. The girl I’d thought was a teacher immediately grabbed him by the collar. Hey, baby, she growled, then promptly swallowed his face.

I’d seen gentler behavior among packs of hyenas.

I took a tentative step to my left. The girl with the makeup shook her head.

Uh-uh, he farts a lot, she said, pointing to a sweaty, overweight-ish guy who looked like he totally would fart a lot.

Giving up, I circled back around the front of the classroom. I was so flustered I wasn’t really watching where I was going, and then …

Hi, everyone, I brought do—

BLAM.

Down went a box of Dunkin’ Donuts, a bunch of random papers, and at least three-quarters of a giant to-go coffee—all over the woman who definitely was the teacher.

"Oh god, I’m so sorry!" I flushed and immediately dropped down to start gathering up the mess. Now everyone was laughing at me. Overall, I preferred being invisible.

Oh, it’s not you, the teacher said, bending over to help. She was mousy-pretty, with short dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses. She grabbed some fallen napkins and patted at her sweater. I’m bad luck.

She finally realized the sweater was a lost cause and went to take it off—but as she slid the sweater over her head, the T-shirt she had on underneath went along for the ride. Suddenly, our Homeroom teacher was standing in front of our class half-naked, her white mom-bra completely on display.

Ms. Norbury?

There was a horrible pause as Ms. Norbury fully assessed the situation. Principal Duvall (I recognized him from his welcome note on the school website) was standing in the classroom doorway. He looked … puzzled.

My T-shirt’s stuck to my sweater, isn’t it? Ms. Norbury asked. Her voice was muffled through the layers of clothing.

Yeah. I tugged the T-shirt down while Ms. Norbury wriggled out of the soggy sweater.

Fantastic. Ms. Norbury, free of the sweater, shook her head and regarded Principal Duvall directly at last.

Is everything all right in here?

Ms. Norbury went for fake-cheerful. Oh yeah.

So, ah … how was your summer?

Ms. Norbury tossed her sweater across the back of her chair. I got divorced.

Oh. Principal Duvall paused. Well, my carpal tunnel came back. He raised his arm to show off a splint.

Ms. Norbury smiled tightly. I win!

Yes … you do, Duvall conceded. Well, I just wanted to let everyone know that we have a new student with us. She just moved here from Africa.

Ms. Norbury scanned the room and homed in on a tall, dark-skinned girl with close-cropped curls. Welcome!

I’m from Michigan, the girl said.

Great! Ms. Norbury was completely at a loss now.

Mr. Duvall fished in his pocket for a note card while looking around the room. Her name is … Cad-dee Heron?

I raised my hand. "Oh, that’s me. It’s pronounced like Katie." I looked at everyone looking at me.