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Informationen zum Autor Jennifer E. Smith is the author of The Geography of You and Me, This Is What Happy Looks Like, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight, The Storm Makers, You Are Here, The Comeback Season, and Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between—now a movie streaming on Netflix! She earned her master’s degree in creative writing from the University of St. Andrews, and her work has been translated into thirty languages. Klappentext Two teens hit the road in search of themselves this breathtaking novel from Jennifer E. Smith, author of The Statistical Improbability of Love at First Sight and Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between—now a movie streaming on Netflix!Sometimes to find out where you’re going, you have to discover what you’ve left behind. Emma Healy is happier being alone. The only ordinary member of a family full of brilliant academics, she’s learned it’s better to not even try competing for attention. But when Emma makes a discovery that shakes the foundations of her identity, she realizes there may be a reason for why she’s never felt whole; to seek closure, she needs to travel from New York to North Carolina. Peter Finnegan, who lives next door to the Healy family, rarely feels bothered anymore about the loneliness that pervades his life. He’s perpetually out of step with his family and misunderstood by peers like Emma who don’t understand his fascination with maps and the Civil War. When he gets an unexpected call from Emma saying her car has broken down in New Jersey, he drives to the rescue in a stolen yellow convertible, ready to shake loose from old patterns. Together, they take to the open road, engaging in a universal quest to make sense of who they are and where they come from…and learning a thing or two about love along the way.You Are Here chapter one Still somewhat to her surprise, Emma Healy had started off the morning by stealing her older brother’s car. This was not an impulsive decision. It wasn’t something she’d come up with the night before while lying on the couch in his New York City apartment, watching the numbers on the microwave clock shift and re-form as the light outside the window paled to gray. Though the last thing she’d ever stolen was a pack of bubble gum in the third grade, and though most of her plans had a habit of fizzling out along the way, Emma had already known with a kind of solemn certainty that as soon as the sun was fully up, she would slip on her shoes, tiptoe out the door, and drive off in Patrick’s car. What she hadn’t known was that it would break down so quickly, not fifty miles out of the city, at a New Jersey rest stop, where she now sat perched on a picnic table, regarding the smoke seeping from the hood of the blue convertible, trying to figure out her next move. She probably should have known better. The Mustang wasn’t exactly the most obvious choice for a getaway car. Patrick had bought it when he was her age, nearly fifteen years ago, which made it not quite old enough to be vintage, though not new enough to run properly. It was like a moving junkyard, a clanging chorus of coughs and belches, and it had a baffling tendency to stall, though it wasn’t even stick shift. Patrick was practically a full-fledged mechanic at this point for the number of times he’d paged through the manuals, trying to fix the ornery vehicle himself. But even so, almost from the moment he’d arrived home in it just a few days ago, sputtering up to the house nearly an hour late for the Fourth of July party, a plan had begun to take shape in the farthest corners of Emma’s mind, like an itch she couldn’t quite scratch. “It sounds like your car ate a lawn mower,” she’d said, traipsing down the front path to greet him. “I keep telli...
