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Informationen zum Autor Melina Marchetta Klappentext For as long as Josephine Alibrandi can remember, it's just been her, her mom, and her grandmother. Now it's her final year at a wealthy Catholic high school. The nuns couldn't be any stricter—but that doesn't seem to stop all kinds of men from coming into her life. Caught between the old-world values of her Italian grandmother, the nononsense wisdom of her mom, and the boys who continue to mystify her, Josephine is on the ride of her life. This will be the year she falls in love, the year she discovers the secrets of her family's past—and the year she sets herself free. Told with unmatched depth and humor, this novel—which swept the pool of Australian literary awards and became a major motion picture—is one to laugh through and cry with, to cherish and remember. Panic was my first reaction to the multiple choice options that lay on my desk in front of me. I glanced at the students around me before turning back to question three. I hated multiple choice. Yet I didn't want to get question three wrong. I didn't want to get any of them wrong. The outcome would be too devastating for my sense of being. So I began with elimination. D was completely out of the question, as was A, so that left B and C. I pondered both for quite a while, and just as I was about to make my final decision I heard my name being called. "Josephine?" "Huh?" "I think you mean 'I beg your pardon,' don't you, dear?" "I beg your pardon, Sister." "What are you doing? You're reading, aren't you, young lady?" "Um . . . yeah." "Um, yeah? Excellent, Josephine. I can see you walking away with the English prize this year. Now stand up." So my final school year began. I had promised myself that I would be a saint for this year alone. I would make the greatest impression on my teachers and become the model student. I knew it would all fail. But just not on the first day. Sister Gregory walked toward me, and when she was so close that I could see her mustache, she held out her hand. "Show me what you're reading." I handed it to her and watched her mouth purse itself together and her nostrils flare in triumph because she knew she was going to get me. She skimmed it and then handed it back to me. I could feel my heart beating fast. "Read from where you were up to." I picked up the magazine and cleared my throat. " 'What kind of a friend are you?' " I read from Hot Pants magazine. She looked at me pointedly. " 'You are at a party,'" I began with a sigh, " 'and your best friend's good-looking, wealthy and successful boyfriend tries to make a pass. Do you: A-Smile obligingly and steal away into the night via the back door; B-Throw your cocktail all over his Country Road suit; C-Quietly explain the loyalty you have toward your friend; D-Tell your friend instantly, knowing that she will make a scene.'" You can understand, now, why I found it hard to pick between B and C. "May I ask what this magazine has to do with my religion class, Miss?" "Religion?" "Yes, dear," she continued in her sickeningly sarcastic tone. "The one we are in now." "Well . . . quite a lot, Sister." I heard snickers around me as I tried to make up as much as I could along the way. Religion class, first period Monday morning, is the place to try to pull the wool over the eyes of Sister Gregory. (She kept her male saint's name although the custom went out years ago. She probably thinks it will get her into heaven. I don't think she realizes that feminism has hit religion and that the female saints in heaven are probably also in revolt.) "Would you like to explain yourself, Josephine?" I looked around the classroom, watching everyone shrugging almost sympathetically. They thought I was beaten. "We were talking about the Bible, right?"
