Excerpt from Where'd You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Excerpt
Where'd You Go, Bernadette

That night at dinner, I sat through Mom and Dad's "We're-so proud-of-you's and "She's-a-smart-one's until there was a lull.

"You know what it means," I said. "The big thing it means."

Mom and Dad frowned question marks at each other.

"You don't remember?" I said. "You told me when I started Galer Street that if I got perfect grades the whole way through, I could have anything I wanted for a graduation present."

"I do remember," Mom said. "It was to ward off further talk of a pony."

"That's what I wanted when I was little," I said. "But now I want something different. Aren't you curious what it is?"

"I'm not sure," Dad said. "Are we?"

"A family trip to Antarctica!"

I pulled out the brochure I'd been sitting on. It was from an adventure travel company that does cruises to exotic places. I opened it to the Antarctica page and passed it across the table.

"If we go, it has to be over Christmas."

"This Christmas?" Mom said. "Like in a month?" She got up and started stuffing empty take-out containers into the bags they'd been delivered in.

Dad was already deep into the brochure. "It's their summer," he said. "It's the only time you can go."

"Because ponies are cute." Mom tied the handles in a knot.

"What do you say?" Dad looked up at Mom.

"Isn't this a bad time for you because of work?" she asked him.

"We're studying Antarctica," I said. "I've read all the explorers' journals, and I'm doing my presentation on Shackleton." I started wiggling in my chair. "I can't believe it. Neither of you are saying no."

"I was waiting for you," Dad said to Mom. "You hate to travel."

"I was waiting for you," Mom said back. "You have to work."

"Oh my God. That's a yes!" I jumped out of my chair. "That's a yes!" My joy was so infectious that Ice Cream woke up and started barking and doing victory laps around the kitchen table.

"Is that a yes?" Dad asked Mom over the crackling of plastic take­out containers being crammed into the trash.

"That's a yes," she said.

Tuesday, November 16
From: Bernadette Fox
To: Manjula Kapoor

Manjula,

Something unexpected has come up and I'd love it if you could work extra hours. From my end, this trial period has been a lifesaver. I hope it's working for you, too. If so, please let me know ASAP because I need you to work your Hindu magic on a huge project.

OK: I'll stop being coy.

You know I have a daughter, Bee. (She's the one you order the medicine for and wage valiant battle with the insurance company over.) Apparently, my husband and I told her she could have anything she wanted if she graduated middle school with straight A's. The straight A's have arrived - or should I say straight S's, because Galer Street is one of those liberal, grades-erode-self-esteem-type schools (let's hope you don't have them in India) — and so what does Bee want? To take a family trip to Antarctica!

Of the million reasons I don't want to go to Antarctica, the main one is that it will require me to leave the house. You might have figured out by now that's something I don't much like to do. But I can't argue with Bee. She's a good kid. She has more character than Elgie and I and the next ten guys combined. Plus she's applying to boarding school for next fall, which she'll of course get into because of said A's. Whoops, S's! So it would be in pretty bad taste to deny Buzzy this.

The only way to get to Antarctica is by cruise ship. Even the smallest one has 150 passengers, which translates into me being trapped with 149 other people who will uniquely annoy the hell out of me with their rudeness, waste, idiotic questions, incessant yammering, creepy food requests, boring small talk, etc. Or worse, they might turn their curiosity toward me, and expect pleasantry in return. I'm getting a panic attack just thinking about it. A little social anxiety never hurt anyone, am I right?

Excerpted from Where'd You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple. Copyright 2012 by Maria Semple. Excerpted by permission of Little, Brown and Company.