Excerpt from Saving Hamlet by Molly Booth, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Emma-bo-bemma!"

Dad had developed an unnamed sense that recognized when important moments were happening in our house, so he emerged on cue from his home office in the basement. He spent his entire life down there, doing software and graphics. He also spent a lot of time shepherding my little sister, Abby, to her various prestigious activities. She was one of those seven-year-olds.

"Have a great first day!" Dad said from the top of the base¬ment stairs, with his signature slicing wave. "And don't let anyone call you a boy! It's what's inside that counts!"

"Thanks, Dad!"

Gee, thanks, Dad.

And with that, I was set free.

They were still adjusting. It wasn't a surprise that my parents had freaked out about the hair. When I quit soccer mid-season last year, neither of them had understood. They still didn't. To be fair, that was partly because I had lied and told them I'd just suddenly lost interest, which didn't make a whole lot of sense given that I'd played soccer my entire life. Dad used to call my right foot "The Boot" and claim it was a "gift from the gods." No idea which gods he was referencing; we were the least religious family I knew.

There was no way I could ever play soccer again. I'd quit overnight and ruined my team's season-long winning streak— without their star sweeper, they'd lost five games in a row and blown their chance at last year's playoffs. Everyone kind of hated me after that. No more soccer.

But I knew my parents had been secretly hoping I would return to her—that whole varsity, popular-high-school-athlete person. I could imagine them labeling freshman year as a Thing Emma Was Going Through. But the short hair must have confirmed their worst fears: I had officially become a weird theatre kid. The hair made it permanent.

Lulu's little red car pulled up.

"Em!"

She didn't even bother to close the car door, just sprinted across the lawn. I ran to meet her halfway, and we slammed into each other for the most epic of epic hugs. After a tight squeeze, I felt her sigh into my shoulder, her whole body collapsing just the smallest bit. We finally pulled back and considered each other after weeks of separation.

"Babe, your hair is perfect." She reached up and touched my bangs.

I laughed. "Really?" "Really. Supercool, supernew, superchic." See? Lulu pulls off the word "chic."

Excerpted from Saving Hamlet by Molly Booth. Copyright © 2016 by Molly Booth. Excerpted by permission of Disney-Hyperion. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.