Jennette McCurdy

I’ve been waiting for this moment for two whole weeks, since I first decided what I was going to wish for. The birthday wish is the most power I have in my life right now. It’s my best chance at control. I don’t take this opportunity for granted. I want to make it count.

I don’t like knowing people in the context of things. Oh, that’s the person I work out with. That’s the person I’m in a book club with. That’s the person I did that show with. Because once the context ends, so does the friendship.

The fragility of Mom’s life is the center of mine.

“So what do you say? You want to act? You want to be Mommy’s little actress?”
There’s only one right answer.

Plus, who wants to read a review from someone who takes the time to write a review? Can’t trust ’em, too much time on their hands.

h my God, his voice. It’s my favorite thing about him—quiet and gravelly, probably from his two packs a day, but that’s fine, we can deal with the lung cancer later.

“You’re gonna be a star, Nettie. I just know it. You’re gonna be a star.”

Each “good” thing Mom says about my “natural beauty” is followed up by its downside,

Mom would always tell me I looked so pretty, even though every time she told me I looked pretty I shrieked as loud as I could that I wasn’t pretty, I was “hampsome.” I was too little to be able to say “handsome” properly, but old enough to
know that I wanted to be called what my brothers were called, not some stupid, lesser term designated for the girls.

It was the first time I wished that I was prettier and didn’t care about being hampsome.