{"product_id":"the-borrow-a-boyfriend-club-isbn-9780593568613","title":"The Borrow a Boyfriend Club","description":"\u003cb\u003eA feel-good, refreshing contemporary YA romance from debut author Page Powars that follows a trans boy who starts at a new school and joins a boyfriend borrowing service masquerading as an Italian Club to prove that he’s one of the boys.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen sixteen-year-old Noah Byrd starts fresh at a new school, he has the perfect plan to ensure the students see him as his true gender: join the school’s illustrious [and secret] Borrow a Boyfriend Club, where members rent themselves out to their classmates for dates. The endless “slip-ups” that plagued him before will be old news once he establishes himself in the club.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnfortunately, he fails the questionably rigorous interview process. Desperate, he strikes a deal with the club’s prickly but attractive president, Asher—Noah will help lead the nearly-bankrupt club to victory at the school’s popular talent show, and Asher will allow him to demonstrate his boyfriend skills in a series of tests that include romancing Asher himself. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf Noah can’t help the club’s members win the show, their whole operation shuts down, squashing his best chance at showing the whole school that he’s “boy enough.” But if Noah succeeds in securing the club their victory, he still loses. Because the most important, unbreakable rule of the Borrow a Boyfriend Club is simple: no real boyfriends (or girlfriends) allowed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd as long as the Borrow a Boyfriend Club is still standing as high as Asher’s man bun, they can never explore the feelings growing between them.“Charmingly chaotic and keenly observant, with real emotional depth. Page Powars’s debut is an absolute joyride.” —Becky Albertalli, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eImogen, Obviously\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With \u003cb\u003eso much wit and heart\u003c\/b\u003e, Powars expertly explores just what it means to be a boy, a friend, and a boyfriend. \u003ci\u003eThe Borrow a Boyfriend Club\u003c\/i\u003e had me laughing, clutching my chest, and rooting for Noah on every single page.” —Jason June, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eOut of the Blue\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Noah Byrd is lovable, likable, funny, and so relatable that I wanted to hug him. In \u003ci\u003eThe Borrow a Boyfriend Club,\u003c\/i\u003e Page Powars broadens the concept of masculinity to create \u003cb\u003ea space welcoming of everyone\u003c\/b\u003e.” —Shaun David Hutchinson, award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eWe Are the Ants\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eBrave Face\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Sparkling with both tenderness and humor, Powars’s debut is \u003cb\u003ea must-read\u003c\/b\u003e about first love, identity, bravery, and embracing the unexpected.” —Ashley Herring Blake, award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eDelilah Green Doesn't Care \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A \u003cb\u003ejoyous story of trans happiness\u003c\/b\u003e that the world desperately needs.” —Mason Deaver, bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eOkay, Cupid\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eI Wish You All the Best\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Page Powars is a comedic genius. \u003cb\u003eAn unmissable debut\u003c\/b\u003e.” —Sophie Gonzales, international bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eOnly Mostly Devastated\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “With an endearing protagonist, heartwarming romance, and a powerful message about being enough, \u003cb\u003ethis book is sure to charm readers\u003c\/b\u003e, no matter their type!” —Isaac Fitzsimons, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Passing Playbook\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “\u003cb\u003eA complete delight.\u003c\/b\u003e Noah and Asher’s hate-to-love romance is only matched by Powars’s shimmering and honest trans coming-of-age tale.” —Carlyn Greenwald, author of \u003ci\u003eSizzle Reel\u003c\/i\u003e and coauthor of \u003ci\u003eTime Out\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “With a chaotic found family, a dynamic hate-to-love romance, and all kinds of silly shenanigans along the way, \u003cb\u003ethis book is one you won’t be able to put down\u003c\/b\u003e, even if only to take a momentary pause to squeal in delight.” —Tashie Bhuiyan, author of \u003ci\u003eCounting Down with You\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eA Show for Two\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Equal parts sharp, comedic wit and heartening romance, Page Powars’ \u003ci\u003eThe Borrow a Boyfriend Club\u003c\/i\u003e is \u003cb\u003ea powerhouse of a debut\u003c\/b\u003e. —Amelia Diane Coombs, author of \u003ci\u003eExactly Where You Need To Be\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Humor, hijinks, and a whole lotta heart abound in this romantic and affirming debut. An \u003cb\u003eutterly charming and delightful\u003c\/b\u003e read.” —Dahlia Adler, author of \u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eCool for the Summer\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eHome Field Advantage\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e “Powars has written \u003cb\u003ethe swooniest romance\u003c\/b\u003e that'll leave you breathlessly wondering will-they or won't-they.” —Naz Kutub, author of \u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Loophole\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"In vulnerable first-person prose, Powars renders Noah’s feelings about his gender identity alongside sweet messaging surrounding \u003cb\u003ethe power of friendship and connection\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"\u003cb\u003eLighthearted and fun\u003c\/b\u003e.\"\u003ci\u003e —Kirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"A story that will \u003cb\u003edelight and surprise\u003c\/b\u003e the most well-read rom-com fans.\"\u003ci\u003e —Booklist\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"This is one boyfriend you'll want to borrow \u003cb\u003eagain and again\u003c\/b\u003e.\"\u003ci\u003e—SLJ\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003ePage Powars is the\u003ci\u003e New York Times \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e USA Today\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Borrow a Boyfriend Club\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eAnd They Were Roommates\u003c\/i\u003e. He is based in the New York City area. Outside of writing, Page helps with soundtracks, sobs over \u003ci\u003eThe Untamed,\u003c\/i\u003e and unfortunately plays Genshin Impact.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e The last thing I expected to see on my first day at Heron River High was FA LA LA LA FUCK THIS SCHOOL spelled atop the snow in festive holiday lights.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Crowds of my new classmates gathered around the flickering green and red profanity. Three teachers gesticulated at the students to keep walking, but no one paid attention. Instead, the kids lingered, taking pictures with their phones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When Mom and Dad asked during our weekly burger night what my new school was like, this would not be mentioned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As I passed by, I pulled the hood of my puffer jacket down lower over my forehead, just in case someone felt like the new kid was more interesting than a flashing f-word. Once inside the building, I quickly found the main office.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My heart rate picked up. Game time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I gripped my backpack straps tighter and kept up my turtle impersonation until the office doors shut behind me. The administrative assistant, who somehow didn’t appear a day over twenty, was bundled in a festive argyle cardigan. He pressed a phone between his ear and shoulder as he typed on a laptop, sweat beading above his brow. On the countertop, a nameplate had Sonny written in cursive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Fa la la la what, now?” he murmured. Sonny was in a bad mood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My shoulders shrank into my narrow frame. I tried to snap them back into a loud and proud position. A masculine, broad, very much boy position.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Everything would go fine today. I’d been transitioning for years. I passed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sonny, the admin assistant, muttered something along the lines of I’ll get back to this later and hung up the phone. He gave me a fake smile. “Welcome back from winter break.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As I stepped up to the counter, students passed by the fancy domed window framing the downtown streets of Ann Arbor, Michigan. I’d heard rumors that Heron River High was disgustingly nicer than Pinewood High, and the admin office alone proved that. Its sparkly white walls and chrome furniture were ten times better than Pinewood’s brick hallways lined with rusty lockers. Whoever wrote the twinkling profanity by the front doors seemed misguided.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I’m actually a new junior here,” I said. “I transferred from Pinewood. My name’s Noah. Noah Byrd.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Anything I can help you with? Class schedule good to go?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Yeah. The vice principal emailed it to me last week. But I was wondering if I could get more information on how to join the boys’ sports teams?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Which team?” Sonny asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It didn’t matter which one. All that mattered was joining something ASAP. By the end of the semester, I had to show everyone who I was. I wasn’t about to let my classmates draw their own conclusions about me again, and a boys’ sports team emblem pinned to my chest would establish who I was from the start. The less time they had to develop their own ideas, the better.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I considered which sport would destroy my scrawny body the least. A non-contact sport. “Tennis?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He gave me a once-over. “I can email you a list of our sports, if you’d like. That would include more information on the tennis team. Unfortunately, there aren’t any tryouts during the winter semester, but you could try to join in August.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My heart sank. It was only January. I couldn’t wait that long. “There’s really no boys’ team that will let me join now? Don’t some seasons start in the winter?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “They do, but we require our students to sign up and pay any necessary registration fees for their sport during the first week of the school year.” Sonny typed a bit more, then turned the screen to show me a spreadsheet labeled Heron River High School After-School Student Clubs. “Most of our clubs accept new recruits during both semesters, though. If you’re hoping for an extracurricular to hold you over, how about you check these out?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I pulled his laptop toward me and scrolled through the club names, keeping an eye out for any words that sounded overtly masculine. They had French and Spanish. No and no. Anime. Nope. Classic literature. Not quite. Math. God, no. Dance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I paused.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Definitely, definitely not dance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I kept scrolling. Something called the Football and Lamborghini After-School Club eventually showed up on row eleven.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My insides recoiled. I had no clue what this club was, but being that enthusiastic about football and cars was maybe too manly. The goal wasn’t to stand out here. I wanted to blend in like a normal teenage guy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There had to be another choice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Four more rows passed by, offering debate, sculpture, film, and, finally, chess. Then I skimmed back up to the top again in case I’d missed something.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I had not.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I faced Sonny again. If no sports teams would let me try out this semester, then there were no other options. I swiveled the laptop back around. “How do I join this football and cars thing?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sonny scrolled on his laptop. “Hm. I can’t sign you up. You need approval from the club president.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “How come?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “There’s an interview process,” a voice said from behind me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Startled, I spun around. A boy my age with light tan skin sat in a chair against the wall. His legs were so long that they stretched across nearly half the office, his chunky red Prada sneakers only a foot away from my worn Converse. I hadn’t noticed him when I first came in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “For just a football and car club?” I asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Yep. You need to go to one of their weekly meetings first.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Quiet,” Sonny called his way. “You’re in the main office for defacing school property. Not to chat with your classmates.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The boy defensively tossed up his hands, and I saw that his fingers were dripping with silver rings. His smirk was as chaotic as his mess of brown hair, which was half tied into a lopsided bun, the rest falling loosely above his shoulders.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This must’ve been Mr. Fa La La La Fuck This School.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “So, I might not be allowed to join?” I asked Sonny.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He shrugged. “That’s what their club rules say.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What kind of person would make people interview for a basic school club? “Their president sounds like a prick,” I mumbled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “He’s actually pretty great,” Mr. Fa La La said behind me. Clearly, my voice hadn’t been low enough.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A door swung open, and a woman in a fancy maroon suit stepped forward. A plaque on the door read Principal’s Office. “Mr. Price. A word--”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He rose to his feet using the chair armrests, slung a canvas tote bag covered in environmental patches over his shoulder, and disappeared into the principal’s lair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Even if there was a chance I wouldn’t be accepted into this bro-of-all-bro clubs after going through the president’s ridiculous interview process, I had to try. This was the clearest, and currently only, way to make sure these students knew exactly who I was.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was a boy just like Mr. Fa La La. I had always been a boy. This time, no one at school would question that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I faced Sonny again. “One last question. Do you know where this football and Lamborghini club meets?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e As the bell rang at the end of my sixth-period chemistry class, I kept my head tucked into my hoodie and followed the hallway signs toward the theater, where the Football and Lamborghini After-School Club met on Mondays and Wednesdays until four o’clock.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e How did such a cringe club even exist?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I entered through the main audience doors. The theater was an expanse of red velvet seats and fancy carpeting that reached up to a balcony. Heron River High was certainly living up to the “fanciest public school in Ann Arbor” rumors.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the lower bowl, there were clumps of students with bound scripts and snacks on their laps. To my left, a girl spoke very dramatically to a wall about how aliens were taking over the world. I didn’t recognize the scene she was rehearsing. At least, I hoped she was rehearsing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I cleared my throat to snag her attention. “Do you know where the Football--?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The girl thrust a finger at the stage. “Follow the signs for the basement. There’s a door backstage right.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As I headed backstage, some people stopped munching on their veggies and chips to watch me. Nerves flooded up into my face and down into my toes. So far, I’d survived my first day at Heron River High without being noticed much. Before each class began, all the teachers had asked if I wanted to be introduced in front of the room, and each time, it was a very hard pass. And in most classes, my assigned seat was some leftover desk in the back. Walking across a literal stage now was going from zero to ten real quick.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I had no clue what these drama kids were thinking when they saw me. For all I knew, they were just like the students at Pinewood High School. Never subtle with their stares. Never correcting their so-called slipups because they didn’t care enough to remember my name.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My time front and center lasted six seconds, which felt like six years, and then I was backstage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Three students faced a solid metal door in the corner. One of them, a fit boy who wore a varsity football jacket with the last name Ngo on the back, paired with ugly orange joggers, shoved a hand inside a party-sized bag of spicy cheese puffs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This had to be the place.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Two other students stood in front of the boys, guarding the door. One was a pretty Black girl in a pink blouse and tulle skirt, which hung off her slender frame like a ballet tutu. Her brown coily afro had a smattering of blond highlights.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The second girl, a whole head taller than the first, had a light-olive complexion and a slicked-back black ponytail. She sported a bold red pantsuit and cat’s-eye-glasses combination, and a notebook with a Trust me, I’m in charge sticker was pressed against her chest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Was I in the right place?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The girl in charge smiled so brightly that her whole face crinkled. “Good afternoon, boys! You almost didn’t make it on time.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Spicy Cheese Puffs rolled his eyes as he wiped a dusty hand on his jeans before plugging numbers into the insulin pump on his hip. “Who cares?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Asher,” she responded, still smiling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Figures. He really needs to chill on the micromanaging.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Asher.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That must’ve been the president. The one I had to impress.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I stepped closer and waved. “Is this where--”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They were already disappearing behind the mysterious metal door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “--the interviews are,” I muttered to myself as it closed shut.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I followed. The door creaked open to reveal a steep, dark, wooden staircase. A cool draft blew past me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I swallowed hard and headed down the stairs, which moaned with each step. Either I was lowering myself into an after-school cult or the pits of Hell. Some source of light from below the staircase started stretching along the walls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This was the basement. A normal, cluttered theater basement that smelled like mothballs and wet dirt. The room was split into several narrow lines of costume racks, leaving hardly any space between them, like in a warehouse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This place appeared abandoned. What happened to the others?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And then I heard mumbling sounds come from somewhere past the sea of costumes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I headed toward them, shoving my body through the mess. Puffy dresses scratched against my cheeks. Belts and ties drooped to the dusty floor like snakes, threatening to trip me at any moment. Finally, the path led into a room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I blinked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The dusty concrete floor led to maroon carpeting as fuzzy as dandelion fluff. The cement walls were draped in matching curtains with rhinestone embellishments that glistened in the fluorescent lights. Playing cards in the hearts suit were stuck to and scattered across the ceiling. Way-too-thick cologne replaced the scent of mothballs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At the very back, multiple mini fridges, an electronic keyboard, and seven or so boys surrounded a billiards table. A few hovered around the table while others slung themselves across bright-red pleather love seats. Above them hung a red flag with a logo at the center: two Bs faced back to back, forming the shape of a heart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Two guys held cue sticks. The one on the left was Asian American and had cotton-candy-blue hair with slightly grown-out roots. Combined with his rainbow-patterned jacket, he could’ve been a movie star. He was aligning the tip of his stick with the cue ball, about to make his next move. The other had a light-brown complexion and wore a knit sweater and collared undershirt. A laptop labeled with Camilo Torres rested nearby him as he sat on the edge of the table, bored.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bored. In a bizarre underground club like this.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Had I tripped down the basement stairs and slammed my head too hard?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I stepped deeper into the basement. “Hello?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My voice rang out right as the one with blue hair pulled back his cue stick. He yelped.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The boy looked familiar, but I couldn’t place from where. With hair as loud as his, I’d probably spotted him walking around downtown. “Sorry!” he said. “You caught me off guard.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Who left the door unlocked?” that Camilo guy asked. “A customer broke in.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The two girls who guarded the door earlier stared at me, stunned. The one holding the notebook reached into her pantsuit blazer pocket to pull out a key ring. “I locked it, Camilo.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He pointed my way without breaking eye contact with her. “Using what? The imaginary knob?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Pastel Blue Hair Boy waved his hand dismissively through the air as he walked over to me. “No worries! We’re technically only open to customers on Wednesdays, but that’s okay. What type of boyfriend are you looking for?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A bleating sound propelled out of my mouth. “What am I what?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Camilo hopped off the table. Now that he was no longer seated, I could see he was nearly as short as me, and notes written in black pen ink were scribbled all over his hands. Politics club send newsletter and #88-101 chapter 3.2 were the only decipherable ones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The human to-do list moved closer, glaring my way. “Lenny, I can’t place a name to this person. They don’t go to our school.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Pastel Blue Hair Boy, aka Lenny, held up his cue stick as a sword. “STAY BACK, NARC!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Others in the room made various startled noises and leaped off the love seats as backup. Meanwhile, Camilo pushed up his turquoise glasses and muttered, “Do you even know what that means?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I threw my hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! No! I’m here because I want to interview for your club!”","brand":"Ember","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300936929509,"sku":"NP9780593568613","price":12.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593568613.jpg?v=1767738496","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-borrow-a-boyfriend-club-isbn-9780593568613","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}