Excerpt from Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

But unlike many of the other violinists—who resented Izzy for making second chair her first year—Deja never joined in the snide comments, or called her "the freshman." In the first week of school, Deja, as they'd filed out of the orchestra room, had leaned over to zip an unfastened pocket on Izzy's bookbag, concealing her exposed gym clothes. A few weeks later, Izzy had been digging through her bag, desperately looking for a tampon, when Deja had discreetly leaned across the aisle and extended a folded hand. "Here," she'd said, and Izzy had known what it was before she even felt the crinkle of the plastic wrapper in her palm.

Watching Mrs. Peters pick on Deja, in front of everyone, had been like watching someone drag a kitten into the street and club it with a brick, and something inside Izzy had snapped. Before she knew it, she had cracked Mrs. Peters's bow over her knee and flung the broken pieces at her. There had been a sudden squawk from Mrs. Peters as the jagged halves of the bow—still joined by the horsehair— had whipped her across the face and a shrill squeal as the mug of steaming coffee in her hand tipped down her front. The practice room had erupted in a babble of laughter and shrieking and hooting, and Mrs. Peters, coffee dripping down the tendons of her neck, had grabbed Izzy by the elbow and dragged her from the room. In the principal's office, waiting for her mother to arrive, Izzy had wondered if Deja had been pleased or embarrassed, and she wished she'd had a chance to see Deja's face.

Although Izzy was sure, now, that Mia would understand all of this, she did not know how to put everything she felt into words. She said only, "Mrs. Peters is a total bitch. She had no right to say that to Deja." "Well?" said Mia. "What are you going to do about it?"

It was not a question Izzy had been asked before. Until now her life had been one of mute, futile fury. In the first week of school, after reading T. S. Eliot, she had tacked up signs on all the bulletin boards: I have measured out my life with coffee spoons and Do I dare to eat a peach? and DO I DARE DISTURB THE UNIVERSE? The poem made her think of her mother, doling out her creamer in a precise teaspoon.

The second week of school, when Ms. Bellamy had asked them to memorize a poem and recite it in front of the class, Izzy had selected "This Be The Verse," a poem she felt—based on her fourteen and a half years—summed up life quite accurately. She had gotten no further than "They fuck you up, your mum and dad—" before Ms. Bellamy had peremptorily told her to sit down and given her a zero. What was she going to do about it? The very idea that she could do something stunned her.

From Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng. Reprinted by arrangement with Penguin Press, a member of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, A Penguin Random House Company. Copyright © Celeste Ng, 2017.