From New York Times bestselling author, Jeneva Rose, comes a fully updated and expanded edition of THE GIRL I WAS, the first book she ever wrote, featuring six brand-new chapters from a fresh point-of-view.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Jeneva Rose’s The Girl I Was, which is out July 15th 2025.
Alexis Spencer will use any inspirational quote to rationalize her failures and shortcomings. Her closest friends are a distant memory, and her college debt is still as high as the day she left. But that’s all fine and dandy, because “whatever will be, will be.”
However, when Alexis loses her job and her relationship on the same day, there’s no quote strong enough to get her through that. In typical fashion, she blames the world for her problems, including her younger self, who should have tried harder.
Feeling sorry for herself, Alexis finds a bottle of vodka from her college days and goes on a bender, blacking out in the process. Only this time, she doesn’t wake up at home, or in the right city. In fact, she isn’t even in the right year.
Alexis is back in her college town in the year 2002.
Convinced this is her chance to do things over, she heads to her dorm—and comes face-to-face with her eighteen-year-old unruly self, who goes by Lexi because it’s “sexier.” Getting acclimated to life in the early 2000s is the easy part. Dealing with Lexi is where things prove difficult.
They might be the same person, but they couldn’t be more different from one another. Now Alexis and Lexi must learn to get along and come to terms with the fact that alone, they will never make things right, but together, they could change their life for the better.
Tapping my fingertips against the desk, I watch the clock in the lower right-hand corner of my computer screen. They don’t make the cute nail clicking sound though because I’m prone to chewing them off. I’ve tried to stop biting them many times throughout my thirty-some- odd years, but it’s no use—they always find their way back to my teeth, ready for slaughter.
My workday ends in two minutes, but right now, it feels like an eternity because I’m eager to get home and get ready for a special date my boyfriend, Andrew, has planned. I don’t know what we’re doing, but he told me to dress nice, so I need time to try on at least ten different outfits—although I’ll likely settle
on my first choice.
The sound of drawers opening and closing in nearby cubicles pulls me out of my daze. Feet shuffle and laughter ensues, signaling the end of the work week.
My hand flies to my computer mouse and just as I’m about to log out, an email with the subject line “PLEASE COME TO HR” appears at the top of my inbox. I nearly groan at the interruption to the start of my weekend, but my eyes flick to the calendar pinned up on the wall of my cubicle, catching the words written and highlighted on Monday’s date: “1 year work anniversary!”
I can’t help but smile at the sight of it, especially paired with the email from human resources. Most people don’t want to hear from HR, unless of course they’re a contract employee who was told their position would become permanent after a year of employment. That would be me! Alexis Spencer, contract social media manager, but soon-to-be-permanent social media manager. HR must want to give me the good news going into the weekend. How thoughtful of them. After nearly a year of responding to social media comments from consumers complaining about the ply of their toilet paper or the absorbency of their menstrual products, I’ve certainly earned this.
I look fondly at the small succulent sitting on my desk. It was a gift from Andrew when I first landed this job. He said it was supposed to bring me success because it’s a succulent. I’m not sure if that’s a real superstition or he made it up, but I loved it either way.
“Today’s the day, Sucky.” I rub one of the thick, fleshy leaves between my fingers for luck. And yes, the name I gave it should tell you all you will ever need to know about me. Andrew is going to be so proud, especially considering I haven’t given him much to be proud of over the years. Since graduating college nearly a decade ago, I’ve gone from temp job to no job to temp job to no job to temp job, and so forth—but that all changes today.
Smiling, I stand from my chair and make my way to the human resources department. I walk with purpose, now that I have one. If any of my coworkers were still here, they’d see a whole new woman—head held high, and shoulders pinned back.
Outside of the HR director’s office, I knock twice.
“Come in,” Janet calls out, her voice muff led by the solid wood door that’s intentionally there to keep conversations within the walls of her office confidential.
I enter and find Janet sitting behind her desk. She’s plump with dark eyes and a permanent scowl, which I assume comes with the job.
“Hi, I got an email requesting that I come to HR,” I say, trying to hide my excitement with a casual smile.
She clears her throat and shuff les around a few file folders.
“Yes. Alexis Spencer.” Janet gestures for me to sit.
“The one and only,” I say, taking a seat. Pushing a piece of hair behind my ear, I force a casual smile, not wanting to come across as too eager, like I’ve been counting down the days (which I have).
“You’ve been a contractor here about a year.”
I nod. Looks like Janet has been counting too.
“And you’ve done a wonderful job managing social media engagement and consumer complaints.”
“Thank you.” My tight smile eases into a genuine grin. This is it. I’m finally getting hired on.
Good things rarely happen to me, but I could get used to this giddy feeling—like a swarm of butterflies fluttering around my belly. It makes me sit up a little taller.
I don’t even care what the pay bump is; I just want those glorious bennies! Paid time off. Dental. That 401k thing Andrew’s always talking about. Not to mention, the coveted health insurance. Last year, when I broke my arm falling down a flight of stairs at a bar, I just had to hope the bone would fuse together properly over time or however broken bones mend. When I got into a car accident—okay, two car accidents—I refused an ambulance both times and called an Uber to take me home. Sure, I had to pay a cleaning fee for the blood that got on the upholstery, but I saved boku bucks, and I didn’t die. Win-win! And I’ll finally get one of those yearly checkups. It’s been six years since my last one, thanks to the government kicking me off my dad’s healthcare plan the day I turned twenty-six. Not a very nice birthday gift, but now I’ll march right into the hospital with my own insurance and say, “Doc, I’ll have the works. Check every nook and cranny.”
“But . . .” Janet hesitates, looking down at a file folder and then finally back at me. She pulls her lips in before she speaks.
“I’m sorry to say this, Alexis, but we’re letting you go.”
“Letting me go where?” I ask.
She stares at me blankly. “From the company.”
“Wh-what?” I stammer and lean forward in my seat. “Why? I was told I’d be hired on full-time
after a year as a temp employee.”
Janet shakes her head. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be the case. The company has decided to outsource our contractor work.”
My eyes widen in disbelief. “But it’s already outsourced. To me.”
“And they’re going to outsource it further, as in, not on this continent anymore. I’m sorry, but budgets were slashed again, and cuts had to be made somewhere.” Janet keeps looking over my shoulder, her eyes like a pendulum, thanks to that damn clock I can hear ticking behind me. She wants to put this formality behind her and start her weekend.
“Okay,” I say. “Do I get some sort of severance package?” I’m actually not even sure what that is, but I heard it on an episode of The Office.
“No,” Janet says slowly, as if speaking to a child. “You’re a contract employee, so you aren’t entitled to any benefits.” She clears her throat and starts to stand. “I’ll need you to clean out your desk and hand over your employee badge.”
I look down at the badge clipped to my shirt. It has a red border around it, not green like the permanent employees’ badges. “Alexis Spencer” is in bold black letters beneath a photo of me dressed in my best and grinning ear to ear. It was taken on my first day of employment.
“Can’t I keep it?” I ask, rubbing the hard plastic. “As a keepsake.”
Janet extends her hand, palm face up. “No. For security reasons, you can’t keep it.”
I sigh, slowly unclipping the badge from my shirt to relinquish it. My fingers clamp down, holding it for an extra second or two before she rips it away. Janet retrieves a cardboard box from behind her desk and places it in front of me. “I’ll walk you to your cubicle now, so you can collect your things.”
Begrudgingly, I get to my feet and pick up the box. “I don’t need to be walked to my desk,” I say, but my voice cracks, betraying my bravado.
She gives me a stern look. “It’s company policy, Alexis.”
Rules that don’t make any sense are always called policies. Defeated, I follow her out of her office and down the hallway. She glances back at me as we walk like I’m some sort of criminal she needs to keep an eye on.
“I’ll be right here if you need anything,” Janet says, stopping just outside my tiny, dark cubicle.
Minutes ago, these three small walls seemed like my haven, a sanctuary that would lead to greater things. Now, it’s just an open casket for my hopes and dreams. I scan my desk and realize everything, except for Sucky the succulent, belongs to the company.
“Well, I guess I didn’t really need the box,” I say, reaching for the plant. I accidentally knock it over instead, sending dirt flying all over my former desk. “I stand corrected.”
Moments later, Janet closes the building door behind me, quickly locking it like I’m going to barge back in. She waves me off from behind the glass as I walk away onto the busy streets of Chicago, holding the cardboard box that’s far too large for such a tiny plant.
People pour out of high-rise buildings in the Loop, hurrying to beat traffic and get home to start their weekends. Without a job, what is a weekend? Just an end? Because I’m not going to have anything to do during the week now. I take a deep breath of that crisp city air—a combination of bus diesel, meaty hotdogs, halal carts, and rotting garbage. Car horns and sirens blare in the distance, a staple of any major metropolis. It’s mid-October and rather chilly here in Chicago as the wind turns colder and colder coming off of Lake Michigan. I set my box down and slip on my jacket, affording myself a layer of protection that Sucky must go without. The plant rolls around as I pick it back up. It’s surely not going to survive this, and I’m not sure I am either.
My phone vibrates, and I dig it out of my purse. It’s Andrew.
“Hello,” I answer in my cheeriest voice.
“Alexis? What’s wrong?” he asks.
We’ve known each other for fourteen years, so he’s well aware that I’m not a cheery person, especially after a long day of work. He and I were friends before we were partners. We dated for six months when we were younger, but the timing wasn’t right, and we went back to being friends—the
best of friends, the kind of friends who secretly love one another but are too scared to admit it out of fear of losing the other person. But eventually, Andrew and I got over our fears, we found our way back to one another, and we’ve been together ever since. I think we’d be married with kids by now, but I’m what you’d call “not the easiest person to love.” My words, not his.
“Nothing. I just finished up with work, so I’m walking home now,” I say, leaving out the part about my work being finished forever.
A jogger bumps into my shoulder, nearly knocking the box out of my hand. I stop myself from yelling at him because I know if I do I might just break down completely.
“Oh, okay. Great. Are you excited for our special date tonight?” Andrew asks.
I throw my head back and look up, silently groaning at the sky. That’s the last thing I want to do right now.
“I am,” I lie, trying to sound excited.
“Perfect. I’m leaving the office early, so I should be home soon. Love you,” he says.
I can practically hear him smiling through the phone, and I wish I could match his enthusiasm. But that’s just not who I am. It never has been, minus those fleeting moments of happiness today before everything came crashing down on me. I should have known not to get my hopes up, because it never ends well. I’ve tried to be an optimistic person; I really have. But it’s impossible. Actually, it’s biology. I looked it up once. It’s an old defense mechanism. Humans were wired to see the worst in things in order to protect them from potential danger, like a tiger hiding behind a suspicious-looking bush. Sure, there’s been evolution and whatnot since then, but I didn’t seem to evolve like Andrew did. I still tap into a more primal version of myself, and even reading twenty self-help books on positivity couldn’t do the trick. If anything, they made me more of a pessimist.
“Love you too.” I end the call and stand on the curb watching cars pass by in both directions. I already know our special date isn’t going to happen tonight, and I know this because I know me.
Excerpted from THE GIRL I WAS by Jeneva Rose. Copyright © 2025 by Jeneva Rose. Published by MIRA, an imprint of HarperCollins.
