“I wonder sometimes if there’s something to the oldsuperstition about the number thirteen. Maybe that superstition wasoriginally created by the mothers in some tribe who noticed that intheir children’s thirteenth year, they suddenly became possessed byevil spirits. Because it did seem that whenever Taz was around,things spilled and shattered, calm turned into chaos, and temperswere lost.” So laments the mother of one thirteen-year-old boy, Taz, a teenwho, overnight it seemed, went from a small, sweet, loving boy to ahulking, potty-mouthed, Facebook/MySpace–addicted C student whodidn’t even bother to hide his scorn for being anywhere in theproximity of his parents. As this startling transformation floors journalist Beth Harpazand her husband, Elon, Harpaz tries to make sense of a bizarreteenage wilderness of $100 sneakers, clouds of Axe body spray (tohide the scent of pot?!), and cell phone bills so big they requirenine-by-twelve envelopes. In the process, she begins chroniclingh
