Laura Wolfe
Mar 31, 2016 | YA, 1st pages
Chapter One
Footsteps pounded faster, closing in on her. Brynlei darted off the rocky path and squeezed between the trees, her arms outstretched to feel through the darkness. A stray branch sliced into the side of her face, but she forced her way through the brush, no longer certain what direction she was heading. She clamored down a steep embankment, her knees buckling and hands pushing away the wet earth, willing herself to get back up. The truth dangled in front of her like a low-hanging star, but the odds of her living to tell anyone about her discovery were shrinking with every footstep crashing behind her.
Just before the hands grabbed her in the dark and wrestled her to the ground, a cyclone of thoughts reeled through Brynlei’s mind. Her cabin mates sleeping comfortably in their bunks. The void of Anna’s absence beside her. The golden notes of music floating from Rebecca’s violin.
The buttery-sweet scent of her mom’s oatmeal cookies baking in the oven. Her wonderfully boring life back in Franklin Corners. Lastly, she pictured each word printed in the glossy pages of the Foxwoode Riding Academy brochure and almost laughed at its false advertising, its glaring omissions. Nowhere in the crisp twenty-page packet was there any mention of Caroline Watson, the fifteen-year-old girl who went out on a trail ride four years earlier. And never returned.
Three Weeks Earlier
Brynlei placed her muddy paddock boots on the mat in the garage before stepping onto the laundry room floor. The glistening white tiles appeared freshly mopped, as usual, and Brynlei knew better than to be the one to mess it up. The family’s golden retriever, Maverick, bounded toward her, wagging his long, shaggy tail and sniffing her pant legs.
She scratched the soft spot behind his ears, as Maverick leaned into her and closed his eyes. Her mom was baking scones in the oven, and the ingredients hit Brynlei’s nose in layers. First the lemon, eggs, sugar, and lavender, and then a hint of something else. Maybe coriander? She wondered if Maverick smelled the coriander too. She’d read that dogs smelled things in much the same way.
Keisha Ramdhanie
Mar 29, 2016 | YA, 1st pages
Vaseline
The thick layer of jelly melts off my teeth and settles on my tongue like barely dried Elmer’s glue. So bitter. Sticky. And useless. Either Gina gave me an expired jar or I put on way too much. I cannot make a screwed up face showing my disgust. I wonder if anyone else on the carpet is having the same problem. Struggling to maintain my smile and posture, I look to my left and then to my right but I see nothing but beautiful girls twirling around effortlessly like those porcelain ballerinas in musical boxes.
The Los Angeles sun scorches my skin, and the bright eight-foot-tall lights glaring down on me only make the temperature on my blushed cheeks rise. And growing up I thought the Mississippi humidity was the worst kind of heat. I thought wrong. But I can’t make a face showing my near heat exhaustion either. The Vaseline slime travels to the back of my throat. I need to spit. But I can’t. So gross. I curl my lips up into a smile, hoping that will distract myself from the irritation, but it only makes the Vaseline slowly drip down my throat.
I have to smile and pose. I hope they can’t tell how uncomfortable I am. I hope I don’t look like Batman’s the Joker. You would think doing something as simple as smiling and posing isn’t so hard. But, constantly having to make sure you’re captured at just the right angle so you don’t look too fat or too skinny is not easy. Pose. Smile. Smile. Pose. Closed mouth smile. Toothy smile. Sexy smile. Smiley smile. I smile so much my cheeks ache. And there’s the reminder of the Vaseline again.
I smile and pose for these people I don’t even know. They all know me, or they think they do. And they’re all here to see me and take my picture. But I’m here to see him. Where is he? Damn. My feet hurt too. These four inch stilettos scrunch my toes together so much it feels like my bones have twisted to the shape of the shoe. This off the shoulder gown pinches my skin at the waist and butt because it’s a size smaller than I really am. Gina said I had to wear a size 0, otherwise a size 2 would have caused a wardrobe malfunction and my boobs would have spilled out.
As if anyone would want to see my barely B cups. I don’t know why she just didn’t find a more comfortable dress in my size. Apparently, peach is in this season, and this was the only peach colored anything left. I should’ve made her wear it first so she can feel how the sequins itch your whole body endlessly. Still, I look out to the crowd and wave at them with my smile still in place. Freak. I should not have waved. My red carpet coach warned me not to do that amateur move.
“It’s not a pageant. Act like you’ve been there before,” he would say in a shrill high pitched voice.
Nevertheless, I wave again, hoping it catches Colvin’s eye. I need him to look my way. The flashing lights make it so hard to see what’s happening behind the rows and rows of photographers. I can barely look in one direction for longer than half of a second. The techno music the red carpet DJ pumps in the background gives me a headache, but it keeps me on my toes too. It’s loud enough to force everyone in a good mood but low enough for conversation to happen. The only conversation I want to have is with Colvin.
“Estelle! Over here!” A photographer yells from the far left. I don’t know which one is calling my name; I never do. But on the ball of my toes, I do a quarter turn to the left and pose with my hand on my hip just as I’ve been trained.
“This direction please!” Another photographer yells from the far right. I turn right and pose, switching hands and hips.
“Is season two happening at all?” Someone yells.
I can’t answer, so I just continue to pose and smile, taking care not to swallow the whole Vaseline clump. I can’t keep this smile up any longer. The voices, camera clicking, and flashes blur my vision. I need a break.
I tuck a handful of curls behind my left ear. It’s the signal Gina recognizes to step in and get me out of here.
She swoops right in, takes my hand, and guides me behind the thick black curtains where finally I can take my break from smiling; performing. She hands me a tissue and I spit out the Vaseline.
“You’re doing great. Just a few more photos. We need to get you in some magazine placements,” she says as she takes the used tissue from me and swipes a new layer of lip stick on my lips. I’m not leaving until I meet Colvin; no matter what it takes, I think to myself. I hope I’m not missing him while I’m taking this break. I massage my jaws, stretch out my tongue and then step back on the carpet with a fresh smile. Colvin, wherever you are, look at me. Please. Please, look at me. I want you to see me. I’ve known of him for a while, but I don’t know if he even knows who I am. I don’t know if I’ll have another chance to talk to him again.
“Look up,” Gina says, nudging me as she wears a fake smile of her own. Crap. I didn’t even know I was looking down. I hope I didn’t look stupid. For a moment, the red carpet reminds me of the blood and scars Sharon caused me. I know I have to keep my emotions under control, but my eyes sting anyway. I bet she would trip me if she were here. C’mon, Colvin. Look this way, so I can get out of here. I feel like I’m on stilts in these heels. I’m gonna topple over any minute. I can feel it. Don’t trip. Don’t fall. That wouldn’t be the best way to get his attention.
“The California Television Awards welcomes…Colvin Meters!” The DJ announces. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here! I force my smile a little wider and walk steadily along the carpet, repeating my smile and pose performance. I pace myself so that I’m not in the building before Colvin sees me. Oh my freakin’ gosh.
I see him! He’s about three feet away, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit and a small gold bow tie to match the gold hoop in his nose. His low Mohawk fade is freshly tapered to the sides. His skin looks like homemade chocolate ice cream, and the curls in his hair are so tightly coiled and glossed. Gosh, he’s so handsome. Even more so in person.
He shows off his gorgeous dimpled cheeks with every smile. He looks so comfortable. I haven’t even thought about what I’d say if he talks to me. I certainly can’t just smile and pose. He would think I’m a robot.
How come Momma isn’t here to show me how to talk to boys? She is supposed to show me. Even Daddy is supposed to be here and escort me and tell me which boys were no good. I bet he’d tell me all of ‘em were no good.
“Boys will never want you. You’re not good enough.” I can hear Sharon’s words in my head. Her words that always cut me like her punches. What a sister. I have to keep smiling. I wonder if James is seeing this from New York. I wonder how life would be if me and Quinton stayed in touch. What am I doing right now, getting into my head? This is not the time or place for childhood flashbacks.
“How’s it going?” A male voice asks, bringing me back to reality.I instantly perk up and smile bigger as the photographers shout my name.
“Yooo, how’s it going?” The voice asks again, this time closer. I know that voice. But it’s a little deeper than I remember. It’s not the photographers. I turn around. He’s talking to me. Colvin is talking to me. Holy shit. What do I say?
“Good,” I mumble. What the hell? He probably thinks I have some sort of speech problem.
“Alright, good. See you inside,” he says, giving me a quick hug. He walks away as the photographers shout his name, but he doesn’t pose for any more pictures. As I continue my walk towards the building, my hands and lips tremble. He was right here. The only part of my childhood that hasn’t let me down. I really have to get out of here now. In a few seconds, my legs are going to give out, and I’m fall flat on my face. I tug my curls behind my ear again, and Gina comes out on cue.
“And Colvin is your next guest-star…possibly recurring. You know, if it’s a go for season two,” she says.
I can’t even speak. My eyes bug out as I speed up my walk and finally make it inside the awards ceremony. I hope the cameras didn’t catch that millisecond of a freak out. I can’t have an asthma attack here. Gina shuffles behind me as I find my seat and dusts more powder on my face as the house and stage lights get brighter for filming. Then I spot Colvin near the backstage wings, getting ready to present one of the first awards. I can’t believe he knew who I was.
“You’re as much of a star as he is,” Gina whispers in my ear, seemingly reading my mind. Maybe she’s right, but she has no idea what it means for me that Colvin talked to me. I want to cry. I want to scream. I’m mad she surprised me in this stupid way. But it’s my dream come true so I smile and laugh at myself for being mad. I can’t tell her that I’ve thought of him for so long. I can’t tell anyone.
J.R. Prescott
Mar 25, 2016 | YA, 1st pages
Prologue
It can safely be said that few people know what it’s like to be an orphan. And one can only dare to imagine what it might be like. Truthfully, it is a dark empty space that fills the heart, accompanied by miserable days and lonely nights. Yet those who are categorized as such can be counted among the brave, the adventurous, the fighters and seekers of hope. Through the success of their own hardships are they then able to restore their faith in the world.
This can almost be said true for all those who have lost their parents; a great part of their own lives thus lost to an unfortunate event or natural disaster, subsequently plunging them into despair.
The life we are going to look at and follow through this book is a great example of such. I, however, must warn you that this book is a bit dreadful. And I’m quite sure there are plenty of other books out there about friendly ghosts and fairies that you might want to consider before reading this. You still have a chance to turn back and hide this book so that no one may ever find it. But, if you dare to read about an orphan boy, a destined fate, a merciless king, and vicious games, then brace yourself for what is to come.
It was a dark, cold, unforgettable night complete with all the terror and grief one could imagine. One that would change the course of one little boy’s life forever.
It all began when an army of large birds descended into the unwelcoming night. These weren’t ordinary birds, they were vultures with large, fury black wings and sharp pointy beaks. Their heads were bald and their eyes were pierced with hunger and rage. Strange and unsightly as they were, nothing was more immensely terrifying than their plot. And like their physical appearance, they all shared a dark purpose and were united by the same greed. They flocked through the sky in immense numbers, hissing as they gained speed through its harsh winds. There was an unwavering sound of rustling leaves and dead branches falling from the trees and you could almost hear the low, soft whispers of the forest.
It was clear now that these birds were doing some sort of hunting. But for what, exactly? The truth was they weren’t looking for any last minute dinner meal. In fact, they were not interested in the mere flesh of a dead animal. Instead, they were out for blood
Sheri S levy
Mar 23, 2016 | YA, 1st pages
Sydney and I wrestled in my bedroom until I giggled so hard my insides ached and his barking made me deaf. I crossed my arms on my chest and said, “Freeze!”
Momma’s voice boomed through the door, “Trina, are you packed?” He stopped in motion, panting. His head tilted, eyes glued on mine, while he waited for the next command. I always made sure Sydney got to be a regular puppy. Even when he became someone’s service
dog, he’d still have playtime.
“Sort of.” I gave Sydney the release word, “Okay,” and he pounced at me. I threw my arms around his neck buried my face in his freshly shampooed, red, brown, and white-freckled fur and breathed in his clean vanilla scent. His trainer’s words echoed in my mind. “‘Trina, you’ve done a terrific job with your first dog. He’s ready to return to my kennel for his final months of training.’”
My stomach did cartwheels. I sucked – in a breath and fought to hold down my breakfast. This week at the beach would be my last with Sydney.
Ever.
Using the bottom hem of my pajama top, I wiped the wetness from my eyes and retrieved my duffel bag. While separating last year’s summer clothes into two heaps, my dirty pile grew larger than the clean, minus one sock. “Syd, where’s my sock?”
He darted back into the closet. Strutting out, his little stub of a tail wiggled as he dropped the soggy sock on my lap.
“You’re so smart, Mr. Sydney.” Everything he did was a game.
Staring at my small stack of clean clothes, I shrugged, twisted a wild – curl not wanting to be included in my pony tail and looked into his golden-eyes. “You won’t care if I wear some of these a few times, will you?” His tail jiggled.
I dressed in my regular jean shorts and concert t-shirt with the words PINK & PURPLE swirled across my chest. My best friend, Sarah, and I always wore them on special outings. The front of my T was purple and the back pink. Hers was just the opposite. Three years ago our parents attended the band’s concert and surprised us with the shirts as souvenirs. As ten-year-olds, we wore them as long tees with leggings. This year Sarah had grown so much, hers fit like a t-shirt should. Mine stayed a longer T. But we still matched.
Minutes later, I rolled the bag into the garage.
Sydney’s floppy ears drooped. During his year with me, he’d learned that the duffel bag meant a trip somewhere and he wasn’t always invited. “Surprise, Sydney. You get to ‘Go.’” His mouth stretched over his teeth like a grin as he spun in circles. Skidding into his learned ‘Sit,’ he waited for the next command as I opened the car door.
His eyes locked with mine. Pointing at his face, I counted one thousand- one, one thousand- two, one- thousand three in my head, and then said, “Okay!” He leaped to the backseat. I climbed in and he nuzzled his forehead with mine. This summer we’d explore a dog-friendly beach and I’d make Sydney an expert water dog.
Our parents spent every weekend together, but Sarah and I hadn’t hung out since soccer season started months ago. Every time her team won, they moved on to the next level, eventually winning the championship. I had stayed busy training Sydney in public places, working at the barn, riding, and missing Sarah’s company while feeding the horses apples at night.
Dad drove Momma and me down the street to Sarah’s to caravan. Going up her driveway, there she stood; dribbling her soccer ball and wearing a baby-blue tank top layered over a green one with lace at the bottom. They matched the blue and green sea shells along the cuffs of her white shorts. I gasped and my eyes widened.
She must have outgrown her PINK & PURPLE shirt entirely.
Sarah looked bizarre kicking a soccer ball in such a fancy outfit. Darby, her black and white Springer spaniel, chased the ball, barked and wagged her stub of a tail. Sydney and I wedged our heads out the window. “Wow. You’re all dressed up? Where are your soccer clothes?”
“Gone.” She tittered, fluttered her eyelashes and twirled, flinging her blond French-braid. “Mom took me shopping.”
Her eyes matched her top, but I kept that to myself. No reason to add to her new coolness. Going to the beach had never required worrying about clothes or my red- hair. But today, no way could I let on that my bathing suit was under my T and shorts like every other year. Somehow, I just knew hers wasn’t under those new fancy clothes and changed the subject. “So are you and Darby riding with us?”
“I will. Darby can go with my parents.” She climbed in with her backpack. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ryan.”
“Hi, Sarah.” Momma turned around. “You look very pretty.”
I sighed.
Sydney wiggled onto Sarah’s lap, but she gently pushed him off. Bending her head, she said, “Thanks, Mrs. R.” and plucked dog hairs from her clothes.
With the air conditioner gusting and the radio blaring, Dad backed down the driveway and said, “Let’s hit the road.”
“Yay! We’re off to the beach, Syd.” Excitement spiked through my arms and legs like electric currents. His front legs stretched across my lap, putting weight on my thighs. I chuckled. “Look at you. Already sensing I need your calming techniques. That’a boy.” I stroked his back and twisted towards Sarah. “Remember last year? How we buried each other in the sand. That was so much fun.”
Sarah looked straight ahead. “Well, not this year. I just want to lie on the sand and work on my tan.”
“Really? That’ll get boring, quickly.”
Sarah stared out her window. I used both hands and scratched behind Syd’s ears, waiting for her response. Nothing. “Sarah, we need to learn to surf? Or boogie board? Even ride a wave runner?” My eyes pleaded with the back of her head.
Slowly she turned to me with a questioning scowl on her face. I swallowed. Had she changed this much?
Her head moved side to side. “Hmm… First, I’ll have to see how cold the water is, or how many jellyfish I see on shore.”
“But you know I can’t go to the beach without swimming.” Sydney lifted his chin and I rubbed his neck. “The realtor said this house was kind of old, but right on the beach.”
“Oooo! Being on the beach will make it easier to stroll up and down.” Sarah’s eyebrows rose and gave me a sideways smirk. “And meet guys.”
I stared at her as if she spoke a foreign language. “Do WHAT?” Before blurting out something else crazy, I caught my breath and remembered back to the last day of school, only four days ago. Sarah and her class friend, Clayton, had huddled in a corner, talking and passing pieces of paper. I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised. “But Sarah, this week is supposed to be about you and me and our dogs.”
“Oh. Trina.” She gave me a bright, cheery smile. “It’ll be the perfect place to meet guys. No one will know us there. So it won’t matter if we goof up and say the wrong things.”
I scrunched my nose. Yuck. What a waste of time.
Sarah unzipped her pink backpack and pulled out a new pink cell phone. “Look. Here’s my present for staying on the honor roll?”
“Wow. Let me see. I still have Mom’s old phone. Why didn’t you text me?”
“You’re always busy with Sydney so I waited till today. Now you can see all my awesome apps.”
It had never mattered that my phone was for emergencies while at the barn and an occasional text to Sarah. But I leaned closer and whispered, “It’s almost my birthday. Maybe I’ll get one that does all that fancy stuff.”
I tapped Momma’s shoulder. “Look what Sarah got.”
Momma laid her book on the seat and turned around. “That’s very nice, Sarah.”
“Thanks Mrs. Ryan. It helps when I look stuff up for school and has a GPS. Now Mom knows wherever I am.” Then she snickered. “That part’s a bummer!”
Momma eyed Sarah and gave me an apologetic smile. “One day, Trina,” and returned to her book.
Sarah handed me her phone over Syd’s head. It chimed, so she jerked it back. “Just a minute.” She leaned over, started texting and giggled.
Hmm. She can ignore me all she wants. I reached into my purple book bag, pulled out my book, Socializing Your Australian Shepherd and pretended to read. My eyes darted back and forth, hoping Sarah would talk with me.
Sydney moved between us and slept on the seat. When Sarah set her phone on her lap, I asked, “Who was that?”
She exhaled, tilting her head towards her left shoulder, blinking her eyes and drawing out the word, “C-L-A-Y-T-O-N,” and then her phone chimed again.
This time I bit my lip and twisted the same straggly curl around and around.
The realization hit the pit of my stomach. Sarah’s different.
L.M. Fry
Mar 23, 2016 | YA, 1st pages
Chapter One
Mom, where are you?
The rusty gear on the grandfather clock ground the wrought-iron hour hand to the number eight.
CLANG… CLANG… CLANG… CLANG…
Theo jumped at the dissonant chimes. Gripping her chest, she scowled at the grinning cherubs that sat atop the antique monstrosity. She continued to pace across the floor, her sneakers deepening the circular trail she had already formed in the maroon carpet. Her hazel eyes flickered back to the ever-ticking clock. She pulled the tip of her chestnut-colored ponytail out of her mouth, which left the faint after-taste of apple blossom conditioner on her tongue.
Holding her cell phone, Theo replayed the week-old voicemail from her mom. “Sorry I had to leave, but this con-ference is very important. If you need anything, call Auntie Grace. I’ll be home by noon on Thursday. I love you.”
Since her dad died, Theo hated being home alone. It wasn’t so bad when her mom called every day to check in, but the calls stopped a couple of days ago. At first, Theo figured she was busy with conference stuff, however her mom was due home eight hours ago – and today wasn’t just any ordinary day.
You promised you’d be home for my birthday.
All day long Theo had imagined coming home to find a hastily thrown together surprise party. She longed for her mom’s specialty – a slightly burnt chocolate cake with une-ven caramel frosting. It wasn’t a celebration without the faint smell of charred baked goods in the air.
Instead, she came home to the same musty smell that clung to their old Victorian.
Theo focused all her energy on the phone, willing her mom to call, but all that rang were her nerves. The phone slipped from her fingers, bounced once, and slid under the sofa. She knelt down to retrieve it, and her forehead said “hello” to the leather steamer trunk that her mother used as a coffee table.
“Stupid archaic piece of junk,” she groaned.
She peered under the sofa and debated whether she wanted to reach into the dark void. With a deep breath, she moved her arm along the base of the couch, dust tickling her nose. Her fingers caressed dust bunnies, old cat toys, and, finally, the phone. She sat back on her heels just in time for an onslaught of sneezes.
Allison M. Lewis
Mar 17, 2016 | YA, 1st pages
Chapter One
Once upon a time, in a faraway land called Starryton, there lived a princess named Misty. Like many other princesses before her, she was loved and adored by her subjects and doted upon by her parents. The citizens of Starryton often gushed over her skin, which resembled that of dolls frequently displayed in curio cabinets. She wondered, however, if they would still gush if they ever realized what separated her from the other princesses of the world: her wheelchair.
Misty had been in a wheelchair since she was very young because she had a disability that left her unable to walk or properly use both of her hands. This disability had been kept a secret in Starryton for as long as she could remember because her father didn’t want the royal family to appear weak to the people of the kingdom. For years her parents kept her comfortable, but hidden, in the highest tower of their castle.
Misty had the best of everything and the nicest help. This included Dex, a Labrador retriever as black as coal yet as soft as velvet; he was her service dog and the apple of her eye. Despite Dex’s company, Misty couldn’t help but feel like a cross between Rapunzel and Ariel because she was hidden from a world she desperately wished to be a part of. She loved her parents and understood that they were only trying to protect the life they had always known. She was getting old by princess standards, though, and she wished to find love.
Truth be told, she’d loved Prince Derrick of Mooncrest, the neighboring kingdom, from afar for years. He loved to dance and was known for being as graceful as a gazelle prancing through the forest when he did.
