My Beating Teenage Heart - C.K. Kelly Martin excerpt

excerpt 

Chapter One
The first moment is utter darkness. The absence of thought, the absence of everything. An absence which stretches infinitely backwards and threatens to smother your sanity—if there was a you, that is. But there's not. I am nothing and no one. I never was. I must not have been because otherwise, wouldn't I remember?
Don't look back. Don't let the darkness inside you.
If I'm talking to myself, there must be a me. That in itself is a revelation. I exist. The second before was starkly empty and now I'm swimming with celestial stars. They're as silent as stones but they shimmer, glimmer and shine. I think…I think I can hear them after all but not in a way I've heard anything before.
The sound isn't music and it's not whispers. I don't have words to describe it. If teardrops, blinding sunshine and limitless knowledge combined to make a noise, it would be the one the stars hum while I float amongst them. I don't know much but this is something I'm certain I'm learning for the first time: the stars know things that we don't and they always have.
And then, just as my mind begins to expand with questions
— who am I?
— where is this?
— how am I…

I'm falling, plummeting through the glittering darkness at a speed that would normally make your stomach drop. Instinct kicks in and makes me throw out my hands to break my fall. Only, I don't have any—no hands and no stomach either.
The fear of falling exists in my consciousness and nowhere else. There's nothing I can do to stop my descent. Beneath me continents of light beam their brightness as I speed towards them.
Catch me, stars. Help me.
But they're not stars, as it turns out. They're the lights you see from a jumbo jet when you're coming in for a night landing. They make civilization appear minuscule and for some reason that makes me want to sob but I can't do that either. No hands, no stomach, no tears.
What happens when I hit bottom?
I'm so close now that I can spy individual cars, streetlamps, house lights left on.
Is someone, someplace, waiting for me, leaving the light on?
Where am I supposed to be?
A pointed suburban roof reaches up to meet me, and if I have no body, surely there are no bones to shatter, no damage to fear, but my consciousness flinches anyway. It quakes and tries to yank whoever or whatever I am away from the solid mass shooting up underneath me.
In the split second it takes to realize I've failed, I'm already through the ceiling. Inside, falling still. Falling…and then not.
I don't crash. I don't even touch down. All I can do is stare into the pair of blinking eyes below me. They're not even a foot away. They're the distance you hold yourself from someone when you're on your way to a kiss. I don't remember my own kisses but I remember the concept the same way I remember what a roof or a jumbo jet is. I remember romance, yearning, love and hate in a way that has nothing to do with me. Maybe I've never been in love—or maybe it's happened a hundred times but so very long ago that I've forgotten each of them. I can't decide which idea is sadder.
The eyes open and close as I stare at them. His eyes. The white boy's. They're not staring back at me, but looking clean through. If I had a body I'd estimate it was hovering just above his, toe to toe and head to head with him.
It's night and we're cloaked in darkness, the two of us. But he's the only one who's truly here. Here. Wherever that is.
I'd move if I could, give him the space he doesn't realize he's lacking. I feel awkward, embarrassed about all I can see from here—his pores, his nose hairs, a cracking bottom lip that could use lip balm—even though he doesn't appear to have a clue he's being spied upon. But there's nothing I can do about it. I'm like a camera, picking up images but not in control of angles or focal length.
So I watch the boy's eyelashes flutter and listen to him breathe. What his lungs expel sounds like a steak knife slashing into meat. Not like an asthmatic but like someone so steeped in despair it's a wonder he hasn't drowned in it. How long can someone live like this? It hurts to hear. My nonexistent hands clamp themselves over my nonexistent ears.
Outwardly, my focus barely shifts. I'm still floating over him, listening to breaths of bottomless anguish. Wait…
I must be asleep. My fall from the stars and the hurt I hear in this boy's breathing, they can't be real. This vision I'm watching is nothing but a wildly vivid dream. When I wake up tomorrow, with my stomach, my hands and all my memories intact, I'll shake my head at my panic. Then I'll grab a pen and jot the details down before they fade to nothing. I imagine how crazy every bit of this will seem when I read it back in the morning. Stars that make a noise of wisdom. The power to read emotions through someone's breath.
Insane. Even for a dream. Why not dream of something my eyes would want to linger on—the rapturous merging of two bodies or a purple sky hanging over a majestic blue-green waterfall? Why dream of this sad boy?
I examine him, attempt to cement the details in my mind so I can record them when I wake up, and as I'm watching I realize I can shift the camera here and there after all—not much, but a little. Yes, I can stare at him from the end of the bed if I prefer, or from a blue acoustic guitar leaning against the wall near his window. Maybe I can even…No, I can't escape the room, can't leave him behind. That's beyond my power. He's meant to be the star of this dream for reasons my unconscious isn't ready to share with me. I notice that when I turn away from him to study the room my, gaze jumps inadvertently back to him before long.
And when it does this is what I see: a white boy of about sixteen or seventeen, curly brown hair framing his face. His pupils are light but in the dark I can't determine whether they're green, blue or even hazel. The boy's lying in bed in a gray T-shirt, his bare arms stretched over the covers. He's motionless. Stiller than still except for the blinking. The horrible breathing has stopped, or so it seems. When I listen more intently I realize I can still hear it if I choose. There are some things I can control within this dream, evidently, and this strange audio ability is one of them.
I watch the teenage boy close his eyes. A cell phone rings on the bedside table next to him. My eyes follow his as they dart to the phone and I wonder if the call is important in the scheme of this dream fiction. Perhaps the real action is finally getting started.
Who wants to stand by and be a helpless witness to the grip of misery? I hope, since I'm being forced to take in this vision, that the dream's preparing to morph into something more entertaining—maybe something more closely resembling an action movie or thriller. Do I like chase scenes and gunfire in movies? Shouldn't I be able to remember that, even in my sleep?
Once the phone falls silent, the boy reaches for it, looks to check who called and begins to set it down again. It erupts in his hand and I could swear this time it's louder, almost like a siren. If I have to guess I'd say I'm hearing the phone the same way he is—with added urgency. This time he switches his phone off before returning it to its space on the bedside table.
The boy's gaze flashes away from his cell and towards the alarm clock next to it: 12:23. He lies back in bed, his eyes glued to the ceiling where I both am, and am not. Long moments pass like this. 12:24. 12:25. 12:26. I begin to feel like I'm waiting for a change of scene that will never occur. At last a light tap at the door breaks the spell.
The boy's eyes snap shut as if on cue.
"Breckon?" a middle-aged man with a receding hairline whispers as he pops his head around the now-open door. The man's tie is askew and he smooths it down with one hand and then eases the door open wider, waiting for the boy— Breckon—to stir.
Breckon does no such thing, although I know he's awake. The man pads towards him, sighs silently and sits on the side of his bed. He does this carefully, so as not to awaken the boy I now know to be Breckon. I wonder if the man is his father and if he wishes Breckon would open his eyes and speak to him or whether he prefers this false silence.
The sound of Breckon's breath still hurts if I let it, but I don't. I use the special volume control that allows me to swing down the audio on that alone. His father, or whoever the man is, doesn't seem to hear anything unusual. At first he surveys the moonlit walls—a key-chain collection hanging from four curtain rods mounted one beneath the other on the far wall, a surreal Dali print tacked up close to the door and nearer the bed posters of Pink Floyd's The Wall and a photographic image of a soccer ball sailing through a blue sky.
Dali. I remember Salvador Dali. Jumbo jets, kisses, Salvador Dali and Pink Floyd too. How I wish, how I wish you were here. I hear the lyrics play inside my head and the memory of them makes some currently unknowable part of me ache.
Breckon's father curves his hands around the edge of the bed. He transfers his attention to the boy next to him, peering down at Breckon until his eyes well up with tears.
The movie inside my head isn't an action film but some kind of tragedy, and I've seen enough for one night. I begin to struggle with my brain. Wake. Up. Open your eyes! My subconscious brain is obviously stronger than my conscious one. It's not ready to depart yet. No matter how many mental shakes I give myself, my focus holds on Breckon and his teary-eyed father. Please, please, please let me wake up. I try it like a chant. Please, please, please. With profound longing.
But no matter how much I plead with myself I can't regain consciousness. I'm trapped inside these fours walls.
Slowly, Breckon's father rises and starts back towards the door, closing it gently behind him. That leaves me as Breckon's sole witness and, helpless, I continue to watch him pretend to sleep, his lips parted and his breathing shallow. I suppose at some point the pretense becomes the truth because it lasts until morning light. What should unfold in hours feels more like minutes, and when the sun rises and birds begin chirping outside Breckon's window, I'm no clearer about who I am but at least there's more to see.
Breckon rolls onto his side, curling into the fetal position. He lifts his head and then tugs the rest of his body out of bed with it. In the daylight his eyes are a smoky blue. They match the stripes on his sweatpants. Now that he's standing I can see that he's lean and medium-tall. There's a bump in his nose, which could mean it was broken at some point, but don't ask me how I know that when I couldn't tell you my own name. Breckon's fingers dig into his head and scratch. I circle him, testing out my camera skills now that I have an active subject. I'm able to swirl 360 degrees around his body or sharp-focus on his bare feet or the back of his skull, if I like.
I can cling to the ceiling or dart over to the window at the speed of light, but the real trick—soaring through it and fleeing into the open air—is a magical feat that I can't muster. Meanwhile Breckon himself has opened his bedroom door and is shuffling into the hall. My being follows like we're attached by an electrical current. Staying in his bedroom is suddenly as impossible as leaving it was just moments ago.
In an instant a dog that is little more than tufts of fiery orange and white races towards Breckon with a high-pitched yelp. It launches its front paws up to rest them on Breckon's left leg. The dog stares at him beseechingly.
"Moose," Breckon scolds. It's the first thing I've heard him say and his voice is deeper than I would've guessed. Breckon bends to push the dog roughly away from him. First his father and now the dog. Is there anyone this boy does want to interact with?
I home in on his breathing, only for a moment, but that's long enough for the ache to register. Things aren't any better for him this morning than they were last night.
Moose whimpers as he's shoved aside. He lets Breckon pass, his eyes trailing him, when a forty-something-year-old woman appears in the hallway in pale linen pants and a cardigan. Her long brown hair's back in a ponytail, and her eyes are near enough to the same color as Breckon's. It would be difficult to decide which of them looks more tired.
"Morning," the woman says. She leans in towards Breckon to wrap her arms around him and he lets her.
"Morning," he mutters back.
"I was just about to go down for breakfast," the woman tells him as she straightens and steps back, one of her hands still touching his arm. "Is there anything you'd like?"
Breckon rubs his dry lips wearily together and shrugs.
"How about some eggs?" she suggests.
"Sure." He scratches at his T-shirt. "Thanks."
As they head downstairs together, Moose following, I've begun to doubt my initial assumption that the woman is Breckon's mother, but she's clearly someone he knows well. Someone who wants to make him eggs because at least that means she's doing something for him. Or am I reading too much into their exchange? Perhaps she doesn't have an inkling about the pain he's feeling.
Down in the kitchen, Breckon collapses into a wooden chair and watches the woman pull eggs out of the refrigerator and retrieve a frying pan from the shelf beneath the stove. He clears his throat and sets one of his bare feet on the chair across from him. "So did Sunita get home okay?" he asks. "Did you talk to her?"
"I did." The woman pivots to face Breckon. She smiles for him, but the wrinkles in her forehead proclaim something other than joy. "About an hour ago. She complained that the man in the seat next to her was sneezing nonstop during the flight last night, but other than that she seemed fine."
Breckon nods in response, a yawn creeping into his mouth and making him open his jaws.
"Do you want some toast too?" she ventures. "Juice?"
Breckon shrugs like he doesn't care but the suggestion of juice jolts through me. I remember. And this is different than with jumbo jets or Dali. I remember something specific about me. I like orange juice. Apple too but orange more. I'm not even thirsty, but the mere mention of it sends me into an orange craving that would rival an alcoholic's yearning for vodka or whiskey. Nothing in the world seems more appealing than a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice at this exact moment.
Wake up, I urge. Don't you want to get out of bed and pour yourself some real-life orange juice?
While I'm busy having a personal revelation (I love orange juice!), a second woman has entered the kitchen. In many ways she resembles the first. In fact, if the first woman didn't have her hair tied back, I might mistake them for the same person.
"Dawn," the first woman announces, reaching out to stroke the second's arm. "I'm about to fry Breckon up some eggs. Can I put a couple on for you too?"
Dawn cradles her chin like this is a difficult, almost unanswerable question. One of her blouse sleeves is unbuttoned at the wrist but she either hasn't noticed or doesn't care.
"Go on, sit down," the first woman adds, leaping over her original question. "I won't be a second with the eggs."
Dawn bobs her head and trudges towards the table, where she stops and studies the apricot-hued wall behind it. What appears to be a recent school picture of Breckon hangs next to an empty hook and then a family portrait. I study the photos along with her, confirming that Dawn and the man who sat on Breckon's bed last night are his parents. I haven't worked out who the woman making breakfast is yet, and there's a girl in the family portrait—young with white-blond hair cut as short as a boy's—who has yet to make an appearance.
"Oh," the woman at the stove remarks, her mouth drooping around the word as she notices where Dawn's stare has landed. "I have to drop by the funeral home and pick up the photos. I'll do that later today."
Oh. I feel the sting of the implications behind that syllable too and I hope I'm wrong. The girl in the family portrait is much too young to die. In the photo she can't be older than six. But the woman's reference to a funeral home could mean anything—an older relative's passing. It's only a dream anyway, I remind myself. Nobody's died, not really.
Breckon's mother sits across from him at the table. They nod at each other but remain quiet. The sole sounds in the kitchen are of a wall clock the shape of a sunflower ticking and the woman at the stove scraping a spatula against the bottom of the frying pan.
"Lily?" Breckon says, breaking the silence.
The woman with the ponytail turns to look at him. "Hmm?" she says, tilting her head.
"I'm going to hit the shower," he tells her, already on his feet. "I'll have the eggs when I'm finished, okay?"
"Sure, honey." Lily's face is gilded with sympathy. "Whatever you want. I'll keep them warm for you."
Breckon glances down at his mother. Her eyes are blue too, but brighter than his, and she points to her feet, where Moose is sitting on the tile floor, dazedly watching the three of them. Dawn's mouth flaps open as she struggles to formulate her thoughts. "He's been so—"
"I know," Breckon cuts in. He turns abruptly away and makes for the stairs, taking them two at a time like he can't escape the kitchen quickly enough.
"Breckon," his father calls from the top of the stairway. Breckon's shoulders curl towards his chest as he looks up at his father. "I heard your cell ringing in your room just a second ago," his dad continues, hands dipping into the deep pockets of his navy-blue robe. His face radiates the same unhappiness that everyone's inside this house does. And still no sign of the little blond girl, I note. But can't people change their dreams if they want to?
If I concentrate hard enough, imagine the face from the family portrait and wish her into being with all my might, will she materialize in front of us, white-blond hair still mussed from being flattened against her pillow? Can I create a miracle in my sleep?
They call that lucid dreaming, I think, but either I'm doing it wrong or it's a phony concept in the first place, because nothing happens when I envision the little girl in the hallway with us. Absolutely nothing.
"I'll…" Breckon's fingers dive into his curls. "I'll check messages when I get out of the shower." He squints as he continues his climb, maybe remembering the same thing I am—didn't he switch his phone off last night?
Breckon passes his father on the stairs, and lurches through the second-floor hall and into the bathroom where I watch him tear off his T-shirt and sweatpants. He leaves them in a heap on the floor and reaches, naked, for the shower tap. Inside he stands under the stream of water, bowing his head and letting droplets run down his face. He closes his eyes and hooks his fingers into his armpits. His shoulders begin to shake. His face crumples. He cries quietly into his own chest as the tremble takes hold. Breckon's face is red with agony. He quakes and sobs under the sound of running water, and the sound of that undercover weeping is worse than his tormented breathing, though I can still hear that too.
If I've ever seen anyone cry like this, I can't remember it, but I'm certain that even in my waking life, I won't forget, and with the pain of that thought finally, finally my brain changes gears and starts to release its hold on my dream world and let me go. Not through the roof and stars the way I came, but with a simple fade to gray and then black, Breckon dropping away from me as I fall into pure, blessed silence.

Excerpted from My Beating Teenage Heart - C.K. Kelly Martin. Reprinted from author’s website www.ckkellymartin.com/

Every Last Kiss - Courtney Cole excerpt

excerpt

Prologue

“Charmian! Is there any sign of her?”    
I hurriedly rushed back from the outer room of the mausoleum, looking nervously over my shoulder as my bare feet padded lightly on the cool stone floor.
            “No, my queen.  Only the guards.”
Queen Cleopatra nodded solemnly, her golden armbands glistening in the lamplight. She rose from her perch on a jeweled chaise lounge and gazed sadly at the golden sarcophagus that glittered mutely in front of her.  Ornate and beautiful, it held the remains of her husband.  Lovingly, she slid her hands along the golden shell that would protect him for eternity. 
From the open windows of the outer chambers, the tangy sea breeze blew softly into the inner rooms and I found myself wishing that it could carry me away, somewhere far from here.  I fingered the birthmark on my wrist.  It was not throbbing, not even an ache, and I knew that I would not be leaving this crypt.
A sudden, soft knock on the doors echoed in the quiet room, causing both of us to whip around.  Tension immediately formed in my neck.  This was it.  It had to be.  Cleopatra squared her shoulders, then bent to brush a soft kiss on the golden mask covering Marc Antony’s face.
“Forgive me, my love,” she murmured.
There was another low knock and I felt my shoulders ripple with the stress that they carried as Cleopatra reached out to grasp my hand.
“Iras, love… could you answer that?” Cleopatra whispered.  She squeezed my hand tightly, but I barely noticed.  
Cleopatra’s other handmaiden nodded obediently and slipped silently from the room to answer the door.  She returned a scant moment later with a tiny shriveled woman who looked not a day younger than 200 years old.  The glinting eyes that stared from under her brown hood were ageless, full of wisdom and I felt my heart begin to race.  It was time.  There was no doubt.
            Cleopatra squared her shoulders, her face a perfect regal mask as she walked purposely toward the old woman. 
            “Do you have it?”
            “Yes, your highness,” the old woman rasped throatily. 
She held out a woven reed basket.  I wouldn’t have thought it was big enough to conceal anything and apparently the Roman guards hadn’t either.  Nowadays, they checked everything that came in for the queen. 
            I rushed to Cleopatra’s side and we peered into the interior of the basket together.  It was full of plump figs and I inhaled their sweet, heavy scent.  My eyes raised questioningly to the old healer. 
            She nodded at my unspoken question.  “It is hidden under the figs.”
            “How long will it take?” Cleopatra whispered, her voice not reflecting even a bit of the fear that raced through my veins.
            “Only a few moments. No longer.”  The healer’s faded eyes searched Cleopatra’s bright ones.  “You must be certain, your highness.  Once the poison enters your body, there can be no turning back.”
            Cleopatra nodded.  “No, there is no turning back, old woman.”
            The healer nodded gravely and held out the basket as if it were an offering.  Cleopatra took it and sank back into her chaise lounge, staring absently at the opulence surrounding her as she reached into the basket, withdrawing a fig.  Slipping it into her mouth, she chewed it delicately, then smiled.
            “Delicious,” she announced, swallowing calmly. 
She eyed the basket again pensively.  I sucked in my breath.  It was time.  I felt it coming, the air crackled with it.  Death was an unseen presence in the room, waiting for our last breaths. 
            Reaching into the basket once again, Cleopatra withdrew a long, thin black snake.  It draped itself along her arm and she stared into its black slitted eyes. 
            “You will take me to the afterlife,” she instructed it firmly. “And do it quickly.”
            Leaning back into the silk cushions, she shook the snake lightly.  It hissed, its large mouth yawning open ominously, revealing glistening fangs.  As it stared at her, one drop of deadly venom dripped from its mouth.  Nothing more.  Impatient, Cleopatra shook it again.  It struck her so quickly that I barely had time to register the movement before I heard her gasp. 
            “It is done then,” she murmured, dropping the snake once again into the basket.  I flew to her side, my arms around her slender shoulders.  Two drops of blood dripped from her breast.
            “Cleopatra…” My voice broke as pain flooded through me.   
            “Charmian, do not fear.  We have done what we must.  All is well.” 
Her obsidian eyes met mine and I saw peace in them. My breath caught in my throat just as she drew her last.  Her lips quivered and then she was still, her dark eyes staring sightlessly at me.  My heart shattered silently. 
            “All is well,” I whispered as I reached out and gently closed her eyes.  “Is it?  Is it well where you are now, my queen?” 
Her face was peaceful and even in death, she was beautiful.  I swallowed hard as I looked up at Iras.  She was shaking her head in grief as she rocked back on her heels.  The old woman watched me silently, waiting to see what I would do, waiting to see if I would follow our queen. 
            Shakily, I picked up the basket and reached inside.  The snake’s body was surprisingly dry, not scaly in the slightest.  It writhed beneath my hand, agitated already.  My fingers closed around it determinedly, pulling it back out into the light.
            Staring into its flat black eyes, I implored it softly. 
            “Please be quick.”
            And it was.

Excerpted from Every Last Kiss - Courtney Cole. Reprinted from authors website http://courtneycolewrites.wordpress.com

Delirium - Lauren Oliver excerpt

excerpt 

Chapter One
The most dangerous sicknesses are those that make us believe we are well.
--Proverb 42, The Book of Shhh
It has been sixty-four years since the president and the Consortium identified love as a disease, and forty-three since the scientists perfected a cure. Everyone else in my family has had the procedure already. My older sister, Rachel, has been disease-free for nine years now. She's been safe from love for so long, she says she can't even remember its symptoms. I'm scheduled to have my procedure in exactly ninety-five days, on September 3rd. My birthday.

Many people are afraid of the procedure. Some people even resist. But I'm not afraid. I can't wait. I would have it done tomorrow, if I could, but you have to be at least eighteen, sometimes a little older, before the scientists will cure you. Otherwise the procedure won't work correctly: people end up with brain damage, partial paralysis, blindness, or worse.

I don't like to think that I'm still walking around with the disease running through my blood. Sometimes I swear I can feel it, writhing in my veins like something spoiled, like sour milk. It makes me feel dirty. It reminds me of children throwing tantrums. It reminds me of resistance, of diseased girls dragging their nails on the pavement, tearing out their hair, their mouths dripping spit.

And of course it reminds me of my mother.

After the procedure I will be happy and safe forever. That's what everybody says, the scientists and my sister and Aunt Carol. I will have the procedure and then I'll be paired with a boy the evaluators choose for me. In a few years, we'll get married. Recently I've started having dreams about my wedding. In them I'm standing under a white canopy with flowers in my hair. I'm holding hands with someone, but whenever I turn to look at him his face blurs, like a camera losing focus, and I can't make out any features. But his hands are cool and dry, and my heart is beating steadily in my chest--and in my dream I know it will always beat out that same rhythm, not skip or jump or swirl or go faster, just womp, womp, womp, until I'm dead.

Safe, and free from pain.

Things weren't always as good as they are now. In school we learned that in the old days, the dark days, people didn't realize how deadly a disease love was. For a long time they even viewed it as a good thing, something to be celebrated and pursued. Of course that's one of the reasons it's so dangerous: It affects your mind so that you cannot think clearly, or make rational decisions about your own well-being. (That's symptom number twelve, listed in the Amor Deliria Nervosa section of the ninth edition of the Safety, Health and Happiness Handbook, or the Shhh Book, as we call it.) Instead they named other diseases--stress, heart disease, anxiety, depression, hypertension, insomnia, bipolar disorder--never realizing that these were, in fact, only symptoms that in the majority of cases could be traced back to the effects of amor deliria nervosa.

Of course we aren't yet totally free from the effects of the deliria in the United States. Until the procedure has been perfected, until it has been made safe for the under-eighteens, we will never be totally protected. It still moves around us with invisible, sweeping tentacles, choking us. I've seen countless uncureds dragged to their procedures, so racked and ravaged by love that they would rather tear their eyes out, or try to impale themselves on the barbed wire fences outside of the laboratories, than be without it.

Several years ago on the day of her procedure, one girl managed to slip from her restraints and find her way to the laboratory roof. She dropped quickly, without screaming. For days afterward, they broadcast the image of the dead girl's face on television to remind us of the dangers of the deliria. Her eyes were open and her neck was twisted at an unnatural angle but from the way her cheek was resting against the pavement you might otherwise think she had laid down to take a nap. Surprisingly, there was very little blood--just a small dark trickle at the corners of her mouth. Ninety-five days, and then I'll be safe. I'm nervous, of course. I wonder whether the procedure will hurt. I want to get it over with. It's hard to be patient. It's hard not to be afraid while I'm still uncured, though so far the deliria hasn't touched me yet.

Still, I worry. They say that in the old days, love drove people to madness. That's bad enough. The Book of Shhh also tells stories of those who died because of love lost or never found, which is what terrifies me the most.

The deadliest of all deadly things: it kills you both when you have it, and when you don't.

Excerpted from Delirium - Lauren Oliver. Reprinted from authors website www.laurenoliverbooks.com.

Sweet Sofie - Elizabeth Reyes excerpt

excerpt 1

Age 13

Ever since the boys had moved on to high school, things had been different. Sofia finally had some freedom. A good thing too, because now that she’d lost a few pounds, boys were beginning to notice her. She could actually have a conversation with them during lunch without worrying about one of her brothers breathing down their necks. Even Romero, but mostly Eric, had gotten in on the big brother act. As if three brothers weren’t enough.

Everything at home remained the same. Her brothers’ overbearing natures hadn’t changed at all. With them feeding off her dad’s old school mentality about the importance of the older brother role, their interferences began to reach new heights.

Sofia waited for Angel to leave the kitchen before asking her mom about the after-school dance that Friday. Her mom chopped onions while Sofia helped with the guacamole. She glanced back to make sure Angel had walked out.

“They’re having a Valentine’s dance this Friday after school. It’s just a two hour thing. I was thinking of going. Is that okay?”

Her mom turned to her and smiled. “Did someone ask you to the dance?”

Sofia shook her head. They weren’t noticing her that much yet, but someone had asked if she would be there. “No. It’s just going to be me and Tricia and some of the other girls from the running team.”

“I don’t see why not.” Her mom rinsed her hands in the sink.

Alex walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Sofia pressed her lips together, willing her mom not to say anything about the dance in front of him. But all her mental efforts were in vain.

“Are you going to wear anything special to the dance, or is it just casual?”

Sofia kept her eyes on the avocado she mashed in the bowl, but from the corner of her eye, she saw they n aDhad Alex’s attention. “What dance?”

“The Valentine’s dance at Sofia’s school,” her mother said matter-of-factly.

Alex made a face. “You going to the dance, Sof? With who?”

Trying her hardest to hide the attitude, Sofia didn’t bother looking at him. “With my friends.”

“What friends?” Alex pressed.

She turned around, no longer able to conceal her agitation. “Tricia and some of the other girls, Alex.”

Alex frowned. “School dances are lame, Sof.”

Sofia rolled her eyes, adding salt to the guacamole. “Well, I’ve never been to one. I just want to try it. Do you mind?”

“Maybe I do.”

“Alex, go throw the trash out and tell your brothers it’s time for dinner,” her mother said, dumping the onion she’d been chopping into the guacamole.

Alex grabbed the trashcan and headed out the kitchen door.

“Sofia, never mind your brother, let me know if we need to get you anything to wear. You go and have a good time.” She kissed Sofia on the head. “Just be sure you come straight home after.”

Sofia smiled. Finally, her chance to mingle with boys, and her brothers wouldn’t be anywhere around.

excerpt 2

The set up: Sofie is 15 and is paid a visit at the restaurant from by a boy from school but her brother Alex is there. WARNING: An older boy... coming on to Sofia.. and her older hot head brother is there Expect the language to be harsh!

Things were different with Eric. She got to be around him all the time. Lately, there’d been a change. Many times when they spoke, he gazed deep in her eyes no matter what the subject, almost as if he was trying to tell her something without saying it. Her insides would always turn to mush around him now. She liked it. It was exciting.

As she walked out into the main dining room, her mother came toward her. “Oh, there you are. There’s a young man here to see you.”

Sofia pinched her brows. A young man? “Who?”

“I don’t know, but he’s out front by the entrance.” Her mom rushed into the kitchen.

Sofia walked through the restaurant wondering where Alex could be. Sal was away in college and Angel was hoe tAngel wme, but Alex was here somewhere. She didn’t want him embarrassing her. She turned the corner to the front of the entrance. Ah, hell.

Ronald, a senior on her track team, stood at the front entrance. He was new to the school and apparently one of the few that hadn’t heard about the cavemen in her life. Alex spoke to him.

“You’re kidding right?” Alex sounded almost amused.

“No, why? Is that a problem?”

Alex was as intimidating as ever. “Of course it is.”

They were both about the same height, but Alex probably outweighed him by at least forty pounds.

Sofia cleared her voice. “Hey, Ron.”

Ronald turned at the sound of her voice and smiled. “Hey, Sof.”

He walked away from Alex, coming over to where Sofia stood. He pulled something out of his pocket. “I went to Old Town this weekend. I saw this and thought of you.”

He handed her one of the little tiny turtle bobble heads she’d mentioned collecting. She smiled, taking it from him. Alex came over and stood behind her.

“Let me see that?” He took it from Sofia, examining it, as if he hadn’t seen all the ones she had just like it in her room. Then he asked, “How old are you, Ron?”

Ron gave him a strange look. “Eighteen.”

With that, Alex snapped the head off the tiny turtle and handed it back to Ron.

“Alex!” Sofia said, horrified.

“What’s your problem, man?” Ron asked.

Romero and Eric walked through the front door, oblivious to what was going on.

Alex got in his face. “My problem, asshole, is my sister is fifteen. I could call the cops on you, for trying to mess with a minor, but I’d rather kick your ass myself.”

A few customers walked in, forcing Alex to refrain from doing anything. The only thing that would hold him back from hitting the guy was his dad’s outrage if he made a scene in the restaurant. Still, Sofia stepped in front of him to separate them. Alex didn’t make it easy. “Stop, Alex. We have customers.”

Ron held his hands up and looked at Sofia. “I didn’t know you were fifteen.” His eyes roamed her up and down and with a smirk he added, “You sure don’t look fifteen.”

“Get out.” Alex spoke through his teeth.

Ronald smirked. “I’ll see you at school.”

He walked out, but of course, Alex went after him. Eric and Romero followed. Sofia forced a smile and greeted the customers.

Excerpted from Sweet Sofie - Elizabeth Reyes. Reprinted from author’s blog http://thebeginings-elirey.blogspot.com

Always Been Mine - Elizabeth Reyes excerpt

excerpt

Prologue:

Sarah felt herself go numb. This couldn’t be happening. She gripped the phone, her knuckles going white, the knot in her throat almost unbearable.

“Sarah, are you still there?”

In an almost inaudible whimper Sarah answered, “Ah huh.”

“I know this is hard, honey„ but it’s not the end of the world. We talked about this already, and you knew it was a possibility. I tried, Sarah, I really did, but there’s no way around it. We’ve gone over all the other possibilities, but anything else is too much of a risk. It’s for the best.”

“But, senior year …” Sarah felt the anger building, and the tears burning in her eyes. She was ready to blow up, lash out. Then she heard her mom again. Her voice choked up as well.

“I know, honey. I’m so sorry. I really screwed things up this time.”
She heard her mom take a long, trembling deep breath and it broke her heart. She wanted to be with her, to hug her, and comfort her.

“Its okay, mom, I’ll be fine.”
Her mom cleared her throat and lowered her voice. Sounding very determined, she spoke again.
“I am going to make this up to you. I promise, okay?”

“Okay.”
“I’ve already called Aunt Norma. She and Uncle William will be here this weekend. They wanna help us pack so you and I will have time to spend together. Then I’ll have to be in court on Monday.”

Sarah gasped. “Monday?”

“Yeah, babe, Monday”

Sarah covered half her face with her free hand and shook her head. But not wanting to make her mom feel any worse she choked back a sob.

“Alright, mom.” she whispered

“I’m gonna be here a while, honey, so don’t wait up for me. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

She hung up and looked at her best friend Sydney who’d been sitting on the bed next to her the whole time and who stared at her now anxiously.

“She’s pleading guilty and gonna do at least three years. I have to go live with my Aunt Norma in California.” There was no more holding it together, though Sydney kept a strong face Sarah fell into his arms sobbing.

CHAPTER 1
ONE MONTH LATER
La Jolla High School California

Even as she stood in the middle of a bustling hallway with noisy students rushing by her Sarah felt utterly alone. One month wasn’t nearly enough to prepare her for a new school, new friends, and new life. God, how she missed Sydney. This wasn’t at all how she’d imagined her first day as a senior in high school would feel like. She had so many plans at her old school and now she stood here completely lost not knowing anyone.

She clenched her backpack in her hand and walked in no particular direction. She wanted to get out of the middle of traffic of bodies. She searched for her cousin Valerie. She did say the main entrance hall just outside the counselor’s office didn’t she? They’d been dropped off together by her aunt but Sarah had to go to counselor’s office. Since she’d enrolled so late her schedule hadn’t come in the mail like Valerie’s. No sooner had they walked in the school had Valerie started socializing but promised she’d be right there when she got back from the office.

She'd finally found the office and the bell rang just as she walked out. Sarah tried not to panic. She glanced at her schedule but had no idea where her first class was. She backed up slowly until her back was against a wall. Had Valerie really abandoned her? No she wouldn’t. She took in some of the faces around her and wondered if she should just ask someone for directions to her first class.

High pitched squealing got her attention and she turned to the front entrance some girl had her arms wrapped around one of the guys that had just walked in. Sarah rolled her eyes. She’d always hated those types of girls. The guy was obviously a jock because he wore his letterman’s jacket and so did his two friends.

Deciding she was on her own, she walked back toward the office and frowned when she realized a map of the school had been just outside the office all this time. There were a few kids standing in front of it examining their schedules and then looking up at the map. Apparently she wasn’t the only newbie at this school. Not much of a consolation. Sarah looked around for Valerie more than a little annoyed at her.

Male laughter erupted just behind her and she turned to find the same jocks she’d seen walk in earlier with a few more guys horsing around. The tall one that was greeted at the door by the squealing girl was smiling when their eyes met. The smile on his face seemed to dissolve slowly. And she stood there frozen, her lips slightly opened. For a moment she thought he might say something and then she heard Valerie.

“Yo cuz! Where’ve you been?”
Sarah snapped out of her daze and watched as Valerie who’d already taken Sarah’s schedule smile wickedly. “We have two classes together!”

“We do?” Sarah’s cheeks still felt warm but she quickly walked along side of Valerie suddenly not annoyed with her anymore. Instead she was incredibly grateful for Valerie’s timing.

Valerie talked about the classes and just until they were far enough and around the corner of the building, “Oh my God, Sarah do you know who that was that was staring at you?”

Surprised and not sure why, Sarah pretended to not understand. “What? Who?”

Valerie gasped. “That was Angel Moreno! Don’t you remember I’ve told you about him and his brothers?”

“No.” Sarah lied. Of course she remembered part of the reason she could hardly breathe when she recognized him.

The bell rang again.

“Oh shit.” Valerie looked at her watch. “We’re gonna be late on our first day.”
She grabbed Sarah’s arm and they were off on a foot race to their first class.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Angel made his way quickly around the science building. His stomach tensed up as the bell rang. He was late to practice again and he knew his coach wouldn’t be happy. It was the second time this week, but he had to stay after class to get the extra credit assignment. He was failing Spanish II, again. Spanish! His parents owned a Mexican restaurant for crying out loud! Only reason he had taken it again, was because he needed the two years of foreign language, to even have a prayer getting into a four year college. And now it may cost him time on the field.

Apparently, he was only good at the curse words and the teacher called his Spanish, Spanglish. It was a catch 22 though, if he didn’t stay late to get the extra credit assignments he wouldn’t be able to make up some of the lousy scores he’d been getting on the quizzes and if he didn’t make them up he wouldn’t have the grades to play on the team.

Still he thought as he ran down the corridor of outdoor lockers. It wasn’t his fault the teacher was so slow about passing out the assignments. If he didn’t pick up his grade he’d have no choice but to stay after school for tutoring. Just the thought had him groaning.

He made it to the weight room just as they were starting warm ups. The coach barely looked at him and pointed to the bleachers outside in the hot sun.

“Twenty.” he said. “Make 'em fast.”

Angel knew what that meant he’d have to run up and down the bleachers. As he began to sprint toward the bleachers, he heard Melissa call out to him from the track area where the cheerleaders were warming up.

“Bleachers again, Angel?”

He smiled and nodded barely looking her way. Some of the other girls laughed and joined in. His dimples made their appearance as usual, although his smile was anything but genuine. The catcalls had never done anything for him, except make him uncomfortable, especially from this group of girls.

“Ooh, Angel! "Show us your stuff!”
Another one added.
“Shake that thing!”

At seventeen years old, Angel was already an impressive six feet two inches. He was very much following in his two older brother’s footsteps. Although it was nice to have instant notoriety as soon as he started high school, there were times he resented having to live up to his brothers legacies. He had the looks, the built, the popularity but unfortunately not the grades.

He frowned at the thought of his two older brothers being on full sports scholarships in college, and here he was struggling to stay eligible to play a high school football. It was almost too much to live up to, but he wasn’t going to give up. As his father and lately his oldest brother Sal, always said, failure was not an option.

Lost in his thoughts and still annoyed with himself, Angel ran slowly and pensively up the bleachers for the fourth of fifth time, he’d lost count. Sweat trickled down his face and he struggled to keep his breathing steady. He usually could get a rhythm going, but not today.

Startled, he almost lost his balance when someone ran right past him a little too close. He caught himself and was about to give him an earful when heard her apologize and realized he was a she.

“I’m sorry, did I bump you?” Her concern seemed genuine.

“Yeah, but I’m good.” Angel was bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“You sure you’re ok?” she asked again.

He looked up at her for the first time, still breathing hard. The first thing he noticed was her eyes. They were an amazing light green. A startling contrast to her dark features. She had a very fresh face compared to most of the girls he knew that were usually all done up even if they were in gym class. She stared at him as she too, stood there breathing hard.

Her hair was up in a ponytail, except for a few strands dampened by perspiration that stuck to the sides of her face and forehead. There was something familiar about her he just couldn’t place it.

“I’m fine,” He couldn’t help staring he hated the feeling of knowing he'd seen her before but not being able to place it.

“Good.” She started untangling the earphone wire; she’d apparently taken out of her ear when she stopped to check on him. She didn’t smile back or ask anything else She seemed eager to be on her way. He watched as she adjusted it in her ear and got ready to go back to her running.
With his heart pounding and palms sweating, to his own surprise he stammered. “So you like to run?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She turned and looked at him without responding. Maybe she hadn’t heard him, he hoped.

 “I’m Angel, what’s your name?”

 “Sarah.”

All he could manage was a smile as the name sunk in.

 “Well, have a good one,” she said, and ran off.

He watched as she ran up and across the bleachers. From a distance she looked very small and young. If he hadn’t seen her up close he wouldn’t guessed she was a freshman that might explain why he didn’t recognize her. But something about those eyes seemed a bit older than a freshman. What the hell did he know?

He started his run again. And his thoughts went immediately back to his grades. Was he really gonna need to be tutored? He shook his head in disgust and picked up his pace.

********************

Sarah ran, concentrating hard. She had a feeling he was still watching her, and she’d die if she fell or tripped. The butterflies in her stomach were out of control. How could she almost knock him over? As usual she’d been so lost in thought. Of all people it had to be him. Maybe she should’ve said more to him but she'd been at a loss for words, thoughts, just like the first day of school when he’d caught her gawking at him like an idiot. Ever since then she’d avoided coming face to face again with him. Any time she even thought she saw him, she’d run in the opposite direction.

She wanted to faint when she realized who she’d bumped. Damn him and his smile. She was sure her legs would give out on her if she hadn’t left that second. As sure as she was, that he probably didn’t even remember her, she hadn’t wanted to chance making a fool of herself, again.

Sarah knew all about the great Moreno brothers. Valerie had lived here her whole life, and had gone through grade school and middle school with them. She told Sarah all about them every chance she got, since Valerie herself had a huge crush on Angel’s older brother Alex.

Sarah thought back to the first time she’d seen Angel, two summers ago. She and her mother had come out to visit her mothers’ sister, and Valeries’ step mom, Aunt Norma. Valerie had taken her along to a beach party with her.

It had been an all day party, but Valerie being self conscious about her body, decided they’d show up late, after all the swimming was done. They arrived when everyone was just hanging around the bonfires, and listening to music. She hadn’t been able to believe everything Valerie had told her about Angel, and his brothers. She made them out to be movie-star, drop-dead gorgeous. Valerie had poked her when he and his friends arrived. “There he is, that’s Alex’s little brother.”

Sarah looked up and saw him in all his glory. He was anything but little, even back then. He and his friends seemed to move in slow motion toward a group of girls. The girls waited their anxious smiles enormous. He wore a tank top that showed off his muscles and denim shorts. Sarah had never seen a more finer-looking smile: his dimples were incredible. She watched as one of the girls practically jumped in his arms, hugging him, and then looked around casually to make sure everyone was watching.

“Is that his girlfriend?” she’d whispered, still in awe of him.

Valerie had immediately huffed. “She wishes. That’s Melissa, the one I told you about, who’s forever throwing herself at him and tries to convince anyone that will listen, that the two are an item. When everyone knows he’s never had a girlfriend, probably never will. Why should he? When he can have all the girls he wants, whenever he wants?”

Sarah remembered watching him and fantasizing that day. It was all she could do. The girls he hung with seemed so and cool comfortable around him, and his friends. Laughing, sometimes a little too exaggerated, but still at least they could hold a conversation. Unlike Sarah, she’d had barely been able to breathe the first day of school when he looked at her. And now she’d almost knocked him down. If he did remember her as the gaping fool from the first day, he’d now have yet another idiotic memory of her. She was hopeless.

It didn't matter anyway. Making new friends was not in her agenda. She didn’t plan on sticking around long enough, so why bother?

She picked up the pace and tried to remove him from her mind. She remembered Sydney’s birthday. It was this weekend, and she had to make sure she’d finally e-mail the gift. She’d made a slideshow with pictures of the good times along with all of the songs that held special meaning to just the two of them. She knew Sydney would appreciate it much more than any store-bought gift.

If it hadn’t been for Sydney, she didn’t know how she would’ve gotten through the past year, and she wanted to show her appreciation for their friendship. It was one that went back almost ten years, and Sydney meant the world to her. They’d been through so much over the years, last year especially .

When Sarah was forced to move out to California with her Aunt, she and Sydney had made a pact to always keep in touch. So far they had through e-mails, and since Sydney’s parents had offered to get her a cell phone they had unlimited minutes, which meant they could talk everyday. Sarah knew she’d never again find such loyal and trusting friends and was determined to keep Sydney and his family in her life forever.

Aunt Norma didn’t know it yet, but Sarah had plans. She would be eighteen in December, and once she was, no one, not even her mom, would be able to stop her from going back to Arizona, and finishing out her senior year there, with Sydney. She would save enough money to be able to pay Sydney’s parents to let her stay with them. She already had several baby sitting gigs lined up. Between that, and school, there was no room for a social life.

She could hardly wait. Just the thought made her smile. Next semester she’d be running for her home track team at Flagstaff High, where she belonged, and her life would go back to the way it should be.

She glanced up from her feet as she made her way down the bleachers and saw Jesse Strickland waiting for her at the bottom, arms crossed smiling from ear to ear. Oh, God what now? She fought the urge to roll her eyes, as she reached the bottom and stood in front of her, deliberately blocking her way. He reached over to pull an earphone out of her ear, but she stopped his hand from getting any closer and did it herself.

“You know what today is?” he smirked.

 “Nope.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Valerie didn’t tell you?”

Sarah shook her head, not the least bit interested. She was getting hotter, and. already sweating, she knew she’d be drenched soon, if she didn't start running again.

“Is this gonna take all day?” she asked. “I’m in the middle of my run here.”

“It’s my birthday” he opened up his arms. “I’m here to collect.”

Sarah’s eye’s narrowed, as she stepped back. “Collect what?”

He stepped forward smiling wickedly. “Well, being that we’re here in school. I’ll take a hug for now.” He leaned in, and began putting his arms around her small waist.

Sarah scowled, pushing him away. “I don’t owe you a damn thing!”
Obviously amused, he lifted an eyebrow and proceeded to move forward and force a hug. “Oh, come on, Sarah, we’ve done so much more before, what’s a hug now?”

“That was a long time ago, and a mistake, so get over it!” She struggled to undo his hands that had clasped behind her waist. She felt his weight on her, heavy at first, pushing her against the fence. And then just like that, the weight was gone. It took her a moment to realize what had just happened. Then she realized someone had pulled him off her, and slammed him against the side of the bleachers.

Her legs went limp. She held on to the fence for support with one hand, the other lay flat on her chest feeling the hard thud of her heart against her chest. It was Angel.

CHAPTER 2

“You have a problem, asshole?” Angel demanded his face inches from Jesse’s, his forearm at Jesse’s neck.

Jesse’s face reddened as he struggled to get the words out. “I-I’m was jus’ messin’ with her.”

Angel turned to face Sarah, without loosening his grip on Jesse. She stood there wide eyed a hand over her chest. “Are you okay?”

Sarah nodded. “Yeah.”

Angel turned back to Jesse face which, by now was nice shade of deep crimson. He pushed him one more time against the bleachers, slamming his head against the wood sidings.
“Get some fucking manners,” he snarled.

Released, Jesse fell to one knee, coughing and gasping for air. Again, Angel turned to face Sarah. He took a few steps her way. She still held her hand to her chest, and her eyes remained on Jesse who continued to cough, now on his feet. She finally looked at Angel, with those eyes that were beginning to haunt him.

He was determined to not clam up again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He fought back the urge to pull a strand of hair away from her face. She smiled at him for the first time.

“Yeah, thanks.” she replied, “You didn’t have to do that. He was just being a little pushy. I could’ve handled it.” She stood up straight putting her hand to her waist.

 “Yeah, maybe you could’ve. I just don’t have patience for idiots.”

A few people noticed the scuffle and slowed as they walked by, but not enough to call the attention of any teachers.

Again she turned to watch Jesse huff away embarrassed, still coughing and rubbing his throat.
“He’ll be fine.”

Sarah shrugged and they started back slowly toward the gym.

Walking so close, side by side, Angel was distracted when their hands touched for just a second. He refocused on his reaction to seeing Jesse push himself on her. It was typical of him to want to help, but he had gone a little overboard. He could’ve just pushed him off. Instead, he really wanted to see Jesse hurt.

He stared at her now, eyes narrowing. “Is he a friend of yours?”


Sarah glanced his way but turned away quickly. “That’s not what I would… call it.”

Angel tightened his jaw and stared straight ahead. “What does that mean?”

She focused on the cheerleaders, who were now staring at them, especially Dana. Angel was oblivious to them, his eyes fixed on Sarah now.


She finally looked back at him. “We hung out once, a long time ago.”

Hung out? “You dated him?”

“Not exactly.”

She never completely looked him in the eye, and the frustration was getting heavier. Jesse was one of the biggest assholes he knew. He couldn’t imagine her being involved with him in any way.

They reached the gym before he could push further, and she gazed at him. She put her hand on his arm and every hair on his body stood at attention.

“Thanks again for what you did back there.”

Angel couldn’t help stare at her eyes.

“I’ll see you around.” She took her hand off his arm and began to walk away.

What? That’s it? No way was he letting her get away so fast. He grabbed her hand as she turned from him. It was soft and small in his big brawny hand. His heart raced.


She turned to look at him and he tried focusing on something other than her eyes but it was impossible.

“Are you going to the game on Friday?”

She studied him for a moment and then cleared her throat. “I can’t. I’m working.”

A few guys turned the corner and strolled toward them. She tugged her hand, but he held it tight. He glanced at the guys and back at her.

“Work, uh? 'Til what time?”

“Not sure yet, I’m babysitting, so it depends on what time their parents get home.”

She tugged her hand again, this time just hard enough that Angel let go, and she started to walk away again.

Angel frowned. “Well, there’s a party after, maybe you can go to that, if they get home early?”

She was at the locker room entrance, when she turned back to look at him.
“Maybe.” She waved and disappeared behind the door.

Angel stood there staring at the locker room door. This was ridiculous. Why was he so bad at this all of a sudden? Then it dawned on him. He’d never actually asked a girl out. The irony made him chuckle. He’d always just hook up with someone at a party, or dance, and then ended up parking with her somewhere. Even with all the girls he’d been with, he’d never been inclined to actually ask any of them out, and now that he was trying to, he sucked at it.

************************************

Sarah sat on her bed staring at the phone. She'd been home for a few hours already, and hadn’t told anyone about today. She couldn’t wait to talk to Sydney. She’d already left two messages for him, and he still hadn’t called her back. Sarah glanced at the clock. She hoped he called before seven. That’s when her mom called on Wednesdays, and they only had a miserable fifteen minutes to talk. Sarah jumped when the phone rang. She grabbed it and flipped it open.

“Hey.”

“Lynni?” Sydney had always called her by her middle name, said she just didn’t look like a Sarah.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You sound different,” he said.

“No just happy to hear you,” she was almost giddy. “Listen, I’ve been dying to talk to you. You’re never gonna guess what happened today.”

“Really? Let's hear it."

Good ole Sydney, he sounded just as excited as she felt.

She made herself comfortable on the bed. “Okay, remember I told you about Angel,”

“You mean, the Angel?”

She eagerly brought him up-to-date about her afternoon. When she mentioned the party, Sydney asked, “You gonna go?”

“No, I can’t. I’m… working.”

“Are you kidding me, Lynni? This is your chance to have some fun out there, you can’t pass it up.”

“I’ve already committed,” she said. “And, the Salcidos’ pay really well. Besides I wouldn’t know anyone… well except for Valerie.”

“And Angel,” Sydney reminded her.

Sarah smiled. God, she wished he were here. If Syd went with her everything would be so perfect. “You don’t understand. I’ve seen the girls he hangs out with. They’re so sophisticated, and popular and … rich looking.”

She stood up; phone against her ear then walked over and stood in front of the mirror. She put her hand on her waist and smiled big batting her lashes, like the girls she’d seen around Angel and immediately felt stupid. Her breasts had filled in some what, making her feel a little sexier, but she just didn’t feel well put together, like those other girls. She looked at her less than exciting clothes, and winced. No way is Angels interested in this.

“Who cares? Let me tell you something, Lynni. It amazes me that you still think so little of yourself. I can guarantee you this guy would die for a chance with you. So he’s Mr. Popular, Mr. Football player, who gives a shit? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Yes! I’m looking right now. I just wish you could be here to see the kind of girls he normally dates, and then you’d know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t have to see them. I’ve seen you.”

Sarah sighed and plopped back down on her bed. “What does it matter anyway? It’s not like I’m gonna be here long. Remember?”

“You’re doing it again.” She could hear the annoyance in Sydney’s voice.

“Doing what?” But she knew exactly what he was talking about.

Before she left Arizona, Sydney’s parents offered to let her stay with them, so she could finish out her senior year there, but her mother refused. She insisted Sarah be with family. Sarah had argued Sydney’s family was more like family to her than Aunt Norma. They only visited Aunt Norma once, or twice a year. And she felt so close to Sydney’s parents. All those late nights and holidays her mother had to work, they’d gladly taken her in as one of their own.

She was so devastated when her mother refused, that she swore she’d never leave her room at Aunt Norma’s, except to go to school. So the first few weeks in California, before school started she sat around feeling sorry for herself. Sydney had made her promise that she’d make the most of it. He hated the idea of her being out here alone, and miserable.

“Remember?” he’d said. “You love the ocean, Lynni. It’s all you talked about when you got back from your visits to your aunt's, now you’ll get to be near it for months.”

Sydney encouraged, demanded, at one point threatened to stop calling and taking her calls if she didn’t try to make the best of it. So she had. She started running everyday at school, instead of coming straight home. She promised to try to get out on the weekend when she’d get a chance. So far, she’d made sure all her weekends were booked babysitting.

“It’s not like he asked me out, Syd, he just asked if I was going to be there.” She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror again and frowned.

“Will you promise me something?” he said.

Sarah hesitated. “What?”

“If he does ask you out, you’ll say yes. Hell, if anybody asks you out, you’ll say yes.”

“Syd, I can’t even talk when he comes near me. I can barely get a sentence out. I’ve made such a stupid couple of first impressions; I seriously doubt he’ll be asking.”

 “You’re kidding me right? Man, you must have it bad for this guy, ‘cause you don’t’ even have to try to be likable. I know,” He paused. “Tell him a joke.” She heard him laugh and she knew why. “He’ll love how you can’t get halfway through it without cracking yourself up.”

Sarah started laughing and threw herself on the bed. “Shut up!”

Sydney was still laughing. “Just be yourself, Lynni. No more, no less. I promise you can’t go wrong,”

He was right about one thing, she did laugh a lot. Even though, sometimes she thought she did too much. Lately, the only one that could make her laugh was Sydney. She sucked in a deep breath.

“Okay. If anyone asks I promise I will.” She wasn’t too worried about it. “Oh except for Jesse.”
“Well yeah, of course.”

Sarah had met Jesse the very night she’d first laid eyes on Angel two summers ago. One of Valerie’s friends was going out with Jesse’s friend, so they hung out with them. Sarah agreed to go for a walk on the beach with Jesse that night, away from the crowd, and they sat down to talk. She had never kissed a boy back then, so when he asked if he could kiss her she let him. Before she knew it, they were making out, and when it started getting heavy she got scared and made him stop. He called her a tease, and they walked back to where the rest of the crowd was, silently.

Later, when she was back in Arizona, he called her to apologize and had called her, off and on ever since. Now that she was going to school here, he’d been a constant pest, asking her out, cornering her by her locker, insisting on walking her to class. After today’s incident, she hoped he’d back off.

She’d been talking to Sydney for about an hour when Sarah heard her other line click. She couldn’t tell who it was by the caller ID, but she was getting ready to wrap it up with Sydney anyway. She said goodbye to him, and clicked over to the other line.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sarah, this is Mrs. Salcido. Listen hon, Mr. Salcido is going to have to work late Friday night, so our plans are shot. We won’t need you to baby sit after all, but maybe next week?”

After she hung up, she sat there contemplating whether or not to call Sydney back. There was no need to call; she knew exactly what he’d say. She lay back on her pillow. What’s the big deal? It’s just a party, she’d been to plenty. She laid her hands that still gripped her cell phone on her pounding chest and stared at the ceiling. She could do this.

Excerpted from Always Been Mine - Elizabeth Reyes. Reprinted from author’s blog http://thebeginings-elirey.blogspot.com