Thursday, February 27, 2014

Excerpt time!

How about an excerpt from my latest release, THE ART OF BEING INDIFFERENT, a contemporary YA on sale at Amazon for less than the cost of a latte!

"I walked into the library and sighed. The next hour of my life was going to suck. Hard. First off, I was freaking out my dad would choose today to come watch practice early. Second, I had to hang out with Posey, and that alone made me want to bang my head against a wall.

She was already waiting for me, hunched over an iPod with her hair hanging all over the place. I don’t think I’d ever seen her face without it being obscured by that stupid hair. I didn’t even know if she had a whole face. Maybe she was shy, or something. Maybe she resembled that dude on Batman who’d had half his face obliterated by an accident. That would explain was her bitchiness.

My guess was the latter.

“You’re late.”

Her voice, husky and low in a way that would’ve been sexy on any female other than Posey, tugged me out of my thoughts. Shrugging, I sauntered to her table and tossed my backpack down with a thud. It echoed through the library, making the librarian glare at me over the top of her glasses.

“Sorry Mrs. T,” I said, ducking into my chair.

Posey didn’t look at me. She just kept staring at the screen on her iPod like it was the Holy Grail or something. “Sorry to her, but not to me?” She scoffed. “Figures.”

Well, weren’t we off to a great start? I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Why would I be sorry to you?”
Her head moved slightly and she glowered at me through her bangs. “You were three minutes late.”

Snorting, I tugged a notebook out of my backpack. “Sorry.”

“My time is important too, you know.” Posey opened the Lit book and flipped through the pages to a section of The Taming of the Shrew. 

Ironic? I thought so. 

“I have no doubt of that,” I said, snickering. I tried to cover my laughter up with a cough, but failed miserably. “I’m sure your social calendar is full night and day.” I made air quotes to accentuate my words, and Posey sucked in a sharp breath.

“Your sarcasm is wasted on me,” she snapped.

I looked at her and smiled lazily. I’d won over many a teacher with that smile, and more than a handful of sophomore and junior girls. “Doubtful.”

“Ugh.” She flipped another page, tearing it on the corner. “You make me sick.”

“Do I, Emo Girl?” Plucking her pencil off the table, I started twirling it on my knuckles, a skill I’d perfected while daydreaming my way through Kingston’s class last year. “I think you like it when I’m a dickhead. It feeds to your dark, depressed side. I know your type.” I raised my voice to a high-pitched whine. “I hate my life. I hate the world. Death is the only adventure. Am I right?”

Posey ducked her head again. I could see the red of her cheeks through the strands of black hair. “You are such a dick,” she hissed down at her book. “You don’t even try to hide it. I can’t believe people like you even have friends.”

I smirked. “Whatever. You wouldn’t know what it’s like.”

“You think you’ve got everything figured out, don’t you?” Her head popped up and she glared right at me. “You think you’re so great.”

Well, color me surprised. She had a whole face. And it wasn’t half bad, either. Heart shaped super white skin, red lips without any of that gloss crap on them, and those arctic blue eyes shooting daggers at me. If she pulled the mess of hair out of her face once in a while, and maybe smiled a bit, she might actually be… pretty?

Shuddering, I dropped the pencil. What the hell was wrong with me? Posey was ugly, and rude and combative, and socially… just wrong.

“I know I’ve got it figured out.” The librarian passed our table, pressing her finger to her lips, so I dropped my voice even lower. “And I know I’m great.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, and leaned closer to me. “If you’re so great, then why are you here? Why do you need some insignificant peon like me to tutor you? Why would you lower yourself to sit at the same table as me or even be seen with me? If you’ve got it all figured out, why didn’t you just drop your last name with Mr. Kingston to get your sorry butt out of trouble? Why didn’t you just have your dad call the school to get you an A in Lit? We all know he could do it.”

My smile dropped. “You don’t know my dad.”

She sneered. “I’ve been in this hell hole town long enough to know your dad’s got his thumb on everyone. I’m sure Kingston’s no exception.”

I looked out the library window. “Don’t you have some Shakespeare to talk about? You’re wasting my time.”

“No, Drew,” she spat. “You’re wasting my time. I can’t stand people like you. Or people like your dad, for that matter.”

My molars ground together. This was probably the most I’d ever heard Posey speak, and I wasn’t prepared for her to be so perceptive. She always seemed so disconnected. So sullen and pissy. I didn’t think she cared about anything going on around her, much less give a damn what was going on around this town.

Embarrassment washed over me, and I fought the urge to sink down in my chair. I hated the fact that my dad ran this town like his own personal game of chess. I hated the fact that when people heard his name, they either crapped their pants out of fear or fell all over themselves to accommodate him because he’s some sort of small town superstar. He didn’t deserve either. He was a bully with a platinum card."

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