Excerpt: Paris Never Leaves You by Ellen Feldman

Happiest of Book Birthdays to Ellen Feldman whose latest, Paris Never Leaves You, finally releases today! I'm excited to be sharing an excerpt from the book, but first, here's a bit about the book from Goodreads:

Living through WWII working in a Paris bookstore with her young daughter, Vivi, and fighting for her life, Charlotte is no victim, she is a survivor. But can she survive the next chapter of her life?

Alternating between wartime Paris and 1950s New York publishing, Paris Never Leaves You is an extraordinary story of resilience, love, and impossible choices, exploring how survival never comes without a cost.

Feldman's book is one of many that was delayed thanks to Covid-19. And also one of many hitting shelves during the mess it's created in the industry, but at long last it is out on shelves! And thanks to the publisher, I have an excerpt to pique your interest!

One

New York, 1954

Charlotte spotted the letter as soon as she stepped into her office.There was no reason it should have caught her eye. The desk was littered with papers and envelopes. Stacks of manuscripts and books filled the shelves of the small cubicle and spilled over onto the two chairs. Certainly the airmail envelope didn’t make it stand out. Most of the books she published were American editions of European works, and a good deal of her mail arrived in those tissue-thin blue envelopes. The only explanation for its attracting her attention was that she’d already gone through her morning mail and the afternoon delivery hadn’t yet arrived. Perhaps the letter had gone to another editor by mistake, and he or she had left it on Charlotte’s desk while she was upstairs in the art department. Or perhaps the mailroom had overlooked it in the morning sorting.

Gibbon & Field was a prestigious publishing house, but a certain loucheness lurked behind the scenes. That was the fault of Horace Field, the publisher. He was too forgiving, or perhaps only cannily manipulative. She’d had her earliest inkling of the trait the first Christmas after she’d come to work at the house. Leaving the office one evening at the same time, she and Horace had entered the elevator together to find a young man from the production department struggling to balance two or three oversize art books and several of a more conventional trim size. When he saw Horace, he colored an unhappy Christmas red.

“I see you’ve taken our ads to heart, Seth,”Horace said. “‘There’s a book for everyone on your Christmas list.’”

The young man turned a deeper red and shot out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened. That was unusual. The staff usually deferred to Horace getting on and off elevators, and everywhere else.

“Are you going to take the books out of his salary?” she’d asked as they’d followed him across the lobby.

“Not on your life.”

“It would teach him a lesson.”

“The only lesson I want to teach him, Charlie, is to work his tail off for the greater glory of G&F.”

“And you think encouraging him to walk out the door with an armful of purloined books will do that?”

“I think the next time he asks for a raise and doesn’t get it, he’ll remember all the books he’s filched and feel guilty, or at least compensated. Same with the expense accounts the editors and travelers turn in. They think they’restealing me blind, but a guilty conscience breeds contrition. Maybe evenloyalty. They feel they owe the house something in return. That’s why I worry about you. Those expense accounts you file are a travesty. If the other editors get wind of them, they’ll never forgive you for spoiling the game.”

Horace’s philosophy permeated the entire publishing house from the grand larceny of the production department, run by a man rumored to have ties to the Mafia, to the petty pilfering and general slacking off of the mailroom. That must be why the letter had been delivered late. And the timing was the only reason she noticed it. It had nothing to do with a sixth sense, in which she definitely did not believe.

She sat behind the desk and picked up the envelope. Her name and the G&F address were written, not typed. The handwriting wasn’t familiar. There was no return address on the upper left-hand corner. She turned it over. As soon as she saw the name, she realized why she hadn’t recognized the handwriting. When had they put anything in writing? No, that wasn’t true. He’d written her once, a year or so after the end of the war. The letter had taken months to wind its way through the Drancy records and the various agencies to reach her in New York. She’d taken solace in that. He didn’t know where she was, and he was still in Germany. She’d never answered that letter. The return address on this one was Bogotá, Colombia. So he’d got out after all. She was glad. She was als orelieved. South America was still a long distance away.

What troubled her was not where he was but that now he knew where she was. She’d thought she’d been so careful. Neither her address nor her telephone number was listed in the book. The people who had tried to help her settle into her new life—social workers and do-gooders from various refugee organizations; her colleagues here and at other publishing houses; Horace Field’s wife, Hannah—had found the omission foolish and antisocial. “How do you expect to make a life for yourself in a new country,” Hannah had asked, “if no one can find you?” Charlotte hadn’t argued with her. She’d merely gone on paying the small fee to be unlisted. Gradually Hannah and everyone else had stopped asking and chalked it up to what she’d been through. No one, including Hannah, knew what that was, but that didn’t stop them from speculating.

She wasn’t much easier to find in the office, though apparently he’d managed. Her name didn’t appear in the list of editors that ran down the left-hand side of the company stationery. Most publishing houses didn’t list editors on the stationery but that was another of Horace Field’s peculiar indulgences. A year after she’d come to work at G&F, he’d asked if she wanted to beincluded.

“Think of it as a sop,” he’d said.

“A sop?” She spoke four languages, could read two others, and had taken her degree at the Sorbonne in English literature, but in those days she was still having trouble with some American slang.

“Compensation for the slave wages we pay you.”

“At least you didn’t suggest I make up the difference by stealing books,” she’d said, and added that she didn’t want her name on the stationery but thanked him all the same. Nonetheless, despite her absence in the phonebook and on the company stationery, her name did occasionally turn up in acknowledgments in the books she worked on. And my gratitude to Charlotte Foret for steering my vessel safely through the turbulent waters of American publishing. My thanks to Charlotte Foret, who first saw that a book about the Dutch Golden Age written by a Dutchman would appeal to American audiences. The question was how he’d managed to get his hands on a US edition in Europe, or now South America. The various consulates had libraries to spread the American gospel among the local populations, but the books she published rarely spread the American gospel. Nonetheless, he must have found one. Or else he’d tracked her down through a refugee agency. Once in America, she’d distanced herself from the émigré or immigrant or refugee—choose your term—groups, but she’d had to file the usual papers and obtain the necessary documents to get here. She was traceable.

From Paris Never Leaves You by Ellen Feldman. Copyright © 2020 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Griffin.

Huge thanks to the publisher for providing the excerpt today! I hope this little taste is enough to whet your appetite and send you running to buy a copy!

Order it from your favorite indie via Bookshop!

The Inevitable Collision of Birdie & Bash by Candace Ganger

Bash met Birdie at a party and was instantly smitten. Birdie herself was a bit taken with Bash as well and couldn't stop thinking about him, even as she tried to decide to cop to sneaking out to attend said party or not. 

Unfortunately for Birdie and Bash, theirs is much more than a story of boy meets girl... Theirs is a story tied together by tragedy. And it's a tragedy big enough to tear them apart when they finally do come together once again. 

I'm just going to get this out of the way first - The Inevitable Collision of Birdie & Bash is way sadder than I expected. Seriously, I was not prepared for the feels!

Ok.

So a boy (Bash, aka Sebastian Alvarez) and a girl (Birdie) meet at a party. They've both been dragged to the party by their respective friends (Kyle and Violet) and they don't know each other. But as Bash tries to avoid his ex, and make her jealous at the same time, his eyes land on Birdie and he's instantly intrigued. They banter a bit and that, it seems, is that.

Until it turns out Birdie has gotten a job at the same skating rink Bash works at. Yay!

But no. See, before all that happens, something truly, terribly, bad happens first. And it does not bode well for the teens. Plus, Bash's mom is dying and he's flunking out of school. Birdie's lost the scholarship she needs to be able to attend college and pursue her career as a medical examiner. Again, things do not bode well for the teens!

But it's not all sad or bad. There's some levity to the story. There's lots of chemistry (literally and figuratively) and skating, too!

The Inevitable Collision of Birdie & Bash by Candace Ganger - Excerpt

Happy Book Birthday week to Candace Ganger whose debut, The Inevitable Collision of Birdie & Bash, hit shelves yesterday!

Today I get to share an excerpt from the book, courtesy of the publisher, but first here's a bit about the book from Goodreads:

Birdie never meant to be at the party. Bash should have been long gone. But when they meet, a collision course is set off they may never recover from.

Sebastian Alvaréz is just trying to hold the pieces together: to not flunk out, to keep his sort-of-best friend Wild Kyle from doing something really bad, and to see his beloved Ma through chemo. But when he meets Birdie Paxton, a near-Valedictorian who doesn’t realize she’s smoking hot in her science pun T-shirt, at a party, an undeniable attraction sparks. And suddenly he’s not worried about anything. But before they are able to exchange numbers, they are pulled apart. A horrifying tragedy soon links Birdie and Bash together—but neither knows it. When they finally reconnect, and are starting to fall—hard—the events of the tragedy unfold, changing both their lives in ways they can never undo. 

Told in alternating perspectives, The Inevitable Collision of Birdie & Bash by Candace Ganger is a beautiful, complex, and ultimately hopeful teen novel that will move you to the very last page.

The Inevitable Collision of Birdie & Bash is quite the emotional read, let me tell you. I was not prepared!!! Oh, the feels!

As promised, here's a taste to get you started.
 

The Inevitable Collision of Birdie & Bash

by Candace Ganger

...I lose sight of Layla for just a moment. The crowd parts in a zigzag fashion and beneath the light machine, where the red, green, and blue hit the hardest, I see her—this statuesque beauty—hiding behind a trail of long brown hair and thick-framed glasses. With her hands folded snug in her lap, she’s looking around, sinking farther into the couch’s wilted threads as if hoping to not be seen, but I see her because hiding is typically what I do, too.

“My God,” I say. The cigarette hangs from my bottom lip, and this girl, who finally stops talking, is still looking at up me, glitter plummeting from her silver-tinted eye shadow. The flakes dance down to the tops of my boots like little asshole snowflakes. That shit should be banned. She follows my eyes across the floor to the big, plaid couch, letting her smile fade. Losing interest (finally), she drops my hand and disappears into the sea of people from which she first emerged.

With my heart nearly beating out of my chest, I watch Couch Girl. The way she tucks her hair behind her ears with precision, the way she nudges her falling glasses up the bridge of her nose, the way she pretends she’s not as earth-shatteringly stunning as she really is. Radiance surrounds her—not a halo, but some kind of ethereal glow—and I can’t look away. She looks up at me. Once, twice, three times; tries to avoid my eyes, but can’t. For the length of a whole song, my gaze doesn’t abandon her, and by the middle of the next song, she’s smiling at me. Score. Normally, I’d hang back, wait and see if we “accidentally” cross paths, but Layla’s determined eyes are on me so I up my game. To finish her.

I push through the haze and find my way to Couch Girl. She looks up at me with these electric green eyes that are more evident through her lenses, and I do something I thought I’d never in a million years do—hold out my hand.

“I don’t dance,” she says, reluctant. “Me either. Too many germs.” A few seconds pass before she decides to take my humble offering. I pull her to her feet, and our palms smash together and slide across the dampness. This would normally gross me out, but I kind of want to linger in it with her. Gently, I lead her to the center of the floor where we are now gestural shapes on this dark canvas, too.

“Help me out here,” I say. “See that girl over there?” I point to Layla with my middle finger. A silent dig, if you will.

She nods.

“I need her to see us talking.”

She scrunches up her face. “I’m not getting in the middle of whatever that is.” Her finger is waving around, grabbing Layla’s attention. “But thanks.”

As she tries to walk away, I tug on her sleeve. Eyebrows arched, and my own full puppy-lipped pout now in full effect. “Please.”

She must sense my sadness (read: desperation), because with one sharp sigh and a roll of her beautiful eyes, she digs her feet firmly into the floor. “Okay, fine. Just for a minute though.”

We’re not dancing, not swaying or grinding, but here we are, in the epicenter of it all. She crosses her arms, I cross mine, too. “So are we going to actually talk or just pretend?” she snaps.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask with a smirk.

She looks down. “Who am I? You mean what name was I given at birth, or who am I in a general sense?”

I start to respond, but she interrupts.

“Because, in said general sense, I’m a girl at a party I should’ve never come to but did and am now trapped in this weird interaction between subjects A and B while I’d much rather be at home teaching my chunky cat how to drink from a running faucet, thank you very much.”

With my gaze pressed hard on her porcelain skin, I drop the last bit of cigarette to the floor and twist the cinder into the grooves until it burns no more. My smile grows, and all of a sudden, I don’t care if Layla’s watching or not. “Fair enough.”

“Who are you?” she replies with a touch of snark.

I look down to the holes in my shirtsleeve where the fabric has worn, and I realize I have two choices here. I can tell her the lame, true story of my life and wait for her to walk away, or I can do the opposite and hope that, for one perfect night, I’m allowed to feel this way about a girl who’s way out of my league, knowing the second I leave here, this, whatever this is, leaves with it.

Plus, it’d totally piss Layla off, and that makes it sweeter.

“Well,” I say, “in a general sense, I’m a boy at a party I should’ve never come to but did and am now gloriously trapped in this enlightened conversation with, probably, the most captivating girl in the entire house. In an even generaler sense”—she stops me, tells me that’s not a word—“I’m nobody. Well, until I saw you.” My smile widens. To sell it.

She blushes. Her fingers fumbling through her long, silky strands, she objects. “One, that’s so ridiculously cliché, and two, statistically speaking, you’re a percentage of this party as a whole house equation. Without the exact number of bodies—I estimate around thirty-seven—you’re something like 2.7027 percent somebody without ever seeing me.”

My heart drops through this creaky, wooden floor, and this smile that’s still pasted—it’s about to rip my face in two. The forces of the earth have rumbled beneath my feet and combined, climbing up through the dirt core, into my heart. We stand here, for, I don’t know, what feels like an infinity (she abruptly explains infinity is a concept and there’s no way to solve for x, so in reality, we can’t actually stand here that long), and all these things start flying out of my mouth—how I graduated last year, I’m only in town for tonight—and with every passing lie, I think, You’re no better than Kyle, which makes me sick—like, physically ill with the sweats and a weird clamminess and all these symptoms that remind me how I felt when I first met Layla.

When the song ends, we hold on to this moment that, in the space between, feels like a million electrodes have begun to rattle and vibrate. I feel it fuse to my bones. It connects us together, grounds us, right here, right now. Layla’s gone—who cares now?—but just as I start to ask for her number, or the name she was given at birth, a tiny little thing with big, springy curls that dangle over one eye pulls at Couch Girl’s arm.

“Ready to go?” the friend asks. She’s looking me over in this protective kind of way, and I know what she’s thinking because I beat her to it.

While the two of them decide, a hand slaps the back of my shirt hard enough to leave a mark. I turn around to see Kyle’s cousin’s friend’s college boyfriend with a worried look on his face. “Your friend might need to go to the hospital. He’s, like, not waking up.”

With a heavy sigh, something that follows Kyle’s hijinks often, I silently agree to retrieve my sort-of-ill-behaved dog that does as he pleases. Before I can even think about what to say to Couch Girl next, I spin around and she, and her tiny friend, are gone.

Just like that, it’s over before it even started.

Story of my goddamned life.

Good thing the book is out on shelves now, though, 'cause you'll want to run out and grab a copy for sure!

Guest Post - Alyssa Polombo + a Giveaway

Happy Book Birthday to Alyssa Polombo! Her latest, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli officially hits shelves today and I am pleased as punch to be able to welcome her to the blog today!

I am giving away a copy of The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence as well, so be sure to read through to the end to enter to win.

Before I hand things over to Alyssa, though, here's a bit about the book to whet your appetite:

A girl as beautiful as Simonetta Cattaneo never wants for marriage proposals in 15th Century Italy, but she jumps at the chance to marry Marco Vespucci. Marco is young, handsome and well-educated. Not to mention he is one of the powerful Medici family’s favored circle.

Even before her marriage with Marco is set, Simonetta is swept up into Lorenzo and Giuliano de’ Medici’s glittering circle of politicians, poets, artists, and philosophers. The men of Florence—most notably the rakish Giuliano de’ Medici—become enthralled with her beauty. That she is educated and an ardent reader of poetry makes her more desirable and fashionable still. But it is her acquaintance with a young painter, Sandro Botticelli, which strikes her heart most. Botticelli immediately invites Simonetta, newly proclaimed the most beautiful woman in Florence, to pose for him. As Simonetta learns to navigate her marriage, her place in Florentine society, and the politics of beauty and desire, she and Botticelli develop a passionate intimacy, one that leads to her immortalization in his masterpiece, The Birth of Venus.

Alyssa Palombo’s The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence vividly captures the dangerous allure of the artist and muse bond with candor and unforgettable passion.

Historical fiction fans, this should definitely be your next read!

And now over to Alyssa!

As you can probably tell, based on the settings of my first two novels, I really love Italy. This love, for me, comes from a few different places, because truthfully I loved Italy way before I ever went there.

Based on my last name, I’m sure it’s no surprise that I am of Italian descent myself. I don’t know too much about the Italian side of my family – they didn’t talk much about their roots – but I know we are from northern Italy somewhere and that my great-grandparents came to the US through Ellis Island before WWII. So certainly a part of my interest in Italy comes in part from the fact that I have roots there, and that its history is my heritage. I keep meaning to start a genealogy project of some kind to learn more about my Italian ancestry – someday soon I will make the time!

Obviously, I’ve always had an interest in history, and my interest in Italian history specifically came about in my later teens. I had read all about the Tudors by then – so much that I started to get kind of sick of them – and so began reading a lot of historical fiction set in other eras. A few books set in Italy during different periods really sealed the deal for me, and from there I sought out nonfiction about different periods and historical figures in Italian history. What I found is that Italian history – especially of the Renaissance period – is absolutely fascinating. It’s peopled with ruthless politicians like Lorenzo de’ Medici, Niccolo Machiavelli, and Rodrigo and Cesare Borgia; the great artistic masters like da Vinci, Michelangelo, Botticelli, and Raphael; and exceptional and powerful women like Caterina Sforza and Isabella d’Este. There’s more sex and scandal and violence to be found than in Game of Thrones. I was completely engrossed in the history I was reading, and found it to be both informative and entertaining.

In addition, as a musician – I did a music minor in college and focused on classical voice – many of my favorite composers are Italian, and indeed opera was created by the Italians. This gave me another avenue through which to explore Italy’s history and legacy.

Then, of course, I started writing The Violinist of Venice and did a lot of research into 18th century Venice and composer Antonio Vivaldi, and Italian Baroque music more broadly. This is a period of history I didn’t know too much about prior to doing research for the novel, and I found Venice to be a place that completely captured my imagination.

It wasn’t until I was between the second and third drafts of The Violinist of Venice that I finally went to Italy, the country I’d been dreaming about for years by that time. I went to Venice, of course, to gather information for the novel, but on that same trip I also went to Florence and Rome as well. I’ve been back to both Venice and Florence since – the former simply because it is my absolute favorite place in the world, and the latter to do research for The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence – and I am still completely enamored of Italy. I love the language – I know enough to make my way around, order food, and also to have a very operatic and dramatic lovers’ quarrel if need be – I love the people, I love the landscape and the way each city and region is so individual and unique, I love the architecture, and of course I love the food and wine. But I also really love that Italy is a country with such a deep appreciation for its history, and for its exceptional artistic legacy.

Modern-day Italy is certainly a country with many problems, as in truth is any nation. Yet it is very much a place that inspires me and that I feel a deep connection to, and I am proud to be Italian myself. 

About the author: ALYSSA PALOMBO is also the author of The Violinist of Venice. She has published short fiction pieces in Black Lantern Magazine and The Great Lakes Review. She is a recent graduate of Canisius College with degrees in English and creative writing, respectively. A passionate music lover, she is a classically trained musician as well as a big fan of heavy metal. The Violinist of Venice is her first novel. She lives in Buffalo, New York.

For more on Alyssa Polombo and her work you can visit her website here. You can also follow her on Twitter.

Huge thanks to Alyssa for being here today and to the publicist for setting up this guest post!

The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence is out on shelves now.

And now for the giveaway: to enter, simply fill out the Rafflecopter before Monday, May 8. Open US only.

Good luck!

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We Are Still Tornadoes by Michael Kun & Susan Mullen - Excerpt

Morning, all! I have another fantastic excerpt for you today, this one from Michael Kun and Susan Mullen's brand new release We Are Still Tornadoes.

Before we dive in, here's a bit about the book from Goodreads:

Growing up across the street from each other, Scott and Cath have been best friends their entire lives. Cath would help Scott with his English homework, he would make her mix tapes (it's the 80's after all), and any fight they had would be forgotten over TV and cookies. But now they've graduated high school and Cath is off to college while Scott is at home pursuing his musical dreams.

During their first year apart, Scott and Cath's letters help them understand heartache, annoying roommates, family drama and the pressure to figure out what to do with the rest of their lives. And through it all, they realize that the only person they want to turn to is each other. But does that mean they should be more than friends? The only thing that's clear is that change is an inescapable part of growing up. And the friends who help us navigate it share an unshakable bond.

And now for a taste of We Are Still Tornadoes:

SEPTEMBER



AGEE’S MEN’S CLOTHING

Where Men and Boys Shop

EAST BLOOMFIELD, MARYLAND

September 2, 1982

Dear Cath,

I’m appauled that you would accuse me of going through your panties when I left that heartwarming note in your suitcase. Appauled, I tell you. (Did I spell “appauled” correctly? If not, please correct it for me.) Just so we’re clear, are you talking about the yellow bikini ones with the stars on the hip that were packed right beneath your running shoes? Or the light blue bikini ones with the white polka dots? Or the hot pink ones? Or the orange-and-red ones? Or that really big beige pair that you must have stolen from your grandmother?

Seriously, though, your stupid dog knocked over the entire suitcase when I was trying to stick the note inside. I had to scramble to put everything back into the suitcase. And that’s the story I’ll tell the police!

Anyway, unless your roommate hung it up to be funny, the HANG IN THERE, BABY poster is pretty scary. Didn’t Mrs. Wilkins have that same stupid poster behind her desk in fourth grade? But your Elvis Costello poster’s even scarier, if you ask me. You’d never even heard of Elvis Costello until I got you to listen to him over the summer, and now you have his poster up on your wall to try to convince everyone that you’re the cool chick in the dorm? How sad. How very, very sad. You better pray I don’t come down to visit you in whatever state Wake Forest is in and tell all your new buddies about how you were still listening to Tony Orlando and Dawn just a few months ago. Yes, you’d better get on your knees and pray, college girl.

On a different note, my job is terrible. The days are endless. That’s what I get for working at my father’s store, I suppose. Yes, I know, it’s my own damn fault. If I’d just “buckled down” and “put my nose to the grindstone” and gotten some decent “grades,” I could have gone off to college like you and everyone else in our class, but I “didn’t” do those things, and it’s too late to “cry over spilled milk.” I “made my bed,” and now I have to “lie” in it. I imagine I’ll work at “Agee’s Men’s Clothing” until it becomes “Agee & Son’s Men’s Clothing.” Then someday my father will die—it’s going to be a heart attack, in case you want to bet—and it will become “Agee’s Men’s Clothing” again. I will have spent my whole life selling clothes to people in this “one-horse town,” and I will be “fat” and “old” and “disgusting.” But your mother will still have a crush on me.

I think I use quotation marks too much. What do you “think,” college girl?

And I really do think your mother has a crush on me. (By the way, I saw her walking Plum last night. I assume she’s feeding her, too.)

Oh, did I mention that Samantha broke up with me? I know I didn’t mention it, but I waited a few paragraphs to tell you to make it sound casual. Did it work? Anyway, after we agreed that we would date long-distance while she was at college, she sent me a letter telling me she’d met someone else at school and didn’t think it would be fair to lead me on. She sent me the letter after her thirdday at college. Three days, can you believe it? Honestly, I’m more surprised than hurt. I figured we could stick it out until Christmas, at the very least. But three days? I’ve had pimples that have lasted longer than that. I’ve had gas that’s lasted longer than that. You get the point.

I have to go do something very important right now, at least as far as you know. Hope you’re having fun at school, college girl.

Scott

P.S. Did I tell you that my dad is giving me a 10% discount off anything at the store? How cool is that? (I’m being serious. I really want to know how cool that is. I think the answer is, “Not very,” but I’m not sure.)

P.P.S. Want me to send you some Tony Orlando and Dawn albums to listen to when you get homesick?

P.P.P.S. Three days! Can you believe it?

September 6, 1982

My Dearest Scottie,

I knew Plum knocked over the suitcase. I asked my mom how you left me a note in my suitcase since my dad made you give back the key to our house after that party, and she said she let you go up to my bedroom, but she heard Plum knock over the suitcase and heard you cursing a blue streak. So you’re off the hook. For now.

And I’ll deal with the dorm room poster thing in a minute.

But first, if you’re going to insist on calling me “college girl,” then I’m going to start calling you “underachiever guy.” Or “really bad speller boy.” How does that work for you? (By the way, it’s “appalled.”)

And yes, you do overuse quotation marks. Particularly since you also misuse quotation marks. Who puts “grades” in quotation marks? Oh, yeah—you do. Which is why I had to “help you” through “English class” all during “high school,” underachiever guy.

I’m sorry work sucks, but I love your dad’s store! I love everything about it. I really do, although I’ve never been there for eight hours at a time. Maybe it will get more interesting when it gets busier for the holidays. Or maybe you’ll move up and get more involved in other aspects of the business. (There are other aspects, right?) I don’t know, but your dad always seems happy and that’s where he’s worked forever, so it can’t be that bad, right? (I have some very fond memories of coming into the store to see you, and your dad calling me his “little Catherine” and sneaking me some hard candies. Speaking of which, you might want to check under that last suit rack in the back corner. I never really liked the orange ones.) Or maybe you’ll change your mind and go to college. Despite your quotation mark “challenges,” and despite your spelling challenges, you are way smarter than most of the people here. Besides me, of course.

You think my mom has a crush on you? Please. My mother is thrilled that you will eat her cooking. My dad and I know better. And yelling the F-word (as my mom would say) at Plum when she knocked over my suitcase didn’t endear you to my mother at all, trust me. Although I have to admit that I enjoyed making her repeat it over the phone.

As for your news about Samantha, because you waited until the end of your letter before telling me about her, I’ve delayed in responding. That’s called tit for tat. (Insert a lame sex joke here.) Samantha, Samantha, Samantha. What to say about Sa-Man-Tha? Um, okay. This is what I’m going to say about Samantha. Nothing. And do you know why? Because by the time you get this, Samantha may have come crawling back to you. Hopefully, literally crawling 200 miles on those bony little knees of hers from the Western Kentucky College for Morons, or whatever the name is of that “college” she’s attending. My roommate, who’s hanging in there, keeps saying, “This is just like camp! This is just like camp!” I’m guessing that she means that this whole college thing doesn’t seem real. So maybe that’s what Samantha’s going through. Maybe she’ll wake up and not be hungover for once in her life and realize what a huge mistake she’s made. That you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her. That she was lucky to have you. And that, really, she didn’t deserve a minute of your time. But until I know that this really is a “breakup” and not just one of her Boone’s Farm–fueled, bubble-headed freak-outs, I’ll keep my opinions to myself.

Okay, on to the dorm room poster thing. Yes, I know you are Mr. Cool Music Guy and got Elvis’s My Aim Is True before anybody else in the galaxy except for Elvis himself and maybe his mother, but I had to put something on my side of the room. Dorothy’s mom showed up with matching black-and-gold Wake Forest bedspreads, curtains, and bulletin boards for both of us. I kid you not. I’d never even met them before, and they’re going to pick out my bedspread? I said something like, “Well, gee, thanks, but I brought my own stuff.” Her mom was clearly miffed and started banging nails into the walls and hanging up all these framed posters all over the place. Elvis is all I had, and I was sort of glad that it clashed with all their matchy-matchy stuff. Besides, “Accidents Will Happen” is like a theme song here. I’ve never seen so many people throw up! In bushes, in hallways, sometimes they even make it to the bathroom. It’s disgusting. And then I hum “Accidents will happen…” and think about riding around town with you, listening to it on the tape deck, and then it’s not so bad.

I have to go to the library. Classes started and there’s a lot to do. They don’t call this place “Work Forest” for nothing. And I have to tell you about my Calculus professor. My parents would die if they knew they were cutting a big check to Wake Forest to pay for this dork. He reminds me of Mr. Laire. Which isn’t a compliment.

Write soon and let me know if Samantha is as dumb as I think she is. About the breakup, I mean.

Love,

College Girl

P.S. No, I don’t want to bet on how your father will die! What is wrong with you?

P.P.S. Your dad’s 10% discount? Not very cool. He used to give me 20% just for being so darned lovable.

P.P.P.S. Tony Orlando and Dawn are awesome, and “Knock Three Times” is super awesome. Don’t pretend I was the only one who would dance to that song. I may even have pictures of you dancing to it that I could use as evidence.

Ha! I don't know about you, but this sounds super cute and I definitely need super cute this week! Plus, it's set in the 80s and I am a sucker for anything set in the era of my childhood :)

The Infinity of You and Me by J. Q. Coyle

Alicia has a problem. And said problem has quite a few diagnoses attached to it, but basically she has a tendency to space out when faced with too many decisions. Or so she thinks. Alicia hallucinates other worlds - vivid hallucinations that sometimes include her father, who she hasn't seen since she was a little girl. She'd give anything for these visions to go away. To live a normal teenaged life. And her uncle, psychiatrist, and mother all think "normal" is a possibility for Alicia. But no amount of pills seems to be doing the trick. 

But what if that's because these hallucinations aren't hallucinations at all. What if Alicia has the ability to see and somehow travel to other worlds. Other existences - like ones where her father never left. Or ones where she's in very real danger. Or even ones where she has the power to save everyone around her from a terrible fate...

Readers, I thoroughly loved The Infinity of You and Me. From the very start, with Alicia trying to literally escape a sinking ship while also desperately trying to pass a Spanish exam, I was hooked! (If you haven't checked out the excerpt, be sure to head over to that post next.)

Alicia doesn't have it easy. Her father left when she was little and her teenage years have been plagued by increased instances of these fugue/dream states. Unfortunately they happen at quite inopportune moments and are gravely affecting her school work. Which is why she's failing multiple classes. And why she's deemed to be a problem child in school. And probably also why she only has one friend.

Her mother tries to help, as does her uncle - her father's brother -, but even before things really start rolling in the story, it's clear that Alicia doesn't quite trust her brilliant neuroscientist Uncle Alex. Maybe it's because his brother bailed on them or maybe it's because she doesn't want to be beholden to him. Or maybe it's because he's not really out to help her at all?

I loved the idea of the spandrels. (Read the book for explanation.) And I really loved the way the story played out. If you haven't checked out the excerpt post, then you probably missed the fact that J. Q. Coyle is a pseudonym for co authors Julianna Baggott (Pure) and Quinn Dalton (Midnight Bowling). The two definitely play well together in the writing sandbox, creating a seamless narrative that's super fast paced and super, crazy imaginative!

The Infinity of You and Me by J. Q. Coyle - Excerpt

Good morning, everyone! Today I've got two posts for you. First up is an excerpt from The Infinity of You and Me by J. Q. Coyle, aka Julianna Baggott and Quinn Dalton!

Here's a bit about the book from Goodreads:

What if every life-altering choice you made could split your world into infinite worlds?

Almost fifteen, Alicia is smart and funny with a deep connection to the poet Sylvia Plath, but she’s ultimately failing at life. With a laundry list of diagnoses, she hallucinates different worlds—strange, decaying, otherworldly yet undeniably real worlds that are completely unlike her own with her single mom and one true friend. In one particularly vivid hallucination, Alicia is drawn to a boy her own age named Jax who’s trapped in a dying universe. Days later, her long-lost father shows up at her birthday party, telling her that the hallucinations aren’t hallucinations, but real worlds; she and Jax are bound by a strange past and intertwining present. This leads her on a journey to find out who she is while trying to save the people and worlds she loves. J.Q. Coyle’s The Infinity of You & Me is a wild ride through unruly hearts and vivid worlds guaranteed to captivate.

I'll be following up a bit later today with my review of The Infinity of You and Me, but for now here's look at this excellent mind-bending read:

The Infinity of You and Me

by J.Q. Coyle

Chapter One 

The beginning is always a surprise. 

(The endings are, too.)

I never quite know what I look like. I’m myself, yes, but different. Never tall and leggy, but my hair might be long and tied back or cut in a short bob. Sometimes I’m in jeans and sneakers. Once or twice, a dress.

I’ve been alone in a field of snow.

I’ve woken up in the backseat of a fast car at night, my father driving down a dark road.

I’ve been standing in the corner at a party where none of the faces are familiar.

This time, noise comes first. A clanging deep inside the hull of a ship—a cruise ship. I’m running down a corridor of soaked red carpet.

The ship lurches.

Someone’s yelling over the crackling PA speakers—I can’t understand the words over the rush of water. Alarms roar overhead.

I shoulder my way down another corridor, fighting the flood of people running in the opposite direction, screaming to each other.

Some part of my brain says, Me? On a cruise ship? Never. But if I was so lucky, it’d be a sinking one.

The rest of my brain is sure this isn’t real, no matter how real it feels.

I run my hand down the wall, the cold water now pushing against my legs. I’m wearing a pair of skinny jeans I don’t own. I know someone’s after me—I just don’t know who. I look back over my shoulder, trying to see if anyone else is moving against the crowd like I am.

No one is.

Where’s my mother? She’s never here when I go off in my head like this.

A man grabs me roughly by the shirt. My ribs tighten. 

Is this who I’m running from?

No. He’s old, his eyes bloodshot and wild with fear. He says something in Russian, like the guys in the deli at Berezka’s, not too far from my house in Southie. I shouldn’t be able to understand him, but I do. “Run! This way. Do you want to die, girl?” I don’t speak Russian. I’m failing Spanish II.

But then I answer, partly in Russian. “I’m fine. Thank you. Spasiba.” The words feel stiff in my mouth. I can barely hear myself over the screaming, the water rushing up the corridor, and the groaning ship.

The man keeps yelling, won’t let go of me, so I rip myself loose and run.

A glimpse of gray through a porthole, only a sliver of land and heavy dark sky.

I see myself in the porthole’s dark reflection—my hair chin length, my bangs choppy, just a bit of faded red lipstick.

We’re on the Dnieper River. It’s like this: I know things I shouldn’t. I don’t know how.

A woman falls. I reach down and help her up. Her head is gashed, her face smeared with blood. She nods a thank-you and keeps marching against the current, soaked.

I wonder if she’ll make it. Will I?

I’m looking for my father. I want to call out for him, but I shouldn’t. The people chasing me are really after him—I know this too, the way you know things in a dream.

The ship lists, hard, and my right shoulder drives into a wall. Stateroom doors swing open. The sound of water surging into the hull is impossibly loud.

And then my father appears up ahead—shaggy, unshaven, his knuckles bloody. I love seeing him in these hallucinations. (That’s what my therapist calls them.) It’s the only time I ever see him. I even love seeing him when he looks like hell, and older than I remember him, more worn-down. But he always has this energy— like his strength is coiled and tensed.

“Alicia!” he shouts. “Down!”

I fall to my knees. The water is up to my neck and so cold it shocks my bones.

My father raises a gun and fires. 

Some men fire back.

I put my head underwater, and the world is muted. I hold my breath, can only hear my heart pounding in my ears. My face burns with the cold, my back tight, lungs pinched. I swim toward the blurry yellow glow of an emergency light.

When I lift my head, a tall and angular man slides down a wall and goes under, leaving a swirl of blood. My father shot him. This should shock me, but it doesn’t. My father, who’s really a stranger to me, is always on the run and often armed.

Another man, thick necked and yelling, returns fire from a cabin doorway.

My father disappears around the corner up ahead, then lays cover for me. “Get up!” he shouts. “Move now!”

I push through the icy water, wishing my legs were stronger and tougher, feeling small and easily kicked off-balance.

“Just up ahead,” he says, “—stairs.”

But then a little boy with a buzz cut doggy-paddles out of a cabin. The water’s too deep for him.

I reach out, and he grabs my hand, clinging to my shirt. 

“Alicia, get down!” my father yells.

Instinctively, I shield the kid. 

A gunshot.

I feel a shattering jolt in my shoulder blade. I can’t breathe, can’t scream.

The boy cries out, but he hasn’t been shot. I have. The pain is stabbing. “He shot me!” I shout, shocked. I can only state the obvious, my voice so rough and ragged I don’t even recognize it.

My father pulls me and the boy into a tight circular stairwell, the water whirling around us, chest deep. As he lifts the little boy high up the stairs, I glimpse the edge of a tattoo and skin rough with small dark scars and fresh nicks on his wrists. “Keep climbing!” he says to the little boy.

Wide-eyed with fear, the boy does what he’s told.

The water is rising up the stairs, fast, but my father props me up with his shoulder, and we keep climbing. I try to remember what it was like before he left my mom and me. Did he carry me to bed, up the stairs, down the hallway, and tuck me in?

“We’re going to get out,” my father says. 

“We can jump.” “We can’t jump,” I say. Off the ship?

“Trust me,” my father says.

I’ve never trusted my father, never had the chance. After he left, he wasn’t allowed within five hundred feet of me or my mother. “What the hell am I doing here?” I ask.

My father stares at me. “Is it you? Really you?” 

“Yes, it’s me,” I say. Of course it’s me!

My father looks stunned and scared and relieved somehow all at the same time. “You’re finally here.”

“Finally where?”

“Things have gotten too dangerous,” he says quickly. He reaches into his pocket, and in his hand I glimpse what looks like a strangely shaped shiny wooden cross about the width of his palm, but it’s not a cross, not exactly. “You’ve got to get lost and stay lost.”

I am lost, I want to tell him, but the pain in my back is so sharp it takes my breath.

As the water pushes us up the stairwell, my blood swirls around me like a cape. I can’t die here.

I look up into cloudy daylight.

The ship’s listing so hard now it seems to be jackknifing. Suddenly I’m terrified we’re all going to drown.

I expect to see the little boy’s face at the top of the stairs, but he’s gone. Instead, there’s a group of men with guns trained on my father and me.

“Ellington Maxwell.” The man who speaks is the one who shot me. In the hazy glare off the water I see a jagged scar on his cheek. “Welcome to our world. This time we hope you stay awhile.”

I look up at the sky again and abruptly it swells with sun. My right hand hurts and I know this signals an ending . . . Bright, blazing, obliterating light.

And I’m gone.

Whoa, right!? The Infinity of You and Me officially hits shelves tomorrow! Stay tuned for my review :)

How to Keep a Boy From Kissing You by Tara Eglington - Excerpt + Giveaway

Hi, everyone! Tara Eglington's debut doesn't officially hit shelves until October 25, but today I have a very special treat for you: an excerpt and a giveaway! But first, here's a bit about the book from Goodreads:

Sweet sixteen and never been kissed . . .

That’s Aurora Skye’s big secret. And the way she wants it to stay. She’s not going to give away her first kiss to just anyone. Busy dodging suitors and matchmaking for her best friends, Aurora (not so) patiently awaits her prince.

But everything changes when Aurora is coerced into a lead role in the school production of Much Ado about Nothing. Which means she’ll have to lock lips with her co-star Hayden Paris—the smart and funny boy next door who also happens to be the bane of her existence, always around to see her at her worst.

Now Aurora is more determined than ever to have her first kiss with the one who’s truly worthy of it. But first she’ll have to figure out just who that person is.

How To Keep a Boy From Kissing You (the first Aurora Skye story) originally released in Australia in 2013. Now we get a crack at it here in the States and it sounds fantastic!

As promised, I have an excerpt to share with you today, courtesy of the publisher. 

How to Keep a Boy From Kissing You

by Tara Eglington

(excerpt from chapter 2)

2 􏰀the glide-by

“How do I look?” Jelena asked.

Cass and I carefully studied her as the three of us stood by the school gate the next morning.

“Amazing, as always,” I replied, looking at Jelena’s long, sleek black hair, navy-blue eyes, and alabaster complexion—features that have longing male gazes following her like children after the Pied Piper. Jelena has an exotic air that I’m convinced comes from her Russian ancestry.

“You’re positive?” she said.

Normally Jelena wouldn’t even consider the possibility that she might look anything other than perfect (and with her looks, it’s com- pletely understandable), but today was a crucial day. A day when an outfit could make or break a girl. The first day back after summer break.

Summer is a transformative time for any teen—just consider the movie Dirty Dancing—and there’s always a touch of uncertainty, a hint of fear, the essence of possibility in the air on the first day of the new school year. The entire social structure of a high school can revolutionize itself in those six short hours. I knew that Jelena wanted to be dead certain that her social status was secure for another year.

Jelena possesses such fabulous qualities as confidence, never- ending energy, and an innovative mind, but she has something of an obsession with being popular. Her goal is to be CEO of an inter- national company in ten years, and she thinks Jefferson High is the perfect place to practice using her influence. Ever heard the phrase “an iron fist in a velvet glove”? Well, that’s Jelena. On many an occa- sion I’ve had to talk her out of implementing a system of serfdom. It’s thanks to her that our group is, as she puts it, “akin to reigning tsars.”

Jelena looked at me critically, gesturing at her form-fitting cream- colored dress. Attending a school where free dress is permitted meant the stakes were especially high. “Are you absolutely sure, stake your future on it, that I look like a teen queen?”

“Yes!” I said. “And Cass, you look fab, too.”

Cassie wore dark denim short shorts, a baby-pink top, and a dia- manté headband atop her fairest-of-fair blond curls. Those curls, along with her fawn-colored eyes, petite features, and voluptuous pout, would probably enable Cass to get away with murder. However, she’s as good as she is beautiful.

“So let’s head on in,” I said. I was dying to see what was new on the first day back.

“I don’t know.” Jelena arched a brow. “It’s important to build an- ticipation.”

“Don’t you want to be the first to check out any new talent?” I asked.

If there’s one word that motivates Jelena, it’s first. She views life as a battleground in which she must be the constant victor.

“Let’s go,” she commanded.

We clicked our identity rings together, a gesture left over from primary school but one we can’t help resurrecting every so often. The rings reflect how we like to see ourselves. Cassie’s ring reads “Angel,” Jelena’s is “Power,” and mine, naturally, is “Princess.” Hayden Paris happened to catch sight of the ring years ago and now refuses to call me anything else. Probably in the hope of embarrassing me. There’s no knowing what goes on in that disturbed mind of his.

We smiled at each other and stepped onto the school grounds. Jelena gave a satisfied nod smile as she did a perimeter scan. “Fantastic. There’s no one capable of challenging our status.”

I spotted Hayden sitting among a group of guys underneath the big pine. Two of them were playing guitar. When Hayden caught sight of me, he sent me a cheeky grin.

“Hayden’s looking at you,” Cassie announced in a singsong voice.

I groaned. “Don’t remind me. He’s probably replaying the image of me sitting in that puddle, again and again, like some sweet reverie.” 

Cass, Jelena, and I are really close, but we also have two other girls who make up our group: Lindsay and Sara. They joined us at our surveillance spot at the edge of the school grounds.

Lindsay is petite, with wavy chestnut locks, dark eyes, and year- round bronzed skin, which half the school is jealous of and attempts to replicate with Ambre Solaire, with varying success rates. The other important thing to know about Lindsay is that she’s part of TylerandLindsay, which isn’t two businesses joined into one super- company but a couple who have been going out for so long and so seriously that the entire student body views them as a single entity. I was surprised that Tyler wasn’t glued to Lindsay’s side. I looked around and saw he was sitting nearby. Lindsay was blowing I-can’t- believe-we’re-separated kisses to him, and he was making a show of catching each one in his palm. Oh, brother.

Lindsay’s identity ring will come as no surprise—it reads “Love.” 

Sara was telling some long, involved story, as usual. “And then they told me that they were discontinuing that brand, so I said, ‘Well, how am I going to manage without it? Youths with significant ex- pendable incomes are looking to this pharmacy to provide different options!’ And then he got all self-righteous and so I demanded to see someone more superior and—”

Sara’s ring reads “Diva.” Everything about her is dramatic—from her bright-red hair to the way she handles situations. To get out of PE last year, Sara didn’t complain of PMS or a strained ankle; in- stead, she fainted and had half the basketball team carry her to the nurse’s office while the other half ran for water and smelling salts. It’s virtually impossible to keep up with her constant level of hyste- ria, so I tune her out when she’s not actually experiencing a real crisis. I think most of us do, to tell you the truth.

“HS.” Jelena’s voice was loud and clear.

We had a hottie spotting.

“Where?” Cass glanced everywhere, not so subtly.

“Don’t make it so obvious!” Jelena hissed. “Twelve o’clock!”

We all looked straight ahead, toward a group of guys from our grade. Among them were two new, highly attractive faces. The one on the left had sun-streaked blond hair and a wide grin that displayed dimples in both cheeks. Even from a distance, his baby blues were very striking.

“Potential Prince,” Cass breathed to me.

The guy on the right had something no other guy in the school had: a goatee. That alone was impressive. He leaned against the brick wall, showing off his muscular arms to perfection. Every so often he’d run his fingers through his dark, perfectly styled hair.

“Guy on the right looks potentially egotistical,” I said.

“Girl standing next to me obviously hit her head when she fell last night, because guy on the right is godly,” Jelena replied.

“Exactly—looking down on the rest of us mere mortals,” I re- torted.

“If he’s conceited, he has every right to be,” Jelena said. “Look at him! Should we approach?”

Sara was still going on with her pharmaceutical sob story, and Lindsay had obviously decided she couldn’t take the separation from her beloved any longer, since she and Tyler were now sharing a swing, so the three of us looked at each other and made a decision.

“High heels?” Cass asked.

“Check!” we all cried.

“Time for the Glide-By,” Jelena said.

The Glide-By, like scarlet lipstick, is based on evolutionary tendencies—though it’s likely Darwin never saw this one coming! In the Glide-By, you wear an eye-catching outfit but pair it with loud shoes. This is because, although a guy’s sight is his primary sense when it comes to attraction, you often need to combine the visual with sound to really make an impact. Back in caveman days, men were trained to focus on their direct line of sight in order to spot prey. This evolutionary tendency is still part of the modern man’s makeup, so he might not pick up on your presence, no matter how gorgeous you are, if you happen to be slightly out of his line of sight.

This is where the loud shoes are vital. They announce your pres- ence. The minute a guy hears a loud sound, such as a pair of heels among the near-silent scuffing of sneakers, he will almost always turn his eyes toward it—an instinct from the days when responding to a sound could mean life or death for him and his tribe. Once his eyes are on you, the gorgeous outfit will have its desired impact. And, if your glide-by is successful and he becomes smitten, he may even learn to recognize the exact sound of your particular heels in a crowd, the way penguins recognize a partner among thou- sands of identical birds.

We headed up the path toward the guys, our heels drumming an ancient arrival call. As we hit the spot, five yards away, all eyes lifted from various Hacky Sack games and skateboard tricks. The boys looked at us; we looked at them. There was this moment of intense silence during which we mutually evaluated each other. The Glide- By was running smoothly so far.

Just when it looked like we would attempt an approach, Cass, Jelena, and I smiled simultaneously, turned abruptly, and headed for the history and arts block. We could feel the gazes following us. The Glide-By was a success.

You should never speak too soon.

“Hey, Princess!” Hayden’s voice boomed out across the school- yard, instantly destroying any intriguing aftereffects of the Glide- By. “When am I going to get my jacket back?”

Huge thanks to St. Martins for setting up the blog tour!

For more on Tara Eglington and her work, you can like Aurora's page on Facebook and follow Tara on Twitter.

As promised, I am giving away a copy of How to Keep a Boy From Kissing You today. To enter simply fill out the Rafflecopter below before Monday, October 31. Open US only.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Possibility of Somewhere by Julia Day

Eden has long fought against what she sees as a possible and maybe inevitable fate. Determined not to take the same path as either her biological mother or her father, she avoids most social niceties and focuses instead on her academics. A full scholarship is her best hope for a good college, and the Peyton Scholarship in particular seems to be the answer. With valedictorian all but in the bag, it seems she's on the right path for a ticket straight out of her hometown. 

But Eden has a few obstacles in her way. The first is Ash Gupta, her primary rival in everything academics. The second is her father. And when Eden and Ash are forced to work together time after time, it seems their rivalry could be in danger of becoming attraction. 

The Possibility of Somewhere is a sweet and charming read. Eden, a somewhat foul-mouthed teen who closes herself off from everyone around her, immediately draws the reader in and rallies you to her side. Her home life isn't great, but it also isn't tragic, and she has the means and determination to do whatever it takes to ensure her future.

But that determination has a down side: Eden has no friends. She doesn't allow anyone to get close, especially when the few times she's made exceptions have backfired. But Eden's armor proves to be no protection against the new girl in school.

Mundy, a transfer from California who turns out to be the daughter of one of Eden's teachers, forces her way in and proves to be just the first big change of Eden's senior year. And Mundy proves to be exactly what Eden needs in her life - someone who will bring her out of her shell, offer her a shoulder to cry on, and will stand in Eden's corner no matter what. Though it turns out Mundy isn't the only one in Eden's corner by a long shot.

I loved The Possibility of Somewhere. It was an overall light read (which it turns out I needed) but it also tugged at my heartstrings more than just a little bit. I loved that, as mentioned above, the story wasn't oh, so tragic. I loved that Eden had obstacles in her way but wasn't broken by them. And I loved that in the end, with a few exceptions, Eden had a strong support system behind her - and she comes to realize it, too.

Like I said, sweet and charming!

Rating: 4/5

(The Possibility of Somewhere is due out September 6.)

The Only Thing Worse Than Me is You by Lily Anderson

It's senior year and that means that the war that's been raging between Trixie Watson and Ben West since first grade - when he broke her arm on the monkey bars - has reached its peak. With just one year left, Trixie has made it her goal to come out the ultimate winner in the fray by vowing to edge Ben out of his third place spot in their class ranking for good. But when a string of cheating accusations begins making the rounds, eventually targeting one of Trixie's best friends, she finds that her efforts are inevitably affected. Rather than focusing on Ben, Trixie is determined to clear her friend's name. And it turns out her worst enemy may be her best ally in this fight!

Oooh, Lily Anderson's debut is CYUTE!!! All caps worthy for sure!

Let's start with the fact that Trixie and her super genius friends are nerd girls to the max, with impeccable nerd taste. I mean, I knew this just reading the official synopsis - Trixie is a Doctor Who fan and all Whovians know a fellow Whovian is by default awesome!

Trixie is witty and can spin an insult at the drop of a hat, a super power she uses most often against Ben West, her nemesis supreme, and it makes for some hilarious reading. Don't worry, he does fight back. But then a funny thing happens: one of Trixie's friends begins dating one of Ben's friends, bringing the two groups together for way more socializing than previous years. Shared space in the form of the cafeteria lunch table means Trixie and Ben are forced into an awkward truce for the sake of their friends. And of course when their friends become caught up in the growing plagiarization scandal, they find common ground.

All of the teens are uber intelligent. The school they attend is one specifically catered to gifted teens, offering classes like "the physics of Star Trek and the chemistry of emotions" (Sounds a bit like my own college special topics dream school! Special topics being the cool but limited classes my own university offered on things like SFF lit and History of Film.) But the school is incredibly focused on academic standing and rank. So much so that when the cheating scandal breaks, no adult or student really questions the whole thing, immediately blaming the high stress and requirements of the school as the obvious reason any one of their students would break and turn to cheating. Except Trixie. Trixie knows that her best friend isn't the one behind the whole thing and stands by her no matter what, making her a pretty fabulous friend indeed. One who, although she's not a troublemaker or problem child in any way, is willing to test those boundaries if necessary.

The Only Thing Worse Than Me Is You is delightfully fun and charming. A teen contemporary that'll give you the warm and fuzzies even if you've fallen victim to the Cybermen! In fact, it's a book the Doctor could probably use to combat the Cybermen considering their goal is to wipe out all emotion. I'd place money on the fact that Anderson's tale could replace a "Delete!" with a chuckle or giggle for sure! (If you're a Dalek, there's probably no hope for you.)

Rating: 4/5

Short Fiction Friday: Summer Days & Summer Nights ed by Stephanie Perkins

Oh, I do love summer. It's my favorite season of the year: warm and sunny days, my birthday, and when I was a kid it meant summer break from school, no bedtime, and days spent reading by the pool. And even though there's no break now (or pool), there's a part of me that still gets excited when the weather starts to turn balmy. The season itself still holds that same anticipation even if the only break we adults get is on weekends!

It's that feeling of excitement and anticipation that the newly released Summer Days and Summer Nights: Twelve Love Stories truly captures. Edited by Stephanie Perkins and featuring a slew of YA authors of varying genres, Summer Days and Summer Nights does for the upcoming season what Perkins's My True Love Gave to Me did for the holidays!

I do love that Perkins has again built an anthology featuring a variety of kinds of stories. I gravitate more often (but not always) to the eerie or supernatural - more often, that is, than straightforward contemporary. And I think the variety itself is part of the magic of an anthology like this. It gives readers like me a chance to step outside their comfort zone while still offering up our usual genres as well.

Leigh Bardugo, Libba Bray, and Lev Grossman were definite favorites this time around - as you'd expect of me! Bardugo's tale tells of a friendship shared during summer months only, but as the characters grow older their relationship is complicated by their limited time together. Bray's story is a fun and funny tale about the final night at a horror theater! And Grossman's story is a sweet (and heartbreaking) story a la Groundhog Day.

But I found myself drawn to at least a few of those contemporaries too! Perkins brings readers the next chapter, of sorts, in Marigold and North's story (a welcome, welcome return to these My True Love Gave to Me characters!) and Jennifer E. Smith drew me in with a story of a crush and a first date that truly could all go wrong.

There's definitely something for everyone here, though as the subtitle reads they are all love stories at heart.

Here's the full table of contents:

"Head, Scales, Tongue, Tail" by Leigh Bardugo
"The End of Love" by Nina Lacour
"Last Stand at the Cinegor" by Libba Bray
"Sick Pleasures" by Francesca Lia Block
"In Ninety Minutes, Turn North" by Stephanie Perkins
"Souvenirs" by Tim Federle
"Inertia" by Veronica Roth
"Love is the Last Resort" by Jon Skovron
"Good Luck and Farewell" by Brandy Colbert
"Brand New Attraction" by Cassandra Clare
"A Thousand Ways This Could All Go Wrong" by Jennifer E. Smith
"The Map of Tiny Perfect Things" by Lev Grossman

Summer Days and Summer Nights is a charming anthology perfect for anytime reading - whether you're enjoying it in the midst of summer or simply wishing for you were!

Rating: 3.5/5

(Summer Days and Summer Nights officially hits shelves Tuesday, May 17.)

Short Fiction Friday: The Mermaid Girl by Erika Swyler + a Giveaway

Last summer I had the pleasure of reading and featuring Erika Swyler's utterly spellbinding debut novel, The Book of Speculation. Well with the paperback due out at the end of the month, it seems the it's time for another little taste of Swyler's fabulous world.

In The Book of Speculation we meet Simon Watson, a research librarian with a strange family history. His mother drowned when he was just a boy and, as it turns out, she's not the first in her line to have passed so tragically. And though we get to know Simon's parents just a bit through his own story, Paulina and her husband, Daniel, are long gone by the time Book of Speculation begins.

"The Mermaid Girl" fills the gaps left by Book, telling of the time before Paulina's death, giving insight into her mindset and such in those early days.

Daniel was smitten with Paulina when he saw her floating in the mermaid tank. And after years of traveling and moving around, the circus girl decided she was ready to settle down. But life in one place is much different than life in a traveling circus. Paulina is plagued by migraines and fights daily against the pull of her former life. Daniel feels it, too, and worries about what it means for his family.

This is a strange little tale, one that clearly shows Paulina's growing concern and obsession over a fate she's read over and over in the cards. It's a fate those who have read The Book of Speculation are very aware of as well. It was fun to see young Simon beginning to become the man he'll be in the later story - already showing a fondness for old books and such. And it was a pleasant return to these characters and this world!

And now for the giveaway! I have a hardcover copy of The Book of Speculation to give away to one of your lucky readers today! To enter, simply fill out the Rafflecopter below before Monday, May 23. Open US only.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Star-Touched Queen by Roshani Chokshi

Hi, everyone! Today I'm pleased as punch to be taking part in the blog tour for Roshani Chokshi's hotly anticipated teen debut, The Star-Touched Queen.

Since her birth, Maya's fate has been maligned by the stars. Her other siblings and the other mothers in her father's harem snubbed her or outright cursed her, telling her they would all be better if she died because of what they say was written in her horoscope. And Maya hates the stars because of it. 

Convinced she will never marry, and happy for it, Maya is surprised to find that her father has decided to use her as a bargaining chip to prevent war. But on the day of her she is to choose her husband, nothing goes according to plan and Maya finds herself wed to a man from a kingdom she's never heard of. He says he wants her to be queen, he wants her for her ideas and her mind, he wants her for her power. But secrets shroud their marriage and the new land she calls home. And as whispers and cries reach out to her from behind locked doors, Maya begins to understand the fate the stars have written for her. 

This book. THIS BOOK! Y'all everyone is raving about this book, so much so that I was actually worried when I started reading - worried that maybe it had been overhyped and that I wouldn't love it as much as everyone else.

That simply was not the case!

The Star-Touched Queen is steeped in Indian folklore and blended with the Hades/Persephone myth. (I was hesitant to include that particular tidbit in my review because I'd gone into the book without reading any real specifics about the plot at all and found myself both pleased and surprised by that element. But it's pretty much all over the internet including the original deal listing for the book so I figured I'd tell you.) I love folklore and will probably never tire of folk/mythology/fairy tale retellings. But coming across one that's unique and includes lore I'm fairly unfamiliar with is refreshing, to say the least.

But that's only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what makes this book so fabulous! In addition to the lore that makes up the bones of the story, Chokshi has built a world that is lush and vibrant and absolutely filled with gorgeous and creepy imagery! It's a world that I wanted to eat, sleep, and breathe well after finishing the book.

Having said all of that (I know, I'm raving - it can't be helped), even the most beautifully built world and wonderfully built narrative are nothing without characters that are equal to their setting. Lest you think that Chokshi may have faltered here, let me set you straight. Maya does live up to the standard. She's stubborn and clever, a rule breaker even from the start. She defies her tutors, turns a mostly deaf ear to the overly loud insults in the harem, and sneaks into places women aren't even supposed to be in order to glean information and learn leadership from her father, the Raja. It all comes in handy as she begins her journey, too. And as her character and will are tested time and time again as the story plays out, her strength never falters.

The Star-Touched Queen is an absolutely phenomenal read, the first of what I hope will be many phenomenal reads from Chokshi!

Rating: 5/5

Sanctuary Bay by Laura J. Burns & Melinda Metz - Excerpt

And now for the second part of today's blog tour stop - an excerpt from Laura J. Burns and Melinda Metz's creepy boarding school thriller, Sanctuary Bay.

But first, here's a bit about the book from the publisher:

When Sarah Merson receives the opportunity of a lifetime to attend the most elite prep school in the country—Sanctuary Bay Academy—it seems almost too good to be true. But, after years of bouncing from foster home to foster home and struggling with the memory of her parent’s murder, escaping to the school’s tranquil setting, nestled deep in Swans Island, couldn't sound more appealing. Swiftly thrown into a world of privilege and secrets, Sarah quickly realizes finding herself noticed by class charmer, Nate, as well as her roommate's dangerously attentive boyfriend, Ethan, are the least of her worries. When her roommate suddenly goes missing, she finds herself in a race against time, not only to find her, but to save herself and discover the dark truth behind Sanctuary Bay's glossy reputation.

Sanctuary Bay is out on shelves today and I hope that I've managed to pique your interest. If you're still on the fence, though, or just want a taste before buying, I do have an excerpt for you courtesy of the publisher:

Daddy pressed his finger to his lips, shushing Sarah quiet as he slid the door to the tunnel back on. She wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and pressed her cheek against her arm, trying to pretend she was back in her own room. But it didn’t smell like her room. Even the spicy smell of Daddy’s cologne had faded now that the tunnel was closed. And grayness was all around her. She was almost four, and that was too old to be scared of the dark. But it wasn’t all dark. It was just gray dark.

She tried not to think of monsters crawling toward her. Daddy said there were no monsters. But monsters liked tunnels. They liked little girls.

Sometimes when she was scared she liked to sing the Maggie song. But that was against the rules. She had to be quiet. She had to be still. She had to wait until Daddy or Mommy opened the door and got her.

Thinking about the rules helped. She could almost hear Daddy saying them, as if he was hiding in the tunnel with her. Even though he was way too big. If something bad happens, wait until the room is safe. If you leave the tunnel, put the funny slitted door back on. Run fast. Find a lady with kids. Tell her your name is Sarah Merson. Merson. Merson. Merson. Merson. Ask for help.

Her nose started twitching, itching from the thick air. Making her want to sneeze. But she had to be quiet.

Then she heard Mommy screaming. Mommy never screamed. Were the monsters out there and not in the tunnel?

On hands and knees she started creeping toward the slits of light, heart pounding.

“Kt85L is our property,” a man said. “You had no right!”

Out there. Mommy on her knees facing the hotel room wall. Someone’s legs. A hand reaching down. A silver bird stared at Sarah from a ring on the finger. Stared with a horrible little black eye. The finger pulled the trigger of a gun.

A bang. Her ears filling with bees. Mommy collapsing on the floor. Red spilling out.

Sarah shoved her fingers into her mouth. Quiet. The rule was be quiet.

Shouting. Daddy’s legs running by, out of the room. The bird man chasing. The door banging closed.

Something bad happening.

The room was safe. The bird man was gone. So she had to get out. Mommy was on the floor. Daddy was gone.

She shoved the door and it fell out onto the floor. Near Mommy. Near the red. But the rule was to put the funny door back on. She picked it up and shoved it over the tunnel like Daddy had shown her.

Sarah didn’t want to look at Mommy. She looked out the window instead. The window was always open and there was never a screen. Daddy’s voice came from the hallway, yelling. Screaming.

Another bang.

Sarah pressing her hands over her eyes. Not looking. Not looking. Something bad happening.

Daddy was quiet now. Something bad. She had to run fast.

Sarah climbed on the chair under the window. The chair always went under the window. She stuck her legs through the window and jumped down. Now run fast.

She ran fast, looking for a lady with a stroller or a kid her age. A mommy would help her. She would say she was Sarah Merson.

Sarah Merson, and something bad happened.

Tell me you are not dying to read more?!

ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Laura J. Burns and Melinda Metz have written many books for teens and middle-grade readers, including the Edgar-nominated mystery series Wright and Wong and the YA novels Crave and Sacrifice. They have also written for the TV shows Roswell, 1-800-Missing, and The Dead Zone. Laura lives in New York and Melinda lives in North Carolina, but really they mostly live on email, where they do most of their work together.

For more on Laura J. Burns and Melinda Metz, you can visit their website here. You can also like them on Facebook and follow them on Twitter. 

BUY LINKS: Amazon | B&N | iBooks | IndieBound

Don't forget, you can check out my review and enter to win your very own copy here.