Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity. 1 Tim. 4:12
Then have I got some news for you!! Want to spend a week this summer hobnobbing with filmmaking, writing and acting professionals from all over the country? Want to grow as an artist? Want to explore the media arts in an environment that honors the Lord?
Yes, Yes, Yes!
Gideon Teen Intern Program (GI)
The Gideon Intern Program is a unique and fabulous part of the Gideon Media Arts Conference & Film Festival. It is designed exclusively for teens between the ages of 16 and 18 who are ready to take their love of the media arts to the next level. Media Arts, you ask? Well, we're talking about things like writing, screenwriting, acting, directing, radio, TV, church drama, and producing. Our interns participate in every aspect of the conference, plus get to have exclusive meals with industry professionals to ask questions and learn from them.
This year we also will have a special filmmaking and novel writing track that some of our interns will be selected to participate in.
But don't sit around and wait - you have to apply to be a part of the program! For all the details and an application, please see our website: Gideon Teen Intern program
And as if that wasn't enough!!! A new contest this year allows singers and songwriters to compete for a record deal!!! You only need to be 15 to participate! Check out more info: Music Talent Search Contest
Music Artist Talent Search & Songwriter Competition
The Gideon and Lamon Records announced two new competitions for Gideon 2011. The Music Artist Talent Search is looking for the next great Christian singer, the winner gets a 4 song EP produced by Grammy nominated and Dove Award winning producer Dave Moody in Nashville, which is worth $20,000. The Songwriting Competition winner gets a publishing contract with one of our BMI, ASCAP or SESAC affiliated publishing companies. Winning composition to be recorded by the winner of the Artist Grand Prize. To learn more go to our Contest Page or to Lamon Records
Can you tell I'm excited?? I have participated with the Gideon Conference for three years now and I wouldn't miss it for the world. Consider joining us in the Blue Ridge Mountains from August 6-11th - you won't regret it!!
Got questions? Let me know! And please, please, please, help me spread the word about these amazing opportunities!!
To enter to win today’s book, leave a comment on this blog post, giving your name and saying you want to enter. International readers are welcome to enter!
Please leave an email address or website where I can contact you (please use this format--you [at] yourmail.com--or something like that to prevent spammers from trolling for your email address). It is the winner’s responsibility to check to see if you won and to email me if you haven’t yet heard from me.
I always email the winner and give them a week to reply, but if I don’t receive an answer, I will pull another person to win the book. I am not responsible for a lost opportunity if you leave an email address you don’t check frequently.
Only one entry per person. The winner can expect their free book in 4-6 weeks.
You have a week to comment--I'll pick a name out of a hat on June 27th. (BTW, you can post a comment and NOT enter, too.)
Return to the world of the dragon keepers, where the fate of three missing statues will determine the fate of the world. Tipper, a young emerlindian woman, has been responsible for the upkeep of her family’s estate since her sculptor father disappeared several years ago. To make ends meet, she’s been forced to sell off the artwork he left behind. When at last her father returns, accompanied by two strangers from a distant land, Tipper discovers that her actions have unbalanced the foundation of her world, as well as her father’s life, and she must act quickly to undo the threat. But how can she save her father and the world on her own? The task is too huge for one person, so she gathers the help of some unlikely companions—including her guardian, the giant parrot Beccaroon, the wizard Fenworth, and his librarian Librettowit—and sets out on a quest, eventually witnessing the loving care and miraculous resources of Wulder.
Join new characters and old friends on a journey into a fantasy that inhabits the same world as the DragonKeeper Chronicles, but in a different country and an earlier time, where the people know little of Wulder and nothing of Paladin.
Excerpt of chapter one:
Sir Beccaroon cocked his head, ruffled his neck feathers, and stretched, allowing his crimson wings to spread. The branch beneath him sank and rose again, responding to his weight. Moist, hot air penetrated his finery, and he held his wings away from his brilliant blue sides.
“Too hot for company,” hemuttered, rocking back and forth from one scaly four-toed foot to the other on a limb of a sacktrass tree.The leaves shimmered as the motion rippled along the branch. “Where is that girl?”
His yellow head swiveled almost completely around. He peered with one eye down the overgrown path and then scoped out every inch within his range of vision, twisting his neck slowly. A brief morning shower had penetrated the canopy above and rinsed the waxy leaves. A few remaining drops glistened where thin shafts of tropical sun touched the dark green foliage. On the broot vine, flowers the size of plates lifted their fiery red petals, begging the thumb-sized bees to come drink before the weight of nectar broke off the blooms.
Beccaroon flew to a perch on a gnarly branch. He sipped from a broot blossom and ran his black tongue over the edges of his beak. A sudden breeze shook loose a sprinkle of leftover raindrops. Beccaroon shook his tail feathers and blinked.When the disturbance settled, he cocked his head and listened.
“Ah! She’s coming.” He preened his soft green breast and waited, giving a show of patience he didn’t feel. His head jerked up as he detected someone walking with the girl.
“Awk!”The sound exploded from his throat.He flew into a roost far above the forest floor, where he couldn’t be seen from the ground, and watched the approach of the girl placed under his guardianship.
Tipper strolled along the path below, wearing a flowing golden gown over her tall, lean body. She’d put her long blond hair in a fancy braid that started at the crown of her head. A golden chain hung from each of her pointed ears. And she’d decorated her pointed facial features with subdued colors—blue for her eyelids, rose for her lips, and a shimmering yellow on her cheeks. Beccaroon sighed. His girl was lovely.
The bushes along the path behind her rustled. Beccaroon’s tongue clucked against his beak in disapproval. Hanner trudged after Tipper, leading a donkey hitched to a cart. The man’s shaggy hair, tied with a string at the back of his neck, hung oily and limp. Food and drink stained the front of his leather jerkin, and his boots woremud instead of a shine. The parrot caught a whiff of the o’rant from where he perched. The young man should have carried the fragrance of citrus, but his overstrong odor reminded Beccaroon of rotten fruit.
A tree full ofmonkeys broke out in outraged chatter.Tipper, when alone, walked amid the animals’ habitat without causing alarm.
“Smart monkeys,” said Beccaroon. “You recognize a ninny-nap-conder when you see one.” He used the cover of the monkeys’ rabble-rousing to glide to another tree, where he could hide at a lower level. He had an idea where Tipper would lead Hanner.
“Here it is,” said the pretty emerlindian. She pulled vines from a clump, revealing a gray statue beneath. “My father named this one Vegetable Garden.”
Hanner pulled off more vines as he made his way slowly around the four-foot statue. “Vegetable Garden? Mistress Tipper, are you sure you have the right one? This is a statue of a boy reading a book. He’s not even chewing a carrot while he sits here.”
“Father used to say reading a good book was nourishment.”
Hanner scratched his head, shrugged his shoulders, and went to fetch the donkey and cart.Tipper’s head tilted back, and her blue eyes looked up into the trees. Her gaze roamed over the exact spot Beccaroon used as a hidden roost. Not by the blink of an eyelash did she betray whether she had seen him. Hanner returned.
Tipper spread out a blanket in the cart after Hanner maneuvered it next to the statue, then helped him lift the stone boy into the back. Hanner grunted a lot, and Tipper scolded.
“Careful… Don’t break his arm…Too many vines still around the base.”
They got the statue loaded, and Tipper tucked the blanket overand around it. She then gave Hanner a pouch of coins.
“This is for your usual delivery fee. I couldn’t put in any extra for traveling expenses. I’m sure you’ll be reimbursed by our buyer.”
He grunted and slipped the money inside his jerkin.
Tipper clasped her hands together. “Be careful. And give Master Dodderbanoster my regards.” He tipped his hat and climbed aboard the cart. “I always am. And I always do.”
She stood in the path until the creak of the cart wheels could no longer be heard.
Beccaroon swooped down and sat on a thick branch wrapped with a leafless green creeper. The vine looked too much like a snake, so he hopped to another limb.
“Was that wise?” he asked. “I don’t think so either, Bec, butwhat else can I do? I sell the artwork only as a last resort when we need quite a bit of cash. The well needs re-digging.” Tipper pulled a tight face, looking like she’d swallowed nasty medicine. “We’ve sold almost everything in the house. Mother sees our things in the market and buys them back. Sometimes I get a better price for a piece the second time I sell it, and sometimes not.”
Beccaroon swayed back and forth on his feet, shaking his head. “She never catches on?”
“Never.” Tipper giggled. “She shows remarkably consistent taste. When she spots something that was once ours, she buys it, brings it home, shows it off to me, and tells me she has always wanted something just like it. And she never notices pictures gone from the walls, rugs missing in rooms, chairs, tables, vases, candlesticks gone. I used to rearrange things to disguise a hole in the décor, but there’s no need.”
The sigh that followed her explanation held no joy.Tipper looked around. “There never is a place to sit in this forest when one wants to plop down and have a good cry.”
“You’re not the type to cry. I’ll walk you home.” Beccaroon hopped down to the path. His head came up to her waist. She immediately put her dainty hand on his topknot and smoothed the creamy plumes back.
“You’re the best of friends. Keeping this secret would be unbearable if I didn’t have you to confide in.”
Beccaroon clicked his tongue. “No flattery, or I shall fly away.”
They moseyed back the direction Tipper had come, opposite the way Hanner had departed.
Beccaroon tsked. “I don’t like that greasy fellow.”
“I know.”Tipper gently twisted the longest feather from the center of Bec’s crest around her forefinger. The grand parrot jerked his head away and gave her his sternest glare. She was his girl, but he still wouldn’t let her take liberties. She didn’t seem to notice he was disgruntled, and that further blackened his mood.
“Hanner is all right, Bec. He takes the statues to Dodderbanoster. Dodderbanoster takes them to cities beyond my reach and gets a fair price for them. Sometimes I think the pouch Hanner brings back is way too full.”
Beccaroon clicked his tongue. “Your father is a master artist. His work is worth a mighty price.”
“Hanner says sometimes Dodderbanoster sells them to a dealer who takes them even farther away, to thriving districts.Wealthy patrons bid to own a Verrin Schope work of art.” She held back a leafy branch so Beccaroon could strut by with ease. “Late at night when I sit inmy window and think, I hope that Papa will see one of his sculptures or paintings in a market in some far away metropolis. I imagine the scene. He exclaims with shock. He turns red and sputters and shakes his fists. In fact, he’s so angry he comes straight home and yells loud and long at his daughter who dares to sell his masterpieces.”
Beccaroon rolled his shoulders, causing his wings to tilt out, then settle against his sides. “What of your mother? Does she ever mention your father’s absence?”
“No, why should she? He’s been gone for years, but she still sees him. She talks to him every night after his workday is done. Promenades through the garden with him. Pours his tea, and just the other evening I heard her fussing at himfor not giving enoughmoney to the parish.”
“I suppose she dipped in the household funds to make up for his neglect.”
Tipper sighed. “Yes, she did.”
They went on a ways in silence. Tipper picked a bloom, savored its spicy odor, then placed it behind one pointed ear. “Mother has an idea in her head.”
“For anyone else, the head is a splendid place to keep an idea. For your mother, she should just let them go.”
“She’s determined to visit her sister.” Tipper raised her eyebrows so that the upside-downV was even more pronounced. “She’ll go if she manages to pack her long list of necessities. Some of the items are quite unreasonable.”
Beccaroon snatched a nut from an open shell on the ground. He played the small nugget over his tongue, enjoying its sweetness, then swallowed. “And you? Is she taking you?”
“No, I’m to stay here and make sure Papa is comfortable and remembers to go to bed at night instead of working till all hours in his studio.”
“I don’t like you being alone in that house.”
“I don’t either.”
“Of course, there are the servants.”
“Only two now.”
Beccaroon ruffled his feathers, starting at the tuft on top of his head, fluffing the ruff of his neck,proceeding down his back, and ending with a great shake of his magnificent tail.
Camy Tang writes romance with a kick of wasabi. Her novels Single Sashimi is out now, and her romantic suspense Deadly Intent will release in July. She also runs the Story Sensei critique service. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service. On her blog, she gives away Christian novels and ponders frivolous things. Sign up for her newsletter YahooGroup for monthly giveways!
To enter to win today’s book, leave a comment on this blog post, giving your name and saying you want to enter. International readers are welcome to enter!
Please leave an email address or website where I can contact you (please use this format--you [at] yourmail.com--or something like that to prevent spammers from trolling for your email address). It is the winner’s responsibility to check to see if you won and to email me if you haven’t yet heard from me.
I always email the winner and give them a week to reply, but if I don’t receive an answer, I will pull another person to win the book. I am not responsible for a lost opportunity if you leave an email address you don’t check frequently.
Only one entry per person. The winner can expect their free book in 4-6 weeks.
You have a week to comment--I'll pick a name out of a hat on June 14th. (BTW, you can post a comment and NOT enter, too.)
Separated by time and space, our heroes finally return home. But five years have passed and they find a nightmarishly changed world.
The despised Horde are now in control. The healing lakes of Elyon are now blood red. And mighty Thomas Hunter and his Forest Guard have disappeared.
Then the world unravels further.
Dive into a journey among the Horde whose sole mission is the destruction of the Circle. Come face-to-face with an enchantingly beautiful creature with unearthly powers--and questionable motives.
Take a stand with the chosen but be wary, for not all is as it seems. Now the chosen themselves are questioning their very sanity. For the only way to win may be to lose. The only way to live may be to die. And the only one to lead may be a lunatic.
Camy Tang writes romance with a kick of wasabi. Her novels Single Sashimi is out now, and her romantic suspense Deadly Intent will release in July. She also runs the Story Sensei critique service. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service. On her blog, she gives away Christian novels and ponders frivolous things. Sign up for her newsletter YahooGroup for monthly giveways!
To enter to win today’s book, leave a comment on this blog post, giving your name and saying you want to enter. International readers are welcome to enter!
Please leave an email address or website where I can contact you (please use this format--you [at] yourmail.com--or something like that to prevent spammers from trolling for your email address). It is the winner’s responsibility to check to see if you won and to email me if you haven’t yet heard from me.
I always email the winner and give them a week to reply, but if I don’t receive an answer, I will pull another person to win the book. I am not responsible for a lost opportunity if you leave an email address you don’t check frequently.
Only one entry per person. The winner can expect their free book in 4-6 weeks.
You have a week to comment--I'll pick a name out of a hat on May 27th. (BTW, you can post a comment and NOT enter, too.)
This daughter of a rock star has it all—until murder crashes her world.
The exciting and suspenseful Rayne Tour series features sixteen-year-old Shaley O’Connor, on tour with her mother’s popular band. Shaley lives in a whirlwind of backstage secrets, hotels, and limos. With beauty and fame of her own, Shaley wants for nothing … except the one thing she can’t have.
During a concert, sixteen-year-old Shaley O’Connor stumbles upon the body of a friend backstage. Is Tom Hutchens’ death connected to her?
Frightening messages arrive. Paparazzi stalk Shaley. Her private nightmare is displayed for all to see. Where is God at a time like this?
As the clock runs out, Shaley must find Tom’s killer—before he strikes again.
Online Promotions-Sweepstakes, Book Trailer, Facebook and More
The Rayne Tourseries is being promoted heavily to teen readers online. The LIVE LIKE A ROCKSTAR SWEEPSTAKES is a chance for teens ages 13-18 to win an $850 night out on the town, including dinner for six at a restaurant of their choice and limo service. To enter, teens must promote the series online. They can post information about the new series and the sweepstakes on their Blog, favorite social media sites, or other Web site. The first 200 entrants will receive a free copy of Always Watching. Official rules and entry details are available here.
He’d been watching since the tour began. Eyes straight ahead, keeping cool, like he wasn’t even paying attention. But he noticed everything. Even got a sense for what was happening behind his back. His past life had taught him how to do that—out of necessity. When it was something bad, he felt a vibration in the air, pulling up the hair on his arms. And he’d know. He’d just know.
Sometimes he acted behind the scenes. Nothing that would be noticed. Just ended up in a certain place at a certain time—a presence that kept the wrong thing from happening. Other times he’d say what needed to be heard. Real casual, not sounding like a threat at all. No, he was just talking, shooting the breeze about some previous experience. But beneath the words there’d be a point: don’t cross me or mine.
Sometimes people were too dumb to get it. He’d give them every chance, trying to be the nice guy. Trying to do it the easy way. But no. Those kind of people had stubborn minds and black hearts. Couldn’t be trusted. They were headed for a fall and about to take some good people with them. His people.
That’s what it had come to now.
“Hey, can I see you a sec before you go?” He motioned, and the one who must die came, humming.
Humming.
Like a lamb to slaughter.
CHAPTER 1
The screams of twenty thousand people sizzled in my ears.
“Rayne, you reign! Rayne, you reign! Rayne, you reign! …”
At the sold-out HP Pavilion in San Jose, California the crowd chanted and clapped and stomped for my mom’s group, Rayne—named after her—to do one more song as they left the stage. As usual I stood backstage with Tom Hutchens, my mom’s twenty-five-year-old hair dresser and makeup artist, and my closest friend on tour. Tom was short and slim, with thick black hair and an intense-looking face that didn’t match his crazy personality at all.
Tom feigned the pucker of a hip-hop artist and splayed his fingers in front of his red T-shirt. “Yo, she reign, they go insane!” He had to shout at me, his Vans-clad feet dancing. Tom always wore these wild-looking sneakers with blue, white, and red checks and a red racing stripe on the sides. “Ain’t nothin’ plain about rockin’ Rayne!”
I punched him in the arm, laughing. His silly rap rhymes were getting worse by the day.
Blonde hair bouncing, Mom came flying down the steps on the way to her private dressing room for the two-minute break. Sweat shone on her forehead as she passed by. She flashed her red-lipped grin at me and raised a palm. We high-fived as she sped past.
“They love us, Shaley!”
“’Course, Mom, they always do!”
The rest of the rock group—Kim, Morrey, Rich and Stan—descended more slowly, their faces showing fatigue. None of them had the energy of my mother after a concert. Tom and I gave them a quick thumbs-up before scurrying after Mom.
As we hit the dressing room with Rayne O’Connor’s name on the door, I checked my watch. 10:45. Yay! Almost time to head to the airport and pick up my best friend, Brittany. I hadn’t seen her since Rayne started touring three months ago, and I couldn’t wait to be with her again. This was Rayne’s third tour, and I always found it hard to leave all my school friends behind.
Without Tom to keep me laughing, touring would be terribly lonely.
I closed the dressing room door, shutting out some of the noise.
“Whoo.” Mom crossed to the left side of the room and plopped into the makeup chair facing a long, brightly lit mirror. To her right sat a wooden armoire full of her clothing. She always changed outfits during intermission. Along the back wall were the blue sofa and matching armchairs specified by contract for her dressing area in every arena. Opposite the makeup counter was the table loaded with catered food, also specified by contract—bowls of fruit, sandwiches, pasta salad, cheese cubes, chips, and M&Ms for me.
Mom studied herself in the mirror with her large crystal blue eyes. “Okay, Tom, do your magic.” She guzzled a drink from a water bottle on the counter.
Like she needed any magic. With her high cheekbones, oval face, and full lips, Mom was drop-dead gorgeous.
Tom winked at me as he snatched up a tissue. Sticking his scrawny neck out, he scrutinized Mom with animation, eyes narrowed and his mouth a rounded O. “Hm. Hmm.”
He sighed, stood back and spread his hands as if to say nothing to be done here, you’re perfect.
Mom rolled her eyes at me. I shrugged. As if I could control Tom’s antics.
“All right, lover boy.” Mom took another swig of water. “Get to it, I’ve got one minute left.”
“Yo, big Mama.”
Mom swatted his hand. “Would you stop calling me that? I don’t know why I put up with you.” Her mouth curved.
Tom leaned in to blot her face with the tissue. “’Cause I make you look bodacious, that’s why.” Expertly he retouched her blusher and lipstick, fluffed her hair.
Out in the arena the crowd’s yells and applause was growing louder. I smiled and squeezed Mom’s shoulder. Every concert the fans went wild, but it never got old for me. Night after night their adoration set pride for my mom welling in my chest.
Five years ago when I was eleven and Mom was twenty-eight, Rayne was barely hanging on. Mom and the band played little concerts here and there, working night and day to get noticed. I remember how hard she tried back then. A great lyric writer with a distinct, throaty-edged voice, she deserved to make it big. Then the song Far and Near hit the radio and after that—a rocket launch.
Tom stood back and surveyed Mom, his head cocked to one side. “Not bad. Not bad a-tall.”
“Rayne, you reign! Rayne, you reign!” The crowd was going crazy out there.
Mom tossed her hair back, looked at herself from side to side. “Great.” She sprang from the chair. “Gotta go.” She hurried toward the door.
I moved out of her way. “Mom, don’t forget we’re going to pick up Brittany in ten minutes. We’re leaving a little early because Tom wants to stop by a drugstore.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Mom pulled up short, one hand on the door knob. She looked to Tom. “Somebody else doing your clean-up?”
He glanced at me. “Got it taken care of.”
Disappointment pulled at my mouth. Mom knew how I’d counted the days until Brittany’s and my junior year of high school ended—just yesterday. My tutor had flown home this morning, and now Brittany was coming for two weeks. Mom was paying all her expenses—for that I was so grateful. But Mom could get so wrapped up in her work. Sometimes I just needed her to remember me.
Mom looked my way—and caught my expression. She smiled too wide, as if to make up for her distraction. “I’m so glad Brittany’s coming, Shaley. We’ll show her a great time.”
I nodded.
“Mick’s going with you, right?”
“Yeah.”
Mick Rader had been my mom’s main personal bodyguard for the past three years. The other two, Bruce Stolz and Wendell Bennington, would guard her on her way to the hotel tonight while Mick was with me.
“Okay, good. You’ll be safe.” Mom smiled as she opened the door. The crowd’s screams rushed in. “See you at the hotel.”
She blew me a kiss and disappeared.
The yelling suddenly frayed my nerves. I pushed the door shut and leaned against it.
Tom shot me his sad clown look, his lips turned down and eyebrows pulled into a V. He always read my mind so well.
I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s okay.”
His expression whisked away. Tom struck his hip-hop pose. “Got a new one for ya.”
“Oh, yeah?” I knew he’d create the lyrics as he went along, just to get me laughing again.
Tom’s feet started their shuffle-dance. “Let’s go for a ride down the avenue. Top down, wind-blown, my VW. The talk of the town in all we do. Shaley O’Connor puttin’ on the view—”
He froze, mouth open, frowning hard. Then jerked back into dancing. “Can’t think of another line, can you?”
I giggled. “Great, Tom, as fabulous as all your others.”
He bowed. “Thank ya, thank yaaa.”
Pulling up straight, he glanced at the wall clock. “Yikes, I gotta take care of some things before the limo comes. Meet you at the back exit?”
“Okay.”
As the door closed behind him, I crossed the room to check myself in the mirror. Excitement pulsed through my veins. Almost time to see Brittany! I chose a neutral lipstick and leaned toward the glass to apply it. Thanks to Tom I’d learned a lot of makeup tricks, and my face needed little retouching. Finished with the lipstick, I ran a brush through my long brown hair. Tom had recently layered it and feathered the bangs. I liked the look.
Despite the difference in hair color, many people said I looked like my mother. I considered that a high compliment.
I stood back and turned side to side. Not bad. My new designer jeans fit well and the blue top matched my eyes. Brittany would love the outfit. I grinned at myself, then glanced at the clock. Almost time for the limo to arrive.
In the arena the crowd roared. Rayne was taking the stage. The first of two encore songs started—the band’s new hit Do it Up Right.
For a few minutes I paced the room impatiently, munching M&Ms. Rayne launched into their final song of the night.
Two hard knocks sounded on the door—Mick’s signal. He stuck his square-shaped head inside. Mick is in his forties, ex-military. A thick neck and muscles out to here. Nobody messes with Mick. “Shaley, you ready?”
“Yes! Is the limo waiting?”
“Yeah.” His deep-set brown eyes swept the room. “Where’s Tom?”
“He said he had to take care of a few things. He’ll meet us at the door.” I crossed to the couch to pick up my purse.
“Okay. I’m going to stop in the bathroom, then I’ll see you there.” He gave me his squinty-eyed stare. “Don’t step outside of the building without me.”
I flicked a look at the ceiling. “Yeah, yeah.” Mick was so protective. It’s not like I’d be in any danger walking out that door. As with all arenas where Rayne sang, the HP Pavilion had a special entrance for performers, guarded by their own local security. And that whole section of the parking lot was roped off and guarded. No chance for any fans or paparazzi to sneak in.
Mick jabbed a finger at me for emphasis, then left.
Tingling with anticipation, I scurried out the door, intent on checking the other dressing rooms for Tom. No time to wait, let’s go, let’s go! Having been at the arena since four o’clock when sound checks began, I’d already learned the layout of the backstage area. There were eight dressing rooms—Mom’s the biggest.
I hurried down the wide hall, mouthing “hi” to people I passed. The sound and light crew were still working, but the backline crew—the guys who maintain all the instruments and switch them out during performances—were done now. Set carpenters, the managers, and all the people who tore down the stage also milled around until the concert ended.
First I went to the back exit and peeked outside. Tom wasn’t there.
I returned all the way up the hall, figuring I’d work my way back down.
For the first time I noticed all the dressing room doors were closed. Strange. If Tom had gone into one to pack up something, he’d have left the door open as a courtesy. Those assigned rooms were personal space to members of the band and Rayne’s production manager, Ross Blanke.
I peeked in the one next to Mom’s.
Empty.
Shoving my purse handles higher up my shoulder, I went to the third.
Empty again.
The fourth.
No Tom.
This wasn’t right. Tom was never late. Where was he?
Mick approached, signaling me with a roll of his finger—let’s get moving.
I nodded. “He wasn’t in the bathroom?”
Mick shook his head.
Together we walked to the fifth dressing room. Mick poked his head inside.
Empty.
I ran down to look in the sixth. No Tom.
I banged the door shut and looked around. What was going on? If he didn’t show up soon we wouldn’t have time to go out of our way to a drugstore. The airport was minutes away from the arena. We didn’t want Brittany waiting around by herself after dark.
“You take the next one.” Mick strode past me. “I’ll look in the one on the end.”
The seventh dressing room had been allocated as Ross’s office. At every venue he needed a private area for calling people, dealing with last-minute problems and basically seeing that everything in the contract was honored. I couldn’t remember seeing Ross in the hall. He might be inside, and I didn’t dare just barge in. The production manager’s office was off-limits to everyone unless invited.
I knocked, waited. Knocked harder.
No answer.
I opened the door.
Like Mom, Ross ordered the same room set-up each time. For him that included an oversized desk with black leather chair. On the desk he would stack his papers and folders, carefully position his laptop. A fax machine had to be on his left, a telephone with multiple lines on his right. Looking at Ross—a short, fat man with scraggly hair to his shoulders—you’d never guess what a neat freak he is.
And always on the wall—a large round clock.
As I stepped into the room, my eyes grazed that clock. 10:55. Brittany’s plane would be landing soon.
On the floor beside the desk I glimpsed a splash of color.
Something twisted inside my stomach, almost as if my subconscious mind had already registered the sight. Time seemed to slow.
Clutching the door handle, I turned my head toward the color.
A foot. On the floor sticking out from behind the desk. Wearing a Vans with blue, white and red checks, and a red racing strip. The foot lay on its side, toes pointed away from me, heel dug awkwardly into the carpet.
Deathly still.
CHAPTER 2
I stared across the room at the foot. The back of my neck prickled.
Run, my mind shouted. Run and check on Tom! But my feet rooted to the carpet, my fingers digging into the doorpost.
Onstage, the music stopped. Wild clapping and cheering rose from the arena.
The noise jerked me out of my zombie state. I lowered my purse from my shoulder. Set it on the floor. Holding my breath, I crept forward.
As I edged around the side of the desk, Tom’s jeaned leg came into view.
It wasn’t moving.
My legs stopped.
“T-Tom?” My voice cracked into a whisper.
No answer.
So what? He couldn’t have heard me above the crowd.
I took another step. Now I could see his second leg, drawn up and bent at the knee. Tom was lying on his side. I moved again and saw an arm flung out, fingers half-curled toward the palm.
I leapt forward until his head came into sight. Tom’s second arm lay crumpled against the carpet, his face partially turned into the short sleeve of his red T-shirt. His one visible eye was open, staring at the wall.
Air gushed out of my mouth. He was tricking me.
“You rotten thing!” I pushed at his leg with my toe. “How—”
No change. Just that wide-eyed stare.
All the relief that had spilled out of me reversed back down my throat. My windpipe closed until I could hardly breathe. I sank to my knees beside his chest.
“Tom?” I leaned down to look into both his eyes.
The other one was gone.
I mean gone. Just a black, bloody, gaping hole.
For the longest second of my life, all I could do was stare. It pulled at me, that hole. Like it wanted me to tumble inside it, a horror-film version of Alice in Wonderland.
Faintness gripped me. I swooned toward Tom’s ravaged face, my nose almost touching where his eye used to be …
At the last possible moment, my muscles jerked me back.
I shoved to my feet and screamed.
CHAPTER 3
My shrieks bounced off the walls during the crowd’s final shouts. In the same second all noise died away.
Silence rang in my ears.
I turned and ran.
Mick materialized in the doorway as I hurtled into it. I rammed into his rock-solid chest. With another scream I bounced off and collapsed on the carpet.
“What--?” Mick bent over me. I looked up, mouth flopping open. No sound came. I pointed a shaking finger toward Tom. Mick’s head jerked up.
Horror crossed his face.
He jumped over me and ran to Tom, his hand reaching for the gun clipped to his belt.
Mick bent down and disappeared behind the desk. I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t do anything.
Voices of band members mingled in the hall, commenting on the performance. How strange the words sounded. So naïve. So unknowing.
Heavy footsteps approached. Ross rounded the corner and almost stepped on me.
“Ahhh!” I rolled away from him.
Mick raised up from behind the desk. Ross froze at the look on his face. “What’s going on?”
“Tom’s dead.” Mick’s voice was tight.
“What?”
“Somebody shot him.”
Ross blinked rapidly, then leapt around me to see for himself.
Mick reached for the phone on the desk. “I’m calling 911.”
I stared at the ceiling, mind going numb. My limbs felt like water. Tom was dead. Dead. My heart couldn’t grasp it. I’d just been with him. How could he be gone?
“Oh.” The word choked from Ross’s throat. He backed away from Tom.
“Yes,” Mick said into the phone. “I need to report a homicide. Hang on a minute.” He shoved the phone into Ross’s hand. “You talk to them. I need to get Bruce and Wendell. We’ll round up the band members, make sure they’re safe.”
Mom. Could whoever did this to Tom want to hurt her?
Mick ran past me, gun in hand. “Shaley, stay here.”
I barely heard him. Panic pushed me onto weak knees. I had to find my mother!
Somehow I crawled out the door. “Mom. Mommmm!”
Every person in the hallway jerked around.
Mick spun back to me. “Shaley, stay there!” He swung toward the others. “Everyone, against the wall and don’t move. Wendell, Bruce, where are you?”
People melted back, calling questions, their voices buzzing like a thousand bees in my head.
“Where’s my mom!”
Bruce ran out of the men’s bathroom, hand automatically going for his weapon. “What?” At six-foot-six, he has powerful, long legs and arms. I could see his head about everyone else’s.
Wendell burst from the stage area. “Here!”
“Shaley?” Mom’s sharpened voice filtered from up the hallway. “What’s happening?” She came toward me, eyes wide.
“Rayne, stay where you are!” Mick shouted.
Mom picked up speed. Her head whipped back and forth, gawking at everyone pressed against the walls. She started to run. “Shaley, are you all right?
I teetered to my feet. “Tom’s dead, Mom, he’s dead!”
Gasps rose from dozens of throats. Mom didn’t even slow. Mick grabbed her arm, but she yanked away. As if in a dream—a nightmare—I watched her tear-blurred form hurtle toward me. Mick, Bruce and Wendell spread their feet, guns raised, eyes darting back and forth, searching the hall for danger.
I flung myself forward, sobbing.
After an eternity Mom reached me. I collapsed into her arms, screaming Tom’s name.
Camy Tang writes romance with a kick of wasabi. Her novel Single Sashimi is out now, and she runs the Story Sensei critique service. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service. On her blog, she gives away Christian novels and ponders frivolous things. Sign up for her newsletter YahooGroup for monthly giveways!
To enter to win today’s book, leave a comment on this blog post, giving your name and saying you want to enter. International readers are welcome to enter!
Please leave an email address or website where I can contact you (please use this format--you [at] yourmail.com--or something like that to prevent spammers from trolling for your email address). It is the winner’s responsibility to check to see if you won and to email me if you haven’t yet heard from me.
I always email the winner and give them a week to reply, but if I don’t receive an answer, I will pull another person to win the book. I am not responsible for a lost opportunity if you leave an email address you don’t check frequently.
Only one entry per person. The winner can expect their free book in 4-6 weeks.
You have a week to comment--I'll pick a name out of a hat on May 14th. (BTW, you can post a comment and NOT enter, too.)
New York’s social darling Isabella Kirkwood just woke up in a nightmare: Oklahoma.
Isabella Kirkwood had it all: popularity at a prestigious private school in Manhattan, the latest fashions, and a life of privilege and luxury. Then her father, a plastic surgeon to the stars, decided to trade her mother in for a newer model.
When her mother starts over with her new husband, Bella is forced to pack up and leave all she knows to live with her new family in Oklahoma. Before her mother can even say "I do," Bella’s life becomes a major "don’t."
Can Bella survive her crazy new family? Will the school survive Bella? How can a girl go on when her charmed life is gone and God gives her the total smackdown?
Excerpt of chapter one:
One year ago my mom got traded in for a newer model.
And that’s when my life fell apart.
“Do you, Jillian Leigh Kirkwood . . .”
Standing by my mother’s side as she marries the man who is so not my dad, I suppress a sigh and try to wiggle my toes in these hideous shoes. The hideous shoes that match my hideous maid-of honor dress. I like to look at things on the bright side, but the only
positive thing about this frock is that I’ll never have to wear it again.
“. . . take Jacob Ralph Finley . . .”
Ralph? My new stepdad’s middle name is Ralph? Okay, do we need one more red flag here? My mom is marrying this guy, and I didn’t even know his middle name. Did she? I check her face for signs of revulsion, signs of doubt. Signs of “Hey, what am I thinking? I don’t want Jacob Ralph Finley to be my daughter’s new stepdad.”
I see none of these things twinkling in my mom’s crystal blue eyes. Only joy. Disgusting, unstoppable joy.
“Does anyone have an objection?” The pastor smiles and scans the small crowd in the Tulsa Fellowship Church. “Let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”
Oh my gosh. I totally object! I look to my right and lock eyes with Logan, the older of my two soon-to-be stepbrothers. In the six hours that I have been in Oklahoma preparing for this “blessed” event, Logan and I have not said five words to one another. Like we’ve mutually agreed to be enemies.
I stare him down.
His eyes laser into mine.
Do we dare?
He gives a slight nod, and my heart triples in beat.
“Then by the powers vested in me before God and the family and friends of—”
“No!”
The church gasps.
I throw my hands over my mouth, wishing the floor would swallow me.
I, Bella Kirkwood, just stopped my own mother’s wedding.
And I have no idea where to go from here. It’s not like I do this every day, okay? Can’t say I’ve stopped a lot of weddings in my sixteen years.
My mom swivels around, her big white dress making crunchy noises. She takes a step closer to me, still flashing her pearly veneers at the small crowd.
“What,” she hisses near my ear, “are you doing?”
I glance at Logan, whose red locks hang like a shade over his eyes. He nods again.
“Um . . . um . . . Mom, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you at all this week . . .” My voice is a tiny whisper. Sweat beads on my forehead.
“Honey, now is not exactly the best time to share our feelings and catch up.”
My eyes dart across the sanctuary, where one hundred and fifty people are perched on the edge of their seats. And it’s not because they’re anxious for the chicken platters coming their way after the ceremony.
“Mom, the dude’s middle name is Ralph.”
She leans in, and we’re nose to nose. “You just stopped my wedding and that’s what you wanted to tell me?”
Faint—that’s what I’ll do next time I need to halt a wedding.
“How well do you know Jake? You only met six months ago.”
Some of the heat leaves her expression. “I’ve known him long enough to know that I love him, Bella. I knew it immediately.”
“But what if you’re wrong?” I rush on, “I mean, I’ve only been around him a few times, and I’m not so sure. He could be a serial killer for all we know.” I can count on one hand the times I’ve been around Jake. My mom usually visited him when I was at my dad’s.
Her voice is low and hurried. “I understand this isn’t easy for you. But our lives have changed. It’s going to be an adventure, Bel.”
Adventure? You call meeting a man on the Internet and forcing me to move across the country to live with his family an adventure? An adventure is swimming with dolphins in the Caribbean. An adventure is touring the pyramids in Egypt. Or shopping at the Saks after-Thanksgiving sale with Dad’s credit card. This, I do believe, qualifies as a nightmare!
“You know I’ve prayed about this. Jake and I both have. We know this is God’s will for us. I need you to trust me, because I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”
A single tear glides down Mom’s cheek, and I feel my heart constrict. This time last year my life was so normal. So happy. Can I just hit the reverse button and go back?
Slowly I nod. “Okay, Mom.” It’s kind of hard to argue with “God says this is right.” (Though I happen to think He’s wrong.)
The preacher clears his throat and lifts a bushy black brow.
“You can continue,” I say, knowing I’ve lost the battle. “She had something in her teeth.” Yes, that’s the best I've got.
I. Am. An. Idiot.
“And now, by the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Finley. You may kiss your bride.”
Nope. Can’t watch.
I turn my head as the “Wedding March” starts. Logan walks to my side, and I link my arm in his. Though we’re both going to be juniors, he’s a head taller than me. It’s like we’re steptwins. He grabs his six-year-old brother, Robbie, with his other hand, and off we go
in time to the music. Robbie throws rose petals all around us, giggling with glee, oblivious to the fact that we just witnessed a ceremony marking the end of life as we know it.
“Good job stopping the wedding.” Logan smirks. “Very successful.”
I jab my elbow into his side. “At least I tried! You did nothing!”
“I just wanted to see if you had it in you. And you don’t.”
I snarl in his direction as the camera flashes, capturing this day for all eternity.
Last week I was living in Manhattan in a two-story apartment between Sarah Jessica Parker and Katie Couric. I could hop a train to Macy’s and Bloomie’s. My friends and I could eat dinner at Tao and see who could count the most celebs. I had Broadway in my backyard
and Daddy’s MasterCard in my wallet.
Then my mom got married.
And I got a new life.
I should’ve paid that six-year-old to pull the fire alarm.
Camy Tang writes romance with a kick of wasabi. Her novel Single Sashimi is out now, and she runs the Story Sensei critique service. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service. On her blog, she gives away Christian novels every Monday and Thursday, and she ponders frivolous things. Sign up for her newsletter YahooGroup for monthly giveways!
To enter to win today’s book, leave a comment on this blog post, giving your name and saying you want to enter. International readers are welcome to enter!
Please leave an email address or website where I can contact you (please use this format--you [at] yourmail.com--or something like that to prevent spammers from trolling for your email address). It is the winner’s responsibility to check to see if you won and to email me if you haven’t yet heard from me.
I always email the winner and give them a week to reply, but if I don’t receive an answer, I will pull another person to win the book. I am not responsible for a lost opportunity if you leave an email address you don’t check frequently.
Only one entry per person. The winner can expect their free book in 4-6 weeks.
You have a week to comment--I'll pick a name out of a hat on April 27th. (BTW, you can post a comment and NOT enter, too.)
New Yorker Gillian Chang starts her second term at posh SpencerAcademy boarding school in San Francisco prepared to focus on her studies, her faith, and her friends. She plays a dozen musical instruments and can recite the periodic table of the elements backward. She's totally prepared for everything--except love!
She's falling hard for Lucas Hayes, who isn't even a senior yet and is already aiming at a Ph.D. in physics from Stanford. The problem is, she never seems to be able to measure up and be the girlfriend he wants. He's under a lot of pressure from his parents to achieve--maybe that's why he's short-tempered sometimes. But even a thick-skinned girl like Gillian can only take so much.
With her heart on the line, Gillian conceals more and more from her friends. So when she's accused of selling exam answer sheets, even her girlfriends, Lissa Mansfield and Carly Aragon, wonder if it can be true. Gillian will need the power of honesty--with herself and with Lucas--to show what she's really made of.
Camy Tang writes romance with a kick of wasabi. Her novel Single Sashimi is out now, and she runs the Story Sensei critique service. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service. On her blog, she gives away Christian novels every Monday and Thursday, and she ponders frivolous things. Sign up for her newsletter YahooGroup for monthly giveways!
To enter to win today’s book, leave a comment on this blog post, giving your name and saying you want to enter. International readers are welcome to enter!
Please leave an email address or website where I can contact you (please use this format--you [at] yourmail.com--or something like that to prevent spammers from trolling for your email address). It is the winner’s responsibility to check to see if you won and to email me if you haven’t yet heard from me.
I always email the winner and give them a week to reply, but if I don’t receive an answer, I will pull another person to win the book. I am not responsible for a lost opportunity if you leave an email address you don’t check frequently.
Only one entry per person. The winner can expect their free book in 4-6 weeks.
You have a week to comment--I'll pick a name out of a hat on April 14th. (BTW, you can post a comment and NOT enter, too.)
Thirteen-year-old Jazmin, her ex-Special Ops uncle Charlie, and former FBI agent Lisa are reunited in the second of the Voice of God series to stop a an assassin driven to murder members of a megachurch led by Lisa's brother. This assassin has drawn in a coven of teens toying with satanic practices to support his efforts. The naive youth engage in ceremonies that appear to usher in the death of each of his victims. When their rituals open a portal into the spiritual realm, a terrifying and mysterious entity crosses over to our world. The battle culminates with the capture of Lisa's father as the next target and a Black Mass requiring both their deaths as a sacrifice. The team will, once again, have to rely on all their wits, strength, and faith to survive in this action-packed, unearthly warfare.
Camy Tang writes romance with a kick of wasabi. Her novel Single Sashimi is out now, and she runs the Story Sensei critique service. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service. On her blog, she gives away Christian novels every Monday and Thursday, and she ponders frivolous things. Sign up for her newsletter YahooGroup for monthly giveways!
Camy here, giving away another book! (No, not mine)
To enter to win today’s book, leave a comment on this blog post, giving your name and saying you want to enter. International readers are welcome to enter!
Please leave an email address or website where I can contact you (please use this format--you [at] yourmail.com--or something like that to prevent spammers from trolling for your email address). It is the winner’s responsibility to check to see if you won and to email me if you haven’t yet heard from me.
I always email the winner and give them a week to reply, but if I don’t receive an answer, I will pull another person to win the book. I am not responsible for a lost opportunity if you leave an email address you don’t check frequently.
Only one entry per person. The winner can expect their free book in 4-6 weeks.
You have a week to comment--I'll pick a name out of a hat on March 27th. (BTW, you can post a comment and NOT enter, too.)
For the first time that she can remember, Maya Stark is beginning to feel like a “normal” teenager. Even with her mother in jail for drug possession and her pop-star father away on his comeback tour, Maya’s new life with her uncle Allen and cousin Kim is coming together. Summer vacation’s just beginning, and with a new job, a new boyfriend, and a new car (hybrid, of course), things are finally starting to look up.
But that doesn’t mean life is about to get any easier. Maya’s still devoted to living Green, and her uncle offers her a Green column in his newspaper. With the opportunity to make a difference in the town’s attitude toward the environment, Maya wonders how this fits with her newfound commitment to Christ. And if she can really consider herself a Christian when her feelings toward a fellow youth group member are anything but loving…
Excerpt of chapter one:
June 9
My cousin Kim gave me a new diary yesterday. She received it for graduation, but she prefers to journal on her computer. “With a security lock, of course,” she confessed. Anyway, this nicely bound book (a green product made of recycled materials) seems to be enticing me to write. Especially since I already filled up my old diary, which is safely hidden away in one of my suitcases tucked into the back of the guest room closet. Okay, as both Kim and my uncle keep telling me, “It’s not the guest room, Maya. It’s your room.” I’m trying to see it that way. But it’s not easy. So much about my life is not easy…but I must admit that it’s getting better. And I do have hope.
Anyway, since today was rather interesting and the beginning of summer vacation, I will start here. Although to get “here,” I need to go back to before the school year ended. I’d been attending Harrison High for several weeks when Mr. Fenton challenged our art class to volunteer for a community project. We’d been invited by the park district to create a mural on a downtown youth center. A lot of kids signed up, and everyone seemed supportive and interested. But today, the first day of the project, Marissa Phillips and I were the only ones to actually show. “It figures,” she said as the two of us stood gazing up at the big, boring wall. The paint was splotchy looking, with random beige smears that resembled a bad case of psoriasis. Probably someone’s attempt to hide the graffiti and tagging, although a few offensive words still showed through.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “That no one else would come.” “Why’s that?” I adjusted the twisted strap of my Osh Kosh overalls. I’d gotten dressed pretty quickly this morning, barely managing to catch the downtown bus. “Because people are basically selfish.” I turned and looked at her. With hands planted on her hips, Marissa stared at the ugly wall and frowned. For some reason, when I first began attending Harrison High, I felt drawn to this girl. Like we shared some commonality. And I suppose we do have some physical similarities. We’re both tall and have long hair, although hers is straight and mine is curly. And because she dyes it black, her hair’s a lot darker than mine. I think that’s why her complexion looks so pale. Whereas mine (thanks to my dad) is the color of café au lait.
But our looks aside, we are similar in other ways too. Or maybe we both just have an attitude. She’s not afraid to speak her mind and has opinions that not everyone shares. She’s two years older than I am. In fact, she just graduated with my cousin Kim. Not that she seems older exactly. Or maybe I just feel older than sixteen. Sometimes I feel like I’m in my thirties. But a hard life can do that to a person.
“So if that’s true,” I asked Marissa, “if people are basically selfish, why are you here?”
She laughed. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew?”
“I’m doing community service.”
“For what?”
“Oh…something that happened a couple of months ago. I guess you hadn’t moved here yet.”
“What did you do?”
“I got caught with alcohol in my car.”
“Driving under the influence?” I knew Marissa was kind of a wild child, but I thought she had more sense than that.
“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I wasn’t under the influence. I was underage.”
“Well, obviously.”
“It didn’t really help much that my dad’s a cop.” She made a face as she reached into her bag and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. She shook one out, quickly lit it, then blew out an exasperated
puff.
“Your dad’s a cop?” Now this caught me off guard. Of all people who might have law enforcement officials in their family, Marissa just doesn’t seem to fit the profile. I can only imagine how frustrated her father must feel.
“Oh yeah…” She peered back at the wall. “In fact it was his recommendation that I spend my summer vacation performing community service. If dear old Dad hadn’t been in court that day, I probably would’ve gotten off a lot easier.”
“You’re doing community service for the whole summer?”
“Yep.” She blew another puff of smoke over her shoulder.
“And you’re okay with that?”
“It was either that or give up my car and move out of the house. And I wasn’t financially ready for that…not just yet.” She took in a slow drag, then looked curiously at me. “So what’s your excuse?”
“Excuse?”
“For being here.”
“You mean because I must be basically selfish too?” She shrugged.
“I just wanted to do it,” I admitted. “I mean, when Mr. Fenton described the project, it sounded kind of fun to help someone else, and he made it seem like it would only take a week.” Marissa laughed sarcastically. “Yeah, right. Think again.” I frowned back up at the wall. “With just the two of us, this mural could end up being your entire summer of community service.”
“I wouldn’t mind so much, except that it’s going to be scorching out here before long, and this wall is in the sun most of the day.” She reached in her bag again, and this time pulled out her cell phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“Friends…Hey, Spencer,” she said warmly. “What’s up, dude?” Then she winked at me. “Well, Maya and I are downtown right now. We volunteered to do this mural project, and we sure could use some big, strong guys to help out.” She smiled knowingly. “Oh yeah, for sure. Maybe you could get Jake to come and help too…No, it’s no big hurry. I mean, we need to kind of figure out
where we’re going with this mural and get the paint and stuff. Maybe not today. But how about tomorrow? First thing in the morning?” She got a catty smile now. “Oh yeah, totally.” Then she hung up.
“Help on the way?”
“Sounds like it.” She slipped her phone back into her bag.
“Spencer is such a pushover when it comes to good-looking women.”
“I hope he didn’t get the wrong impression.”
“We’re talking about Spencer, right?” She laughed. “Of course he has the wrong impression. It’s just the way that boy’s brain is wired.” And I was fully aware of this. Spencer had begun hitting on me as soon as I started going to HHS a couple of months ago. I’d been flattered at first, but as I got to know him better, I realized that I needed to draw some boundaries. Even so, I wasn’t going to admit that Spencer wouldn’t have been my first choice for help. “So…do you think I should call anyone else?” I offered. “Sure. Do you know anyone else?” I kind of shrugged.
The truth is, I still don’t know that many people in this town. Kim and her best friend, Natalie, already have summer jobs. But I was thinking about the kids in Kim’s church youth group—particularly Dominic. Any excuse to spend time with Dominic seemed like a good excuse to me. But I didn’t know his number, so I called Caitlin. She and her husband, Josh, are the youth leaders, and she’s been sort of mentoring me since I committed my life to God a couple of weeks ago. She answered, and I quickly explained the mural project and our lack of volunteers. “It was supposed to take only a week,” I said finally. “But with just Marissa and me and this great big wall, well, it’s a little overwhelming. She’s already called a guy to help, but—” “What a cool project,” Caitlin said. “That building is a real eyesore. It’s great that someone wants to make it nice, and I’m sure that’ll be a blessing to the kids who use the center. Why don’t I call around and see who might be willing to help out?”
“That’d be awesome, Caitlin.”
“When do you want your helpers to show up?”
“We have to figure some things out first. We probably won’t need anyone until tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.” I hung up and smiled hopefully. But Marissa was frowning at me now. “Why are you calling in the church people?”
“Why not?”
“You want me to make you a list of reasons?”
“Are you willing to turn away free help?” She dropped her cigarette butt to the pavement and ground it out with her heel as she shrugged. “I guess not. So what’s the deal, Maya? Are you one of them?”
“One of what?”
“Are you a Christian too?”
I took in a deep breath, then slowly nodded. “Actually, I am.” She shook her head in a dismal way. Like this was really unfortunate.
“I’ll admit it’s still kind of new for me,” I said.
“Why?” Her dark eyes narrowed as she studied me closely. I started to feel like a bug beneath a magnifying glass.
“Why?” I repeated, confused. “You mean why is it new for me?”
“No. Why did you do it?” The way she said this made a woman walking through the parking lot glance nervously at me, like she assumed I’d committed some horrendous crime.
“Become a Christian?”
“Yeah.” Marissa made a sour face. “I mean, I can understand girls like Kim and Natalie… They’re such goody two-shoes. But you, Maya? I thought you were different.”
“I am different.”
“Then why?”
“Because I was unhappy and lonely and hopeless and depressed and just really, really lost.”
“And now you’re found?” I could hear the teasing note in her voice.
“Actually, I do feel kind of found.” She rolled her eyes.
“Look, Marissa, if anyone had told me just a few months ago that I was going to make a life-changing commitment like this…well, I would’ve reacted just like you. I would’ve said they were
crazy. Seriously, I never would’ve believed it myself.” Her countenance softened ever so slightly, and she didn’t question this statement.
“And like I said, it’s still new to me. Basically, all I can say is that I was totally mixed-up and messed up and just plain lost…and now I have this real sense of peace. Honestly, it’s something I never had before.”
“Peace?”
I nodded eagerly. “Yes. It’s hard to describe it, but it’s like my life is in good hands now, like I feel hopeful.”
“You sound like Chloe Miller now.”
I smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” The fact is, of all the Christians I know, which aren’t that many, I can relate to Chloe best. I mean, Kim is cool and takes her faith seriously. And Caitlin is sweet and sincere and helpful. And Nat… Well, don’t get me going there. But right from the start, I seemed to get Chloe. And she seemed to get me. Maybe it has to do with the whole music thing—a kind of artistic, outside-the-box sort of thing.
“So what do you think we should paint on this wall?” Marissa seemed eager to change the subject, and I felt relieved.
“I’m thinking we should get some sketches going.” I unzipped my pack and retrieved a sketch pad. “We’re not supposed to do anything out here without Mrs. Albert’s approval.”
“Who’s that?”
“The superintendent. But if we can get her okay, we could probably start putting the drawing on the wall before our other volunteers show up. That way we can put them to work.”
“Yes sir.” She gave me a cheesy grin. “You the boss.” Before long we were sitting there on the curb, discussing ideas and playing with images. Unfortunately, Marissa’s ideas leaned toward the dark side, and when I challenged a particularly frightening image, she seemed slightly offended.
“So what do you want to paint?” she shot back. “Sunshine, flowers, and sweet turtledoves?”
“No, not exactly. But something more cheerful than a dragon burning a gnarled tree stump.”
“I was just trying to come up with something that graffiti artists would respect,” she said defensively. “Something they wouldn’t make fun of and want to deface.”
“That’s a good point. We don’t want it to be too childish.”
“But I suppose a dragon might be scary to some of the little kids who come here.”
“What exactly is the purpose of this building?” I ventured. She shrugged. “It’s a youth center. Duh.”
“So it’s a place for kids to come…for what purpose?”
“To hang. To play. For kids who need something like that.”
I kind of frowned at her. “Why?”
“You know, it’s for kids who might be kind of underprivileged, or maybe they’re unsupervised. The center has a day-care program and all kinds of classes and activities for after-school programs. Stuff like that.” Now she laughed. “Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn’t have had anything like that back in Beverly Hills, little Miss Rich Girl.”
Sometimes I wish I hadn’t told Marissa so much about myself. But at the time, when I needed a friend a couple of months ago, it seemed right. And I thought I could trust her. Not that I
can’t.
“I’m not a rich girl.”
“Says you.” I just rolled my eyes. The truth was, I would’ve appreciated a center like this when I was a kid. Not that I plan to admit that to Marissa. But despite her misconceptions, my childhood wasn’t exactly ideal or nurturing, and I certainly never felt rich. Of course, Beverly Hills isn’t the sort of town where people are terribly concerned over the welfare of the younger generation. Like Marissa, people just assume that if you live there, your parents have lots
of money, and you’ll be just fine.
“So it sounds like it’s a place that’s meant to encourage kids, to help themgrow into better people, to give them hope,” I finally said. Marissa laughed loudly. “Hey, maybe you should go into politics or public relations or advertising or something.”
“Come on. The sooner we figure this out, the sooner we can get some serious sketches going. And the sooner we can get started, the sooner we can get done, and we won’t be out here
baking in the sun all summer.”
“You seem to have it all figured out, boss. Go for it.” Marissa pulled out another cigarette. Now I was tempted to point out the risks of emphysema and lung cancer, as well as how smoke makes your hair stink and yellows your fingernails, but I figured she was probably already aware
of these facts.
“Fine. I think we should create something that feels hopeful.” I squinted up at the blotchy-looking wall again. “Something colorful and cheerful and happy.”
“Maybe we could paint a pwetty wainbow?”
Just before I made a smart retort, I stopped myself. “Hey, maybe you’re right.” I grabbed my sketch pad and began to draw.
“But we’ll design it in a more modern style. Sort of cubist.” She looked over my shoulder as I drew a series of sharply angled shapes, working them together to make an arch.
“Interesting…,” she finally admitted.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I can kind of see it. And it would actually be fairly easy to put a team to work on it since it’s mostly shapes.”
“Exactly. We’ll draw them out, and they can paint them in.”
“We’ll need a lot of different colors.”
“So you can see the rainbow?” I asked. “I mean, since there’s no color in my sketch?”
“Yeah. I get where you’re going.” She snuffed out her cigarette, then reached in her bag for a tin of colored pencils. “Here, add some color.”
By midmorning we had a final colored sketch as well as Mrs. Albert’s approval. “Very nice, girls,” she told us as we were ushered out of her office. “And anything will be an improvement over what’s out there now.”
“Well, that was flattering,” Marissa said as we headed down to the storage room to meet the janitor and check out the ladders and painting supplies. “At least her expectations aren’t too high.”
Marissa laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty good at meeting people’s low expectations.” I wanted to ask her why that was, but we needed to get busy if we were going to put more volunteers to work tomorrow. And to my relief, Marissa actually knew how to work hard. By the end of the day, Marissa had gotten the paints, and I had managed to get a fair amount of the sketch onto the lower part of the wall.
“Nice work, boss,” Marissa said after we’d put the supplies away and stood looking at the beginning of our mural. “Same back at you.” And I have to admit that I was kind of excited to see how this whole thing would turn out. And hopefully more people will show up to help tomorrow.
Maya’s Green Tip for the Day
Don’t pour harmful wastes down public waterways.
Storm drains on public streets are for rainwater to run off
so the streets don’t flood. They’re not a convenient way
for people to get rid of chemicals or solvents or even the
bucket of soapy water after you wash your car. Unless
you use bio-friendly car-wash detergent, which I highly
recommend. You need to respect that the water that runs
off our streets eventually winds up in streams and waterways
and can harm innocent fish or other marine wildlife.
So don’t use your street drain as a dumping spot.
Camy Tang writes romance with a kick of wasabi. Her novel Single Sashimi is out now, and she runs the Story Sensei critique service. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service. On her blog, she gives away Christian novels every Monday and Thursday, and she ponders frivolous things. Sign up for her newsletter YahooGroup for monthly giveways!
