For my Teaser Tuesday, I’ve decided to put up the OPENING PAGE, the very unedited opening page, of the new YA Contemporary I’m working on. It’s a story about a girl who’s discovering what it means to be a girl.
The hardest question I’ve ever had to answer
“It’s not that bad, Edelle…” My sister calls me by my full name instead of Eddie, which is what everyone else calls me. That fact alone makes the whole thing bad. Very bad. Jacklyn clicks her bright french-manicured fingernails against her large white teeth staring at the hunk of grey and black metal that’s supposed to be my car. There are waves of heat radiating through the air but I’m unsure if it’s from the driveway or my anger.
“Jack!” I shriek, throwing my arms out through the humid prairie air. My beautiful car in a twisted heap, now closely resembling my insides. “How can you even say that it’s not that bad?” I know a lot about cars–way more than most seventeen year old girls–but even a complete idiot would know that the hood isn’t supposed to be obstructing the windshield, looking like a folded accordion.
My sister wraps her arms around her thin stomach and shrugs. Even behind her huge bug-eye sunglasses, with some fake diamond studded logo on the side, I know she’s rolling her eyes. This is no big deal for her. Nothing is ever a big deal when you have eyelashes like Jacklyn Glastenbury.
tap tap tap
Jack’s fingernail is back at her teeth like a pink glittery woodpecker and I reach out and swat her hand away from her mouth.
“How did you even get it home?” I step back, shoving my hands in the pockets of my thin hoodie to keep them from strangling my sister. We really don’t need one more thing to widen this growing gap between us. But here we are. Her. Me. The vast canyon of miscommunication, the edges cracking and crumbling with every second.
“We can’t tell Dad about this,” she says, ignoring my question, and I tilt my head up toward the dusty sky in frustration.
“Not possible,” I reply gesturing to the damage. “Look at it. Your idiot boyfriend stole my car–Dad’s car–and then crashed it into a tree. Dad loves this car more than he loves us and you know it. Unless you want to scratch the VIN, light it on fire, and push it off a cliff, we’re officially screwed.”