So I was going to just do ten-line tuesday, but its my blog and I get to make my own rules. So here’s a short scene from the first few chapters of my debut novel, PRETTY AMY coming May 2012 from Entangled Publishing.
I plan on posting something from or about the book each Tuesday until it comes out. It might be a few lines, it might be a short scene like the one below, or where I got the idea for a character or plot point. It might also just be a picture of my cat- who sat on my lap through most of the drafting process. I hope you enjoy!
I walked out of the store, lit a cigarette, and headed quickly toward home, hoping to avoid seeing anyone I knew. Then I remembered that prom had been the night before and that anyone I knew would probably be sleeping, in a hotel room or on their best friend’s floor, the music still buzzing in their heads, hung over and happy.
That was where I wanted to be. That was where I wanted to be with Aaron. Twenty-four hours ago, I had been in a bubble bath shaving my legs and daydreaming about slow dancing under sparkly lights. Now I just wished I could go back there, live in that before for a little while longer.
I was a block away from my house when I saw Joe walking toward me. I threw my cigarette in the gutter. His suit jacket was off, his purple tie around his head like a headband. His cummerbund was missing. Maybe Leslie had kept it as a souvenir.
I looked down and walked faster.
“Where’s your dress?” he asked. I could tell he was still drunk, which was probably the only reason he even bothered to stop. It was the most he had said to me in three years—well, not counting last night.
“Where’s yours?” I asked, channeling Cassie. Afraid that if I let my guard down, he would be able to tell what had happened, would be able to break me right in two.
“You used to be nice,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. He did that when they started to shake. That was why he loved playing volleyball. I wished he’d never told me that.
“Go away, Joe,” I said.
“Exactly,” he said. His pupils were big; big black moons in his hazel eyes. He shook his head. “You used to be you.”
He was definitely drunk, but not too drunk for me to know what he meant. “What do you want?”
“You ever find your date?” he asked, slurring.
Things had gotten so past finding my date. At least he didn’t know that yet. At least he was still living in the before.
I looked at him with the eyes I used anytime I walked past him on my way to Gas-N-Go to buy cigarettes, or saw him in the hall at school, or stood across from him in gym class, waiting to be picked for a team. Eyes that said, I can’t see you.
He wobbled forward. He took his hands out of his pockets to steady himself, but they were still shaking. It had started after his dad left. I wished he’d never told me that, too.
I wished I’d never told him any of the things I told him, either.
“Happy prom, Amy,” he said, walking past me, starting to whistle.
He had a day of sleep ahead of him—that beautiful, warm, liquid sleep that comes from a night without any—then waking up to his mom making him fresh waffles and asking him all about his special, perfect night.
I had no idea what I had ahead of me.
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