Just call me The White Rabbit ...

I'm late again! Yesterday is sort of a blur at this point -- too many errands and too much catching up on too many things. (And apparently today is about too many Ts.)

But I do have another quick excerpt to share, and another giveaway to announce tomorrow! Read on ...

“So,” he finally says, and takes a deep breath. “You raised your boyfriend from the dead.”

     I wince. “I had nothing to do that night?”

     “Wren, it’s not funny.”

     I groan and sink back into the sofa, tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling. There’s a stain on the plaster in the shape of a rabbit’s foot. Does that mean Gabriel is going to bring me good luck? I doubt it.   

     “I know it’s not funny, okay? I know exactly how funny it isn’t, and I’ve known since that night. It just hurt so much, Gabriel, you don’t even know. And I ...” I stop and twist my head to look him in the eye. “I’m not sure I really expected it to work, you know? I mean, I did, but I didn’t. And I definitely didn’t think about what would happen afterwards. All I wanted was to see him again, touch him again. When he appeared in the graveyard, I thought my heart would stop. I hadn’t even thought about what would happen next, you know? And now ...” My voice trails off in the silence, a little wisp of sound that shames me.

     “Now you have your dead boyfriend living in your neighbor’s garage.”

Giveaway details to come tomorrow! In the meantime, I'm going to open the box of shiny new FINISHED BOOKS that just arrived. I wish I thought to kiss the UPS man. 

Another Teaser Tuesday!

So it looks like I miscounted -- today is actually five weeks from the release of Cold Kiss. (Let's just call last week practice.) In celebration, another teaser! And later I'll announce a new contest ...

I slide into my seat in homeroom and nod at Meg D’Angelo, who still has her iPod earbuds in. She nods back, same way she does every morning——we’ve known each other since third grade, and she’s one of those sort-of friends, someone I hang out with at school when Jess and Darcia aren’t around.

Of course, I haven't seen them much at all since Danny died in July, and while Jess has gotten angrily vocal about it over the last few weeks, Darcia just stares at me sadly across the row that separates us in World Lit and sends me cryptic texts about new songs she likes or her little brother’s soccer games.

At least Meg doesn’t look at me like I’ve disappointed her.

I slouch down to get my French notebook out of my backpack while Mr. Rokozny calls roll. Madame Hobart is quizzing us on the imperfect tense today, and I fell asleep watching a rerun of some reality show before I even thought about studying. 

I raise my hand silently when Mr. Rokozny calls my name, and it’s only when he pauses after Cleo Darnell’s name to say, “Gabriel DeMarnes?” that I look up.

Twenty-two pairs of eyes are trained on the kid in the very back of the room. Even Rokozny is squinting at him from above the morning’s roll. This far into October, it’s weird to find a new kid in homeroom.

“That’s me,” the boy says, and Audrey Diehl sits up a little straighter, head tilted in appreciation.

He’s tall——I can tell even though he’s hunched over his desk, because his legs go on pretty much forever, kicked out into the faded linoleum of the aisle. His hair is the color of clean sand, and even short it’s sort of messy. He’s all angles, planes, a geometry proof of a boy in a wrinkled yellow button-down and faded jeans, and when I drag my gaze away from the long, slender fingers splayed loose over his thigh, I blink in surprise.

Because even with everyone in the room checking him out, he’s staring right at me. 

Teaser Tuesday! On, uh, Wednesday.

Yesterday marked five weeks until Cold Kiss hits stores, which is still sort of unbelievable to me. To celebrate, here's a teaser from the beginning part of the book.

“What are you thinking about?”

     It’s almost eleven, and Danny and I are lying on his bed, legs tangled together under an old blanket. I had to wait till Mom was asleep to sneak back to the loft tonight. I didn’t stay long the first time, after I let Danny soothe all the rough edges from running into Gabriel. This time Mom was in bed, the little TV on her dresser flickering softly in the dark. Robin was snoring in her room, one hand on Mr. Purrfect, her orange tiger. He blinked at me in the dark when I peeked through the crack in her door, yellow eyes cold and uninterested.

     I never know what to tell Danny when he asks questions like that. Your funeral? The fact that Becker still hasn’t come back to school because one of his legs doesn’t work right, and he’s flying on painkillers most of the time anyway? The way Ryan can barely look at me anymore? How much I really hate running into your mom in town, and how often she still looks like she just finished crying?

     “Wren?” Anxious, almost pleading. Needy. His fingers tighten around my arm.

     “French,” I whisper, letting my lips brush the cool smoothness of his cheek. “Madame Hobart’s been on the warpath lately. And I still fuck up pluperfect conjugations.”

     “I told you you should’ve taken Spanish,” he says, and he almost sounds like the old Danny when he laughs. “I think Mr. Hill is stoned most of the time.”

     I can’t help but smile at that, because he’s right. Mr. Hill wears the same tie for days at a time, and blinks like a startled owl when anyone asks him a question. Danny was always talking about him, back when he was ... well, still in school.

     And still alive, a voice in my head whispers. 


More to come soon!