Writer Thursday

Hey guys!

Remember about three months ago when I shared the beginning of a new YA novel I was working on? I FINALLY wrote some more!

Before you read on, start here to read the opening scene and then continue.

I hope you like it! (And if you don’t, keep your mouth shut. Nobody likes a Negative Nelly.)

 

 

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

My best friend in the entire universe, Josie, was abandoning me. For the entire summer. Okay, so maybe abandon isn’t the right word to use here. More like, going-to-a-camp-for-super-smart-engineering-wannabes-who-will-probably-end-up-working-for-NASA-or-as-Disney-imagineers. And yes, I know that’s more than one word, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. Because Josie leaves tomorrow and I’ll be alone.

 

Well, I won’t technically be alone. My irritating little brother will be here. Which means all of his annoying friends will be here. Every. Single. Day. That’s why I’ve decided to refer to this summer as: Suckfest 2014.

 

My alarm started to go off again. I didn’t bother hitting the snooze; that was just delaying the inevitable. Maybe if I stayed in bed long enough, Mom would come up here and see my laying in bed and tell me I didn’t have to get up.

 

Five minutes later, Mom was knocking on my door.

 

“Winnie, you up?” she called through the Harry Potter poster-clad door.

 

I groaned weakly.

 

“I don’t speak zombie,” my mother said out in the hall.

 

“Just come in,” I whined.

 

“What’s the matter?” my mom asked as she opened the door.

 

“I don’t feel so good,” I said, making my face look as pitiful as possible.

 

“You know this day will continue to progress even if you stay in bed all day.”

 

She was on to me.

 

“I really don’t feel good,” I moaned. “Honest.”

 

“Arwen Renee Stephens,” my mother said in a stern voice. (Yes. My parents named me after an elven princess. They never even gave me a chance.) “You cannot hide from your problems. You are seventeen years old. You are far too old for these childish games. Get up, get dressed, and get going!”

 

I threw the blankets over my head and whined even louder.

 

“Winnie, come on,” my mother coaxed in a softer tone. “Seriously. If you get up now I’ll stop you by Starbucks on the way to school.”

 

“Fine,” I said, uncovering my head. “But I’m not just getting coffee. I want at least three cake pops.”

 

“Deal.”

 

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