Can you hook a teen? Teen Eyes Editorial Contest … submission post

Don M. King · August 18, 2015 at 7:22 am

D.M.King
iteach22@windstream.net
NINE
YA/Sci=Fi

(Pitch) Discovering you don’t have the alien expiration date technology in your body should be a cause for celebration. Too bad Faith’s too busy trying to keep her soul.

(First 250)
Dying for your country sounds so noble, until you uncover the real reason they want you dead.

I do my best to disregard Dr. Busby’s words as the traffic swells down Route 402. Ever since he got his PhD over the Internet, he’s certain he can solve all of humanity’s problems. If he only knew how many kids have a habit of calling him Pretty Heavy Dude behind his back. Perhaps he’d lose some of his lofty goals and bizarre ideas, especially all his government conspiracies and infatuation with little green men. If Martians existed, wouldn’t they already be here taking over this lame world? Or marrying our grandmothers? Insanity must be a requirement for teaching these days.

“About another hour to the facility,” says one of the case workers, better known as our security guards—his face nearly as white as his clothes. “Traffic’s like a funeral procession, but don’t worry. You’ll all find out your day of departure soon enough.” He chuckles like he’s told the best joke in the world, but the other riders and I shoot him a dirty look. He yaks it up with the other two chaperons steaming up the windows. I write “you suck” on the glass, but he’s too preoccupied with the sudden slow-down to notice. The five other vans ahead and behind remain at three-car intervals at least

“Guy’s an a-hole.” A thin Richie Rich-like kid with dark glasses whispers in my ear from behind. I nod, but I’m in my own little universe— one of three girls on this transport this fine morning all because we got the call.

Tracey Joseph · August 18, 2015 at 7:34 am

Tracey Joseph

tracey_joseph(at)msn(dot)com

IVY OF OUR HEARTS

YA Light Fantasy

(Pitch)
When Ivy’s plan to run away goes awry, she must escape a fairy that spellbinds her. Under his spell, she falls in love with him, blinding her to what he is—monstrous.

(First 250)
I was a cruel and selfish daughter.

While my parents dreamed of their new lives in the Big Apple, I wrote them my farewell. I brushed away tears and held the letter up to my lamp light. Chicken scratch. But it would have to do. In the room across the hall their bed groaned. I folded the letter and pressed a kiss against it for good measure. I tucked it in-between the pages of a book, where I hoped they’d find it.

Hurry, Ivy, my heart seemed to say. Hurry. Margaret’s waiting.

My hands shook so much I fumbled with the lamp’s switch, until my fingers closed around it and with a click I met the dark. Uneasiness curdled in my belly. Fresh tears prickled my eyes, but running away had been my idea and Margaret waited at the edge of the woods.

I snuck from my room, halting in the shadows as Dad coughed and Mom whispered for him to roll over. Shoulder pressed to the wall, I crept down the stairs to the back door, to the path that ran behind my house into the woods. I avoided the floorboards that would squeak under my weight. Once I thought I heard Mom call to me.

I paused at the door, listening for her. The aroma of our late night dinner brought on a new wave of nauseating guilt. I clutched the door handle so tight my hand pulsed, but nothing except for the wind made a sound, whistling through an open window.

Marcia · August 18, 2015 at 12:18 pm

Marcia Reeves Thrasher

marciaisbalance@aol.com

BUFFAY, SLAYER CAT

MG, MAGICAL REALISM

(Pitch)

Every cat life counts. When Beelzebub threatens to annihilate the country with the bomb found beneath the waters of the marshes off Oatland Island it’s up to Buffay to stop those soul-sucking, sneaky marsh snakes.

(First 250)

“tk, tk, tk, tk, click, click, click” if only I could let go my cares, my responsibilities to the gentle breeze blowing inland. The mesmerizing motion of the tall marsh grasses, the click, click, clicking of unbending reeds, a cacophony of insect life, all familiar sounds of the marshes. “Stay here forever and be a part of my never ending beauty.”

Momentarily distracted I open my eyes to see several white cranes and a lone blue heron land on the dark sandy knolls dotting the marshlands. They are most likely looking for shrimp or tiny crabs. The availability of food washed inland by the tides is attractive to the many species of bird life, reptiles and others. Marsh water is dark unlike the aquamarine of the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Unlike the constant movement of oceanic waters, marsh water is sedentary, relying upon outside agitation. And that makes it a great habitat for things that like to remain unseen.

My eyes wander away from the blue sky and slowly I tilt my head toward the nearby roadway. There is movement. It takes a conscious decision to pull myself away from the beauty of the marshes but there are more important things to consider today. It may be quiet and still at the moment but I know first hand what lurks beneath still waters, hides within its habitation.

Tanvi · August 18, 2015 at 12:21 pm

Tanvi B.

tanviberwah@gmail.com

Fire and Ashes

YA High Fantasy

[Pitch]
An accomplished 18-year-old assassin is swept into a life-threatening quest with the high-minded Commander of the King’s Guard and must find a magical ink to ransom her life from the unyielding king of Windurken.

[First 250 word]
Her hundred and fiftieth target would be dead in a few minutes. Tonight Shahnaz Tamarlan was making history.

If only the palace guards moved quicker.

Shahnaz considered gutting them instead of waiting for them to pass. But she resisted her natural urge. Hidden in the shadows, she flexed her hands behind her.

If Queen Dowager Una was lucky, she’d get a clean, quick death. Because if not… Shahnaz shuddered. Most unfortunately, she’d begun to like Una. Even if her job wasn’t to like people; her job was to assassinate them as the king and queen commanded.

For the Gods’ sake, just slit her throat! Nice and easy.

Una’s assassination had to be faultless. The king and queen had placed the highest faith in her by choosing her instead of Darius to take out Naishasa’s Queen Dowager. She wouldn’t allow her reputation to be tainted.

Not that it was that surprising. Her mother, may Gods keep her at peace, had passed her ruthless instincts on to Shahnaz that, combined with her artful wiles, made her the deadliest assassin in Samarshon. And in that, she had become completely unlike her mother.

Finally, the palace guards and their reek of burning coal and sweat turned the corner ahead. The metallic scales of their armor, wrangling in sync, glimmered with checkered bits of light through the perforated arches. The thorns of the thistle, sigil of the League of the North, glinted together on their backs. Those idiots had marched right past her, their breaths fogging up.

K.M. Guerin · August 18, 2015 at 12:29 pm

K.M. Guerin
KarinaM.Guerin@yahoo.com
La Bastarda (Book 1 of the Trastámara Series)
Young Adult Historical Fiction

Constanza is prepared to risk it all to stay in favor in the fickle Trastámaran court, but when will she learn Fate has a way of reclaiming those who try and escape its clutches?

FIRST 250:

14 November, in the Year of Our Lord, 1358

Discretion was key. They had checked into a poor inn near Flines, one where the maid and her ‘aunties’ would be forgotten instantly, on the way back to some unnamed town. “Going home for Christmastide,” they said, in spite of the fact that it was mid-November. It was simple to think of a different reason why the trio were at the inn, and it was a rumor that the older women had encouraged: pay enough gold, no one questions your story; pay more, and strangers will lie for you. Patrons who heard anything coming from the room upstairs were told that it was the new girl “learning the ropes”, complete with a wink and a smile. The old fishermen and poorer merchants pulled back their rotting skin to show matching teeth, deadmen’s anticipatory leers. Most of them had had every whore in the place, knew every sore on the tired old women’s privy parts, and fresh meat was always welcome. A new whore needed to be broken in before she could be properly enjoyed, though, and so the men waited.

Meanwhile, the little thing on the bed was dying, that much was sure. The midwives exchanged a solemn glance, not even trying to hide it; the wretched creature was so far gone in her pain that she could hardly breathe, let alone see or hear.

Oh, she had been pretty once, and the two women could still hear her tinkling laugh as she helped chase chickens around an innkeeper’s garden or herded children back to their mothers, her long blonde hair trailing behind her while she ran.

Christy C · August 18, 2015 at 12:37 pm

Name: Christy C

Email: calenchris@gmail.com

Title: Seven Seas

YA Science Fiction

Pitch:
Cal dreams of living among the stars, Lia dreams of coming back down to Earth. He’s a wanted space pirate, she knows how his story ends.

First 250:
The gun clicks and I smile.

Goosebumps cover my arms even though the temperature is always perfectly controlled at twenty-five degrees Celsius. I purse my lips, finding it difficult to keep the foolish grin off my face.

So much for acting like a professional.

“It’s oddly exhilarating, isn’t it,” my boss notes. Following protocol, Chloe takes the gun carefully with gloved fingers. The lid to its velvet-lined casing closes with a quiet hiss of air, locking automatically.

“It’s hard to believe five thousand years have passed since any of these items were seen by another human,” I say, disposing my used gloves in the bright orange burn box by my feet. I know I shouldn’t be smiling over what more likely than not was used to kill, but I push that disturbing thought out of my mind. It’s a lot easier dealing with ancient artifacts and not human remains.

Chloe punches in the security code and a row of glass cases descend back under lab floor tiles for storage. I lean against a metal railing, watching as the large panels glide smoothly back into place. “Don’t tell me you’ve got the entire pirate ship hidden under there too.”

“We’re still receiving deliveries from the field team. I believe your fabled shuttle will be here by the end of next week,” Chloe says.

I laugh a bit at this. “My ship? Don’t you mean Callum Davis’ ship? I think he’d be turning in his grave at this very moment if he heard me renaming his pride and joy the Dahlia.”

Angel Leya · August 18, 2015 at 12:49 pm

angeleya77(at)gmail(dot)com

Title: Skye’s Lure

Genre: YA Urban Fantasy

Pitch: Contact with humans is dangerous, but when Skye the mermaid saves Vince – a human – from drowning, she embarks on a journey that she fears could destroy her and all Mer-kind.

Excerpt: “The Mer didn’t always exist – at least not as we’re known now. We used to live as people of the sea, living in the water nearly as much as on land. We turned to the depths for our food, trade, and more. It was a simple but wonderful life, as some tell it. Our people kept to themselves, preferring the briny waters and marine life to outside tribes, and the sea returned our love. We fished with the dolphins, swam with the sharks, and oysters willingly gave us their pearls.

“Then everything changed.” I paused, looking at the young Mer gathered around me. Their eyes were wide, reflecting the glow of the jellyfish that danced by. It wasn’t so long ago when I sat in the audience, mesmerized by the animated retelling of our people’s history.

“As legend tells it, our tribe was very protective of the secrets we learned from our love. In order to protect these confidences, our elders passed a law that no one should find love or marriage outside of our tribe. It worked for many years, but as our trade business grew, some of the younger among us began to fall in love with the young and exotic traders that would come in. There were only a few at first, but soon a large group of our tribe had fallen in love with outsiders.”

An appreciative “oooh” went out from the small crowd, and a couple of the little mermaids giggled. A smile brushed my lips.

Faydra Stratton · August 18, 2015 at 1:01 pm

Faydra Stratton

faydrastratton (at) gmail (dot) com

DEVIL SPRINGS

YA—Contemporary

Pitch:
Mesa must decide if she’ll join her grandmother’s devil-banning crusade. She’s sick of being bullied into fake piety, but her grandmother’s wrath means no more cross country team or Cody, Mesa’s almost-first boyfriend.

First 250:
Avis cries out in the kitchen, but I hesitate to see if I’m really needed. My grandmother likes to holler.

“Mesa! Get in here!”

I toss my book aside and move toward the sharp scent of ammonia that lingers from Avis’s post-breakfast mopping. She stands at the sink, blood dripping from her finger onto the glossy linoleum.

“Get this out of the way.” She shoves a colander filled with strawberries toward me and lifts her hand in the air. I grab the bowl as blood runs down her wrist and seeps into the cuff of her blouse, crimson blooming in white threads.

“The devil attacked me.” Her voice is sharp, hissing. Her revelation vibrates between us.

That’s so Avis. Brimming with melodrama and crap. She cut herself, the paring knife she’d been using to hull the berries slipping as knives sometimes do, but I nod. Kenzi and her mom will be here in ten minutes to pick me up for our senior picture appointment; Now’s the time for placating.

“He’s in this town. Staked his claim into its very name.”

Her favorite topic. Avis has been trying to get the town name changed from Devil Springs to Life Springs for as long as I can remember. I return the strawberries to the fridge, consider popping one in my mouth, but decide against it. It’s hard to tell if they suffered any blood splash.

“I’ll get the Band-Aids,” I offer.

Instead of acknowledging me, Avis starts to pray.

Lisa Bradley · August 18, 2015 at 1:14 pm

Lisa Bradley
ladybug10960@gmail.com
ISLAND SHADOWS
Contemporary YA

Pitch:
A sixteen-year-old heroine travels to a river island to save a beloved childhood castle from demolition, but her journey is thwarted by the island’s reclusive caretaker and townspeople who’d rather keep the castle’s secrets buried.

First 250:
I was in the middle of drawing a self-portrait, or trying to draw a self-portrait, when Gramps called me downstairs. Crumbled sheets of sketch paper littered the bedroom floor. I’d been at it since after dinner, but my proportions were all wrong. I balled the sheet of paper with my fists and tossed it aside with the others.

Ever since I had arrived at the river two weeks ago Gramps had been bugging me to attend a town meeting with him. It’s not that I didn’t like spending time with Gramps, being around him and Gran was one of the only things I wanted to do lately besides draw. But just then, I wanted to be alone. I needed to get this drawing right. But it was either listen to Gramps belt my name through the house’s thin walls or discard the drawing and start over later.

I gathered the paper wads off the floor and tossed them with the others in the wastebasket. I grabbed my ivory cardigan, the scratchy one I pulled off the high shelf in Mom’s closet before I left our Brooklyn apartment, shrugged it on over my t-shirt, and tied it at my waist. Mom never wore the sweater anyway. She wouldn’t miss it now.

“Shake a leg, Tess,” Gramps bellowed. “I want a seat up front.”

“I’m coming. I’m coming.” I jogged down the creaky stairs.

He smiled up at me, and for a moment it was like nothing had changed.

Alexis Wainwight · August 18, 2015 at 1:19 pm

Alexis Wainwright

Snuffalupagusrising@gmail.com

WHEN YOU WISH

YA/Fantasy

Pitch:

Granting wishes is everything for fallen-star-turned-human-girl, Pisces. When her first wish requires her to knock off an evil emperor, she expects success. But her vegetarian villain target isn’t about to go down without a fight.

Excerpt:

Picking out a bush to hide under was the most critical component of any battle. Erickson knew the shrubbery of choice had to be big enough to conceal him, but not too dense or he couldn’t see over it. The bush he’d selected sat midway on a plateau, closer to the fighting than he would have liked. The last bush, two weeks ago at a border skirmish, had been more ideal. This one was only so-so, but its location did lend him an excellent view of the field. That would be important when the order to retreat was issued. And if he knew anything about the barbarians they fought, it would be issued sooner rather than later.

Erickson pressed his palms tight against his ears. The unholy clang of steel broke through his shaking hands.

He wasn’t about to charge the field with the rest of his company and be hacked to bits.
He was proud enough to call Isonia home, but his country’s feud with the Farrei Empire was none of his concern. When the imperial prince attacked the fort, General Brise called Erickson’s company to action.

Only Erickson didn’t want to fight. He’d sooner crawl home and beg mercy. He wasn’t the first disgraced noble to wind up a deserter. Whimpering, Erickson propped himself on his elbows and risked a glance across the battlefield.

Kelly Schluterman · August 18, 2015 at 1:52 pm

Title: Within
Genre: YA Gothic Fantasy

Pitch: Everyone is keeping secrets from Lucy and she’s determined to learn the truth of her past; but as her nightmares bleed into her waking life, she comes to realize that some secrets can kill.

250 Words:
Lucy Gelling sat on the edge of a cliff, legs dangling high above the choppy, black Irish Sea. She sighed as she looked out into its frigid depths, watching wave after wave crash unceasing on the shingled beach below. Her book lay unopened beside her as she leaned out into the cold winds that blew in, salty and wet and full of life. Black curls whipped around her face, her pale, pinched cheeks red and chapped with cold. She paid the cold no heed, simply wrapping her cloak tightly around her thin shoulders and gulping down the fresh sea air like a drowning sailor. After a winter stuck in a stuffy manor house with six adults and no one near her seventeen years, Lucy was willing to suffer the brisk spring cold for the freedom of the open sky.

Shifting to cover her shoulders better, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and swiftly turned to see a young man battling his way up the hill towards her. Immediately she noticed the energy and vitality he radiated as he bounded up the path, an image of youthful freedom that she had never known or even realized possible. Struck dumb for a moment, she may have never gained the courage to speak to him save for the fear that he would soon pass by and out of her life and she would never see him again.

Heather Eagar · August 18, 2015 at 2:26 pm

Heather Eagar
heathereagar@hotmail.com
YA/Historical Fantasy
DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND/69,000

PITCH:
Elizabeth Winters, a witch in Salem, uses her forbidden powers to save innocent people accused of witchcraft. She accidentally curses the village instead and must figure out how to stop it before Salem is destroyed.

250 Words:
I shiver as my feet hit the cold wood floor. It’s too early to be awake. It’s always too early. Massaging my eyes I attempt to block out the sunlight bent on streaming straight into my retinas.
“Elizabeth, are you ready to go?” Mother calls from the kitchen.
“Yes, I’ll be right there,” I lie. It’s Sunday and I’m late, as usual. With a drunken shuffle I make my way to the large chest at the foot of my bed and grab the first dress I see. It doesn’t matter much when my choices are the black dress, the dark black dress, or the other black dress. Shall I wear the one with the hole, the one with two holes, or the one the mouse chewed through?
“Elizabeth! We are going to be late, we need to leave.”
“I’ll be right there,” I say.
After exchanging my white nightdress for the dark black dress that the mouse chewed through, I tie a white apron around my waist, attempting to hide the hole. Before walking out the door I realize I have forgotten my cap.
With a sigh I quickly pin my hair back before covering it with the white cap, a symbol of my purity. I now look like every other girl in Salem village, just how it should be. It seems a shame to let my curls go to waste and I can’t help but pull a few forward.

Holly R Hughes · August 18, 2015 at 2:34 pm

Holly R Hughes

hgirlla(at)yahoo.com

Dear Dead Drunk Girl

YA Contemporary with a twist of magical realism

PITCH:
Heaven’s a dive bar for Mary. When people start writing the Dear Dead Drunk Girl no one expects her to write back! By answering letters Mary earns a shot at redemption, sobriety, and ultimately forgiveness.

FIRST 250:

My heaven is a dive bar. And I’m the only patron.

I’m not lonely. I have the entire universe at my disposal and Robert my bartender is good company. He provides me with a never ending supply of vodka tonics or whatever else I want to drink. But the absolutely best part of my heaven is the art.

Exact replicas of my little sister Anjuli’s masterpieces line the walls. Top to bottom are rainbows, smiling faces and triangle stick figure sisters holding hands. There used to be a few on the ceiling. They fell.

The only flaw with heaven is I can’t turn off my brain. I catch myself repeating the combination to my school locker as if I need it. It’s like wanting to fall asleep when my body aches with exhaustion but my brain is on a loop about stupid things: the smallness of seahorse’s mouths or wondering how hair from my head used to get tangled in my razor when I shaved my inner thigh and what ever possessed an otter to eat oysters?

I blink. Salt water threatens to escape me so I focus my eyes between the amber bourbon bottles to steady the room. When I stare in that exact spot the mirror reflects gold onto Anjuli’s rainbow painting and makes the sun glow.

I remember the rainy Saturday she painted it. We used finger paint on a grocery bag to hide the brownness of Mom’s drunken mouth. Memory is sweet and bitter like dark chocolate radish.

Stacy Ricco and Kerri Netherton · August 18, 2015 at 2:53 pm

Title: Supernatural Police Department: Academy Days

YA Paranormal

PITCH: Someone or something is killing cadets at the Supernatural Police Department academy. Cadets Abby and Mike Shepard, along with their friends, are determined to catch the killer before they become the next victims.

FIRST 250

Today was the first day of the rest of her life, her very long life, and Abby was nervous. High school was in the rear view mirror along with any chance for a normal life. She didn’t choose to become an immortal, but what was done was done. After becoming immortal and learning her boyfriend was a werewolf, joining the Supernatural Police Department seemed like the next logical step.

Getting accepted to the SPD academy was easy. Thankfully she and her twin Mike knew a current officer and he had put in a good word for both of them. Alex, their guardian, had some vocal objections to Abby and Mike joining, but thankfully they had been aimed at Damianos and not at the twins. Mike and Abby hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but it wasn’t really eavesdropping when the two immortals had been yelling at the top of their voices in the next room. Being eighteen meant that Abby and Mike didn’t need Alex’s permission, but they wanted her support. The immortal eventually came around and the twins left on November 1st with Alex’s blessing.

An underground complex under an abandoned Air Force base wasn’t what she was expecting, but then again she didn’t know what exactly to expect from any of this. There wasn’t exactly any information on the SPD anywhere, not even on the Internet where there was information on everything. The only results she got from web searches on the SPD only mentioned urban legends and myths.

Aviva Gibbs · August 18, 2015 at 3:03 pm

Aviva Gibbs
aviva.e@gmail.com
A COMPLETE LIFE OF ITS KIND
YA Contemporary

PITCH:
For 14 years Theo thought her mom was dead — she’s not. After a failed confrontation with her father leaves her with more unanswered questions, Theo runs away to discover her family’s deepest secret.

First 250:
At 6:33 on the evening of February 5th while my dad was out at the pharmacy getting cold and flu medicine for my little brother, who had passed out on the couch while playing the epic (as he would say) Xenoblade Chronicles, I discovered something in his room that caused the hairs to stand up on my unshaven legs. Cara and I had just gotten back from our usual Wednesday afternoon Coffee Slam, where we allowed ourselves one day a week to bitch about all that is crazy and annoying in our lives while we, of course, drank coffee. This tradition started when Lana Greene wore a blue and yellow thong underneath her already too tiny cheerleading skirt to one of Cara’s last competitions in her freshman year to try and “sell” her school spirit to the very male heavy judging panel. Needless to say their team lost that year and Cara didn’t stop talking about Lana’s butt for like a month. Seriously, if I had to hear about this girl’s ass one more day I was going to kick Cara’s. So, thankfully, Coffee Slam Wednesday entered our lives.
“Does he always snore that loud?” Cara whispered as she tiptoed past Jonas discarding her empty cup in the trash. “Grab me one of those chocolate date bars that nerd made yesterday please. You’re brother is such a freak of nature but like a savant with his easy-bake oven,” she said before she closed herself into the bathroom.

Heidi Peitz · August 18, 2015 at 3:15 pm

Heidi Peitz
heidimp@gmail.com

Drowning In Rivers
Contemporary YA Romantic Drama

Pitch:

A newly paroled and reformed wild child trying to turn her life around just wants to survive her summer of punishment without falling back into her dark place.

First 250 Words:

PROLOGUE – THE ESSAY

April 25, 2015

Essay #2:
Tell us about where you grew up and how that has helped shape you into the person you are today.

I’ve put this particular essay for my St Louis University undergraduate application off to do last. It’s not an easy question and has an even more complicated answer.

I mean, where do I even start?

I read the question for like the umpteenth time, stretch, and look around my living room, searching for my inspiration…

CHAPTER 1—FREE DOESN’T ALWAYS MEAN FREE

May 22, 2014

I was never really one to do much with my hair before being locked up. I’ve always been the kind of girl content to leave it straight or just pull it back into a ponytail. It’s my bunkmate, Lox, who loves to experiment with my hair. It’s been like having a personal stylist.

Ha. Prison stylist. Total oxymoron.

Today, her fingers move through my hair impossibly fast. The resulting braids are smooth and flawless even though she’s working with my finer ‘white girl’ hair.

I pick one of the two-tone chocolate and blonde microbraids off my shoulder and examine the intricacy of the woven strands as I confess, “I’d be lying if I said I was ready to go home.”

Lox huffs, “Ho, you gettin’ out. Don’t be playin’ like you ain’t ready to take a shower by yoself.”

“That’s pretty much the only good thing about getting out. I mean, five hundred hours? I did the math, that’s basically a part-time job with no pay for a whole year.

Chris Bailey · August 18, 2015 at 3:56 pm

C. R. Bailey
crb.writer [at] gmail [dot] com

Bait and Swish
YA Suspense

PITCH
When cops arrest 15-year-old Blue’s older brother, they question him about a murder victim’s missing jewelry. Blue tracks down the loot and has to steal it from the killer to free his brother.

FIRST 250
Nobody’s fishing today. Or swimming, either. A few tourists in shorts and T-shirts turn their backs to the weird orange crests on the waves and take selfies. I pass them by, following a tide line full of black gunk.

It smells.

Not normal, like rotten seaweed or dead fish. Something bad.

A blonde lady carrying two big canvas bags hurries past me. Stickers on the bags say 2 Eyes on Gulf City. The TV station on the mainland.

“Need some help?” I ask.

“Nope.” She drops the bags in the sand, unzips one, and pulls out a three-legged stand. She sets it up, and gets a camera the size of a big tackle box out of the second bag. While she’s messing around with the camera, she asks. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”

It’s a public beach.

Maybe she’s one of those people who get nervous about being watched. Strange is all I can say, considering the business she’s in. After another minute, kinda sorry for her, I move on.

With nobody bobbing up and down in the water, and no little kids building sand castles, the beach is like those movies where it’s the future, and a big war or some disease or space aliens have wiped out most of the people, and the good guys have to kill the bad guys to survive.

I climb up into an empty lifeguard station, far enough from the reporter that if I hold real still she won’t notice me.

Kimberly Kay Durtschi · August 18, 2015 at 4:40 pm

VILLAINOUS
YA Superhero

Pitch:
In Sanatorium, the role of hero or villain is assigned, not chosen. Sixteen-year-old Cal is a villain. Her powers make her dangerous, and her history leaves her vulnerable—especially when she falls for a hero.

First 250:

I couldn’t see the stars.

Late June snow drifted past my window in enormous gray flakes. Mom said thirty years ago, before Yellowstone’s supervolcano erupted, the snow was pure white and came only one season of the year instead of choking the planet in a constant ash-stained winter. With six inches of snow stacked on my windowsill, her stories were hard to believe.

I tied the hem of my button up shirt under my ribs and straightened my tank before grinding a violet pastel onto a chipped plate. In the flickering candlelight, my knuckles glowed luminous and white, the bone too close to the skin.

After adding a splash of water, I stirred the chalk with my fingers until it became a smooth paste. Barefoot, I stood on my bed. It didn’t matter if I spilled. The bedspread, speckled with fluffy pink sheep, was hideous at best.

On the ceiling, purple smudges appeared everywhere I touched. They danced with the other colors of my painting, transforming from mere fingerprints into stars and galaxies. A large moon, as white as an angel feather, glimmered over my bed. I ran my fingers along the edge, giving the crescent a pale purple glow. Luminous. Alive. Unlike everything else on this wretched planet.

Unlike dad.

My breath caught. Even after three years, a single stray thought left me aching for him. I had nothing left of him except for memories and…

I wiped my fingers on my jeans, cupped my hands, and focused.

Indigo energy filled my palms.

Chantal Lyons · August 18, 2015 at 5:02 pm

Chantal Lyons

chantallyons@gmail.com

“The Times of Amber”

YA/Sci-fi

Pitch:

Amber’s ended up 108 years into the future thanks to a brain tumour and a suspended animation procedure. Now she must survive the madness of a corporate ruler to save what’s left of her family.

First 250 words:

If I say no, I will die.

If I say yes, I might live. Or die sooner.

The part of my brain into which the tumour has woven its tentacles throbs, leaving hardly any space for thought. I don’t know who I’m more afraid for: myself, or my family. There’ll only have a few days to say goodbye if I say yes, the rest of my terminal time gambled away.

Even if the procedure succeeds we won’t see each other again for two decades.

Beyond the door of my bedroom, a murmur ends in a sob. I can’t tell who it is. I’d never heard or seen Dad cry till the diagnosis. It isn’t Julia though. I know that she knows what I’ve already decided to say. I imagine the heat of her anger radiating out towards me from wherever she’s run to. I wish I could explode like her. Instead all the rage tunnels further in, leaving me silent and helpless.

Finally I find myself picking up the phone and pressing digits I’ve read off the contract too often. Time is measured now by the tumour, as it adds to itself cell by cell. I can’t delay any longer.

The line is slow to connect, temping me to give in to fear and hit Cancel. A bite of panic; a finger hovers over the button. Then the logic scrolls through my head again.

I might die when they suspend me. I might die during revitalisation.

I will die if I don’t say yes.

Jason Robbins · August 18, 2015 at 6:02 pm

Jason Robbins

jrobbins3839@hotmail.com

FOR LOVE AND SCIENCE

YA/Contemporary

Pitch:
Nikki Medina’s dreams of being included in a science workshop become complicated when a new crush and a genius rival enter her life. She must use everything in her nerdy arsenal to succeed.

First 250 Words:

I flipped down four tiles on my game board, taking the lead in a riveting game of Psychological Profiling Guess Who? against Agatha Emerson in the cafeteria.

“Do you pamper your pets to find solace after a recently failed relationship?” she asked.

“No,” I answered.

She flipped down some of her tiles.

The plan I had devised weeks ago to impress my new teachers preoccupied me, and though I’d have loved to take my next turn, the guilt or excitement, or whatever was welling in my gut, made it impossible to think of anything else.

“Agatha, you know how I’m signing up for all this school stuff all of a sudden, like being a teachers’ assistant and joining the fundraising committee?” I broke eye contact, as I often did in intense moments of discussion. “I have an ulterior motive—”

Her gasp formed into a grin. She leaned across the table, so I had to protect the secrets of my Guess Who? board from her wandering hazel eyes as she adjusted her glasses. “Is it for a guy?” The absurdity of that being the case justified my silence. “You go, Nikki! It’s about damn time!”

Her enthusiasm couldn’t be stopped by mere words. I tried. A lot. Loud words. Big words. Spanish words. French words. Klingon. (“Stop” is all I know in Klingon, but I find myself using it more frequently than half the French I know.)

I poked her horn, which shut her up. She was a pink unicorn, and there was no telling how many horns or extra body parts she’d show up with each day.

Amber Buckley · August 18, 2015 at 7:08 pm

Amber Buckley
buckleyam33@gmail.com
Transformation
YA/Fantasy

Pitch: Growing up is hard enough without accidentally killing your mother and discovering a monster that hides within. 17 year old Asha must learn to harness the extraordinary power within and come to terms with herself.

First 250: She held the baby close her heaving chest. Her gaze shot skyward expecting to see the eyes, those eyes, to be staring down at her. When nothing appeared from between the clouds she sighed a soft exhale of relief. She pulled the baby away from her body and looked at its soft face. The pink complexion glowed in the moonlight as the child slumbered unaware of their imminent danger. She stroked the child’s cheek with her index finger, tears stinging her eyes. So young. How could she leave someone so young? Her chest swelled with sorrow and tears fell making it appear as if the baby’s face was covered in flecks of glass. She held the baby back up to her chest her heart thumping a message against the child’s face. The message she hoped her child would never forget.

She had to act quickly, those eyes weren’t far behind her. Grabbing a branch she moved it aside and looked at the building. It was run down. The windows on the second story sagged and the porch sloped inward making the building look like it wore a perpetual frown. The sign on the front of the building was still hanging but worn with age. All she could make out were the words “inn”. Her hands shook, this wasn’t ideal but she didn’t have much choice. She couldn’t let him get her baby.

The patter of rain started. She removed a blanket from her pack wrapping the baby inside of it but before she covered the face she kissed the cheeks letting her tears stain them.

Leslie Wibberley · August 18, 2015 at 8:09 pm

lwibberley@hotmail.com

THE MAGIC WITHIN

YA for 12-16 year olds

Magical Realism

Pitch:

Anastasia, an insecure fifteen-year-old albino, discovers a violin in the attic of her new home. Touching it unleashes an ancient magic that becomes her obsession. A musically gifted deaf-boy is her only hope for salvation.

First 250 words:

The hat crammed over my head may have prevented the crazy-ass sun from frying my lily-white face to a crisp, but it also made my hair stick to my scalp like wet T-shirt sticks to your skin, if you’re lucky enough to be caught in a rainstorm. Not that there was any chance of that happening. Not in the middle of the summer, and especially not in the middle of a desert.

I tried to ease a little further into the shade of our old willow tree. As a person with albinism, this was the story of my life: Covered in layers, lathered in sunscreen, sunglasses perched on my nose and hiding in whatever shade I was lucky enough to find. I didn’t mind though, I was used to it.

Careful to keep my feet out of the sun, I stretched out my legs. The brown and yellow straw posing as our front lawn scratched my skin through my thin cotton pants. Mom, a transplant from the east coast, insisted we needed grass. Our neighbors knew better. Our pitiful patch of brown was surrounded by yards filled with pea gravel spread in artful designs, and green succulents interspersed with cacti.

Mom said, “Our new home in the Pacific Northwest will be green and amazing.”

Awesome, Mom. Exactly what a fifteen-year-old girl cares about.

I was waiting for my best friend, Clara to arrive. Despite the heat, we decided to spend our last few hours together outside. No point in subjecting my already stressed out parents to what promised to be a spectacular display of teenage-girl-drama.

Roxanne Lambie · August 18, 2015 at 8:29 pm

Roxanne Lambie

rmlambie@hotmail.com

QUANTUM

YA Time Travel Romance

Pitch:

17 year-old Willow can be in two places at once, but she doesn’t know it. With a fated love and a terminally ill mom, she risks losing memories from both sides that are irreplaceable.

First 250:

Oh my gosh, it’s hot up here. The airplane hit another thermal, and it did that thing where my stomach felt heavy and then light—all in half a second. I forced myself to look outside at the horizon instead of the airplane instruments. Watching the altimeter go up and down, and back up again was making me nauseous.

Sweat dripped down my neck, and my voice cracked. “Is this any better?”

“More right rudder Willow!” My flight instructor Paul yelled.

“Okay. Got it.” My response was quiet and I gritted my teeth instead of yelling back at him. I hadn’t been this frustrated while flying since I had switched flight instructors early on in my training. Paul was usually much more patient with me. What was his problem? Oh yeah. We were in a small plane, 8,500 feet high, and I was botching every single maneuver. I needed to do this right. This had been a tough day. I hadn’t done the best job on any of my maneuvers. They weren’t to standard, and I really needed to redeem myself. Shake it off, Willow! You’ve got this. Besides, what were other 17-year-old girls doing right now? Walking around the mall? Lying in bed texting? I was flying a plane for crying out loud. I blew out a flustered breath and tried to brush away the long brown wisps of my hair that were plastered to my neck from sweat.

“Alright, I’m ready.” Or was I?

Jami Montgomery · August 18, 2015 at 8:57 pm

The Slum Heirs

YA Dark Contemporary

Pitch:

After seventeen years of perfect grades and perfect behavior, Mikaela Clearwater suddenly finds herself in the middle of a Slums gang war. Imagine her surprise when she learns her business-oriented father is the cause.

First 250:

“Our world is changing.”

My father’s voice rang over the crowd, amplified by the microphone in front of him. I suppose he looked powerful, standing there in his dry cleaned suit, his hair perfectly slicked back and a smile on his face. It was an act I’d seen many times before. Not so impressive to me.

“New avenues are opening up to us, personally and professionally.” Robert Clearwater pressed a button on the small remote in his hand, and the screen behind him changed from displaying his company’s name, Clearwater Consolidated, to showing a massive photo of Queens, New York. “These avenues could lead us to improving the broken side of our great state.”

He was talking about the Slums. An area that took up most of what used to be Queens and the Bronx, now filled with criminals. No one went there unless they wanted trouble.

“What do you plan to do, Mr. Clearwater?” a reporter asked, shoving his recorder closer to my father’s face.

My father smiled. “We’re a construction company, my friend. We take what we have and we make it better. What we commonly refer to as the Slums has great potential. There’s a lot of space out there, waiting for us to use it.”

“Are you talking about tearing down the Slums?” a woman reporter asked, taking notes in her phone, her eyes never leaving my father.

“We’re talking about building a better community for everyone,” my father said with another smile.

Donna Munoz · August 18, 2015 at 9:30 pm

Donna Munoz
Donnalynn26@hotmail.com
A JAR FULL OF BUTTERFLIES
Literary Middle Grade

(PITCH) After moving from Mexico to Texas, 12-year-old Graciela Flores feels trapped like a butterfly in a jar, unable to breathe. Everyone she loves is changing. The traditions that made her feel safe are slipping away.

(FIRST 250 WORDS)
~ Grandmother is sleeping. I walk over to her bed and whisper, “No te mueres, Abuelita. Por favor.” Don’t die, Grandmother. Please. I slip my hand into hers. It’s soft and cold. She opens her eyes, smiles, and tries to squeeze my hand, but she can’t. She’s too weak now. I can’t hide my tears from her. She raises her hand slowly, trying to touch my face, but it falls back down to her side. I lean in closer, and she reaches up and brushes the tears from my cheek. “El cambio puede ser bello,” she says, her voice just a soft whisper. Change can be beautiful… My abuelita told me a lie. ~

Chapter 1
I miss the open skies of Mexico. Instead, when I look out our windows I get to admire black tightrope wires that connect to tall wooden posts, tangoing with tree branches and covered with blackbirds. Even after three years here, it’s something I’ll never get used to – the feeling of a prison.

This is why I hardly ever look outside my window anymore. But today, the motor of Papí’s truck screeches, and then click, click, clicks. He’s trying to get it started so he can leave to work, but it won’t budge. This is the second time this week. Maybe it doesn’t like to wake up. Same as me. Because waking up reminds me that I’m here. In America. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
After three years here, my hope is giving out.

James Stryker · August 19, 2015 at 9:41 am

Name: James Stryker
Email: JStryker21@gmail.com
Title of Work: The Better Man
Category/Genre: YA Contemporary

Pitch:

When Jared is ejected from the body, he discovers that Adam is resurfacing in order to stop him from taking the medication that keeps their personalities separate and Jared in control.

First 250 words:

Jared struggled to focus through the worst headache he’d ever experienced. It’d been two days of feeling the combustion engine in his head rev and watching the tachometer needle jump. Upshift, downshift – it didn’t matter. Nothing helped. The RPM continued to skyrocket, and he was about to redline thanks to the stream of garbage that spewed from his girlfriend’s mouth.

“So I was telling Taji, and it was so weird, about how I have the water cold when I brush my teeth. But she has to have it warm, and that’s so nasty and…” Candice yammered as the car idled at the traffic light.

Jared drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel and blocked out the fascinating discussion of ideal water temperatures. He filtered most of the stupid things Candice said. He didn’t care for how beautiful she was, how intelligent she wasn’t, or that he could sleep with her if he wanted. He liked that she was considered a prize among his friends. They wanted her, and he was always the better man.

Prize or not, what I wouldn’t give for silence, he thought. The pain disintegrated his bullshit sifter and her nonsense sailed through to further gum the engine.

“I asked Amber, and she sided with me about the cold water. But it can’t be too cold. Not like ice cold, you know what I –”

“Babe, do you have any Codeine on you?” He ran his hand across his face. The pressure in his head was overwhelming and his vision blurred.

Amber Morrison · August 19, 2015 at 1:10 pm

Amber Morrison

ambermmorrison4@gmail.com

Darkness and Light

YA Modern-Day Fantasy

Pitch:
When Sam’s mom is kidnapped, he takes it upon himself to hunt down the man who supposedly took her, even though his obituary tells a different story, as well as his vigilante father.

First 250 words:
Sam jolted awake, kicking the sheets onto the floor.

He brought his clammy hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. For years he’d dreamt of the New Year’s Eve he celebrated with his family when he was eight years old. The red, yellow, and green fireworks that shot off on the outskirts of town, the algae-infested pond that reeked of rotting wood, and the pumpkin pie his mother made flooded his mind when he slept. He groaned as the tastes of nutmeg and cinnamon floated on his tongue, and his stomach rumbled at the thought of the dish his mother hadn’t had the heart to make in four years, about the time his father hid himself away in his city hall office.

Sam yawned and climbed out of bed. The heels and balls of his feet recoiled from the cold wood, and Sam ran across his bedroom to the dresser, grabbed a pair of mismatched socks from the drawer, and sped back to his bed to put them on.

Prepared to confront the chilly floor, Sam stood up and looked in the early morning light for clothes. Long after he was dressed, he finally found his second shoe behind the curtain and ran his fingers through his dark hair until it felt brushed. Sam tucked his shoe laces under the tongue and walked down the hallway. He zigzagged through the living room in the dark, careful to avoid the old desk from his parents’ room that no longer had a home due to the remodeling his mother was doing, and searched the fridge on his way past the kitchen.

Isabelle Felix · August 19, 2015 at 1:22 pm

Name: Isabelle Felix
Email: ifelix5814@gmail.com
Title: 186 LIES & COUNTING
Genre: YA Psychological Suspense

(Pitch)
A black teen escapes her dementia-ridden father only to find herself kidnapped by a disturbed young man who mistakes her for his dead girlfriend.

(The First 250)
The driveway was empty. Still.

I should’ve hidden his keys.

I leaned back from the front window and pulled out my cell for the hundredth time. The light shone in the darkness of the foyer. 12:15 a.m. So much for “I’ll be back by eight.” I jammed the phone into my sweatpants pocket, only to yank it out seconds later.

My throat tightened as I stared at the blank screen. Had I missed something? A text? Nope. I could’ve sworn I felt it vibrate. Frowning, I put it away again.

I had already called Dad and every hospital in and around Orlando. Nothing. I even tried his co-workers. Straight to voicemail.

What would I even say to them? I’d risk Dad’s job if I blurted out how serious this was. How just last week, he forgot how to get home from Walmart — that was only three miles away. Yeah, he blamed it on stress, anxiety, blah blah blah. But what if his memory slipped again? What if his cell lost its signal? He could be parked on the side of the road, right now, freaking out. Or his car could be wrapped around a pole. And I was just standing here, doing nothing.

I looked to the left. Headlights flashed along the dimly lit street. I held my breath.

The car sped by. I would kill Dad for this.

Another car passed by slowly. It drove onto the grass next door and cut its lights.

Rebecca Crockett · August 19, 2015 at 3:16 pm

Rebecca Crockett
rebeccalynncrockett@gmail.com

Heirloom
YA Adventure Fantasy

(Pitch)
Greenach is destroyed, and Haeven only accepts the most gifted within its walls. Will their store of heirloom seeds and latest science project be enough to get Ainsley and Jeremy inside? And what happens then?

(First 250)
“Damn.” Jeremy exhaled, shaking his head as he removed the glass slide from the microscope.

Ainsley MacQueen peered at her best friend through lowered lashes. Bent over the plain wooden work table with his face screwed up in a grimace of concentration, Jeremy was the picture of the hopeless scientist lost in an experiment gone awry.

“Why are we doing this again?” she asked, hefting herself down from her perch on a storeroom shelf and into a graceless squat. She leaned back, hugging her arms around her knees and rolling her head to relieve the tension in her neck muscles. They’d been at it for the better part of two hours.

“We’re doing this so we can understand how those tulips of yours affect us on a chemical level. So they can be used more efficiently.”

She snorted. She and her grandmother, Nan, were responsible for cultivating the plants used to feed the village and to cure them when they were sick. But she didn’t think their greenrooms housed a single tulip. A pity, too. Tulips were lovely—but they were also useless, and Nan insisted they didn’t have room for any plants that couldn’t pull their own weight. It was a cruel world they’d inherited, even for the flowers, but it was their reality. She and the other villagers would have to content themselves with the wild tulips that bloomed once each spring and lasted a bare two weeks, if they were lucky. Senseless beauty was a fleeting thing in Greenach.

Laurie Germaine · August 19, 2015 at 4:34 pm

Name: Laurie Germaine
Email: l.germaine9(at)gmail(dot)com
Title: TINSEL IN A TANGLE
Category/Genre: YA Fantasy

35-word pitch:

Dwarfing her fellow elves, Tinsel struggles to find her niche in Santa’s Workshop. When her latest blunder jeopardizes Christmas and Santa’s grandson crashes the sleigh, exposure to the outside world offers a tempting life alternative.

First 250-words:

Crumbling candy canes! How am I supposed to connect these things, again?

I clench the colored wires between my fingertips and fidget where I kneel at the miniature lab bench at the back of the room. Though an icy draft seeps around the windowpanes in Herr Chemie’s classroom, a bead of sweat trickles between my shoulder blades and my face prickles with heat. For half a second I consider filling the nearby sink with cold water and dunking my head.

If you wonder why a child’s two-way radio unnerves me, try constructing one as part of a final exam.

And pretend you’re me while doing it.

“Don’t botch this,” Herr Chemie warned the class at the beginning of the exam. He looked right at me when he said it, of course, which prompted a ripple of snickers among the students.

It’s not the first time I’ve been singled out. Towering over my classmates at five-feet-five-and-one-quarter-inches (they’ll be lucky to reach thirty-six inches fully grown), I’m an easy target for flippant jokes and remarks. Doesn’t help that I have yet to find my talent. Maybe if I were good at something, the Red and Green Clans would overlook my height. My mother blames my infamous great-grandmother for my colossal frame, but at least Great Oma Fay had a talent! Best tree decorator this side of the equator. Me? So far I seem to have a talent for…blunders.

Nicole Becker · August 19, 2015 at 5:23 pm

Nicole Becker
becker.nicole.j@gmail.com
THE WHITE LADY
YA/NA Horror

Pitch: When the hotel Thea works in is swamped with so-called ghost hunters after a mysterious death, she is forced to consider that The White Lady isn’t just a bedtime story. Maybe the hotel really is haunted.

250 words:
I knew the man would die before it happened. Christopher Johnson was a business major, twenty-three, and had traveled here from Vancouver to meet his fiancées parents, and now he was dead. He looked like an abandoned puppet with the strings cut off. The wooden balustrade on the first floor of the entrance was broken, as if something had pushed through it with an incredible force. Right underneath it laid Christopher’s body, sprawling all fours from him. Maybe he had been uncautious, maybe the old wood had broken when he sleepily leaned against the balustrade. It looked like it had been an accident. But I knew this wasn’t what had happened. I had tried to warn him, but he hadn’t listened.

My friend was frantically gesturing while she called the police. A maid had knocked on her door at four am after she had discovered Christopher. Taryn had run over to me immediately, yelling and shaking. Taryn wasn’t the kind of person that was easily emotionally affected. She was calm, collected, and professional. I had known immediately that something was wrong when I had seen the tears forming in her eyes. Taryn was the daughter of the owner Ms. McNeil, and in charge until her mother came back. We were both eighteen, but I had never felt as helpless and young before.
I was still staring at the body’s twisted limbs. Completely hypnotized, I didn’t notice that someone walked up to me.

T. Bashford · August 19, 2015 at 7:34 pm

Name: Taryn Bashford
Email: taryn@bladerecruitment.com
Title: GAME FACE
Genre: YA Contemporary

(Pitch)17-year-old risk-taker Harper must fight for the US Open & her estranged family while her doubles partner’s secrets could ruin everything

(The First 250)

Something’s wrong.

Dad gazes out the cab window, except he’s staring through the buildings and traffic. Judging by the slump of his shoulders and how he hasn’t pushed his floppy fringe out of his eyes I’d say he was sad, crushed even.

Normally he’d be recounting how my serve in the second set took his breath away or how my volleys in the final minutes brought him to his feet, and he’d be listing all the things he wants to do now we’re home. He likes simple things—walking the dogs with Mum, his own bed rather than a hotel room, and my sister Aria’s home-cooked meals.

When I place a hand on Dad’s trousered leg he tilts his head to me. A wistful smile glances across his face before he looks out the window again.

Something’s wrong.

My chest squeezes.

I watch Coach Kominsky in the front seat, his perfectly round, shaved head glistening in the sun, with no freckle or bump daring to blemish it. Why isn’t he dissecting my recent game or analysing my last opponent’s weaknesses? Why aren’t we talking about this week’s training schedule? Why is he also staring out the window?

When I’d exited the court at Washington yesterday, I’d been pumped. Sure I’d lost, but it was in the second round, not the first. Dad had given me his usual bear hug, but his eyes weren’t twinkling and his smile seemed pressed onto his lips, and Kominsky was on his phone to the airline shifting our flights to an earlier schedule. But I’d broken my first round jinx. The day before I’d beaten Sophie Nugent, ranked 96 in the world. Whatever was bothering them would have to wait because I wanted to hang onto the moment and enjoy it. If I didn’t, what was the point of training for five hours a day? What was the point of denying myself cakes and chocolate and hot chips and pretending to love green smoothies? What was the point of leaving high school, of catching up on homework in hotel rooms late at night, of never having friends my own age? I’d given up a normal childhood for moments like that.

Jennie Bailey · August 19, 2015 at 8:08 pm

Jennie S Bailey

jenniesbailey@gmail.com

The Protector

YA Fantasy

Pitch:
No one thinks the Spirits make mistakes, until they choose Auria as first girl to protect a wolf pack. But her past hides a secret that only they know, her magic will save her people.

First 250:
I’m not supposed to be here because I’m a girl. The Elders wrinkle up their mouths around the word as though it tastes bad and spit it out at me. They say it like it’s a curse. I’ve grown weary of hearing what I can’t do, what I’m not allowed to be. Today, I’m showing them all just what this girl can do.

Today, I am crashing their Trials.

The trees form a canopy above me, my moccasins leaving little marks in the soft ground as I count down the switchbacks. Four. Then three. Two spits me out into a meadow before the forest swallows me again.

Making the final turn, I see the bright light where the trees and trail abruptly end. I race toward it, sprinting out into the sunlight. I blink at the sudden brightness, struggling to adjust. I scramble straight up toward the saddle, hands and feet sliding on the shale.

A scrape on the broken rocks behind me heralds Raven. A full foot taller than me, his long legs and arms give him a distinct advantage. Even with my head start, I barely make it to the top before he does.

The path stretches out before me, the straw dummies in a small clearing next to the lake. I skid to a halt in front of the first one, a dagger hurtling past. It sails to the right of the second target.

“You pulled out your knives while you were running?” I can’t believe Raven would be that reckless, wasting one of his throws.

Amanda Perry · August 19, 2015 at 9:25 pm

Amanda Perry
Ama625(at) gmail(dot) com
The Isles Of Alyis
YA Fantasy

35 Word Pitch: Montgomery’s life is ruined when she’s forced to flee. Sebastian fights for freedom,surrounded by slaves. On the run from assassins and monsters alike, their biggest enemy lies in the secrets they’ve yet to uncover.

The ship screams in protest as it skips angrily over the treacherous waves, the hull rising in the air moments before slapping down on the water with a deafening thud, winds wailing through the cracks in the cabin walls, causing a chill. Many of the crewmen are ill. Few seafaring men have the stomach for storms as violent as this one. I wonder how many more storms this ship the crewman refer to as Kidlat, can survive.

Lanterns sway on their hooks with the movements of the vessel, though most of them have burnt out more than an hour ago. Shadows flicker across Bayani’s sharp features highlighting his face as he struggles to keep the inkpot from spilling and his handwriting precise.
I lean back on the threadbare mattress I have become so accustomed to, feeling the frigid draft on my back and picking dirt from my fingernails with the tip of my dagger. The storm does not interest me. My father used to say my lack of regard for the Alyis Sea frightened him. My father had been slaughtered by that very same sea. A lot of good all that circumspection did him.

“Are you quite finished yet, Yani?” I look up from my hands long enough to glare at his letter with disdain.

“Just another moment, your Highness.” he smirks.

He calls me this now, only because I find it so grating. I stopped being royalty the moment I abandoned a kingdom under siege

Rudy De La Torre · August 19, 2015 at 11:27 pm

Rudy De La Torre

rdelatorrepegueros@gmail.com

The Random Adventures of Random Hill High School

Genre: YA Adventure/Fantasy

Pitch: High School Juniors David Ramirez and Johnny Tran hope to make this school year memorable. But a time traveling cube, a never ending sports drink, and an ancient dictionary will reveal more about their limits.

“I seriously cannot believe this already happening tomorrow!”

David Ramirez was distraught. His thin, athletic frame leaned slightly forward in front of a very noisy, cream-colored refrigerator covered in ceramic magnets and sticky note reminders of dental appointments and shopping lists. His brown eyes stared past all the clutter and directly at a calendar, which was hanging lopsided from a Latino radio station magnet. Under the “Law Office of Jose Hernandez” advertisement banner that was on top of almost every calendar used by those in David’s neighborhood, were four of the worst words anyone can say to a sixteen year old at Random Hill, written in a red pen, circled with that same pen, and slowly fading.

First Day of School.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am suuuper excited!”

David’s little sister, Esmeralda, or Esme, as everyone who knew her called her, was jumping around the kitchen behind Johnny with an apple that looked like it had lost a battle to a vampire. Her light brown eyes shimmered brightly with excitement as her slender legs shuffled right next to David’s to look at the calendar.

“That’s because you’re barely starting high school,” David interjected sharply, turning to face his sister.

“You just wait. You’ll learn to dread the first week of school.”

Before Esme could respond, and with a swift motion, he slid his slender body onto an empty wooden chair a few feet away from the fridge, and leaned forward with his pointy elbows on the kitchen table, which had an old brown wooden fruit bowl missing a member of its team.

Kristen C. Strocchia · August 20, 2015 at 8:39 am

THE PALACE OF SAND
YA Historical Fantasy

Pitch: Longo broke his refuge—a living palace at the heart of an eternal sandstorm. Now he must save Barbarine from her slave rescue mission in eastern Africa before the palace locks them both outside forever.

First 250 words:
Longo traced the smooth, dusty grooves of Barbarine’s face. Stopping his finger at her chin. Wishing she were standing here right now so that he could tilt her head up to look at him. Instead he gazed into those cool, sandstone eyes.

Why didn’t you find me that night you came back? He rubbed a thumb across the tell-tale face glyph—but then it wasn’t just the glyph this time. Did you forget the palace would show me that you’d come? Or were you in trouble and hurrying?

The palace had rendered her likeness well enough that the etching looked ready to answer him. Flawlessly beautiful. Longo almost smiled, knowing that the stone eyes couldn’t see him staring at her with all of the longing that he’d felt for Maman since she died, though the ache was different. But even though Barbarine treated Longo like a man, he didn’t dare hope that she—or anyone else—would ever desire him, animal that he was.

“When will this Lady of the Palace of yours be back?”

Eshban. So the old peddler had learned to walk with pickpocket feet in just his few weeks here.

Longo didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, he unlatched the palace’s door handle and let the sandstorm fling it open, catching it with his hands before it could slam into his body. “I’m afraid the storm is detaining her, as you surely can understand.”

Eshban would eventually figure out the deception. The sandstorm would never end.

Caroline Lingaitis · August 20, 2015 at 1:50 pm

Name: Caroline Lingaitis W/A Caroline Cozens
Title of work: “Friended”
Young Adult/Contemporary Romance
35 Word Pitch: Megan likes a boy. And for a while she thought he liked her back until his status announced he was in a relationship. Which ended and now he’s flirting with her again.

First 250 Words:
Nate leaned closer to look at her book during compline. She felt excited and nervous at the same time. The youth leader ended compline and the group moved towards the door.
“So we have treats, upstairs in Tolliver hall until the parents pick us up, usually.” Megan thought she sounded so lame but Nate looked at her and smiled.
“You have someone picking you up?” Nate asked he gently nudge her.
“Well, I drove myself but I can wait with you.” Megan continued. She was totally blushing. She was tall but he was taller and for a girl nearly six feet tall that was a nice change.
“I’d like that.” Nate gently moved a piece of hair away from her face and behind her ear. (Megan’s mind was screaming! This cute boy is flirting with me! ME!!!) He followed her to the refreshment table and again to sit next to her on the stage.
“So where do you go to school?” She wanted to keep the conversation going.
“Well, I’m a senior but my mom homeschools us because I tour as a disc golfer all over the US.”
“What is disc golf like Frisbee?”
“Kind of. You should come see me play sometime.”
“That would be interesting I think.” She answered trying hard not to swoon.
“How about you. What year are you in school?”
“Oh, I’m a junior at Cathedral High School.”
“So you wear plaid?”
“Hounds tooth actually.” Megan answered. A younger girl who had bubblegum pink hair

Shells Legoullon · August 20, 2015 at 5:33 pm

YA-Light Sci Fi
Title: Signal Void

35 word pitch: Kate’s signal vanishes, suspiciously before her parents are murdered. With every citizen Bio-chipped, The EYE suspects Kate. She blames Defiance. Thrust into a seedy world of Junkers and Tag Dealers, she’ll unravel the twisted truth.

First 250 words:

The house is lit up like a shrine, no doubt in my honor. Knowing my mother, she’s been glued to her bit-map since I left, only taking a break to call my holophone or pee. I glance at the call log on my phone. Fifteen missed calls.

An anxious wave rolls through my gut, as our thick metal gate crawls open like a feeble old woman. How can my father be okay with something so time-sucked? You’d think the archaic wreck would embarrass him considering his profession.

I drum my fingers against the wheel and stare at the illuminated digits hovering above the dash. When there’s enough space, I speed through. The tires squeal against the shiny concrete as I brake at the top of the drive.

Both of my parents explode from the house and race down the steps. I’m dead. I choke back the lump of remorse at my mother’s face. Pink and swollen, like after my uncle died. My father’s tight pressed lips and clenched jaw confirm I’ve already been judged and tried. I ease out of the car.

“Kate!” My mother rushes in, cinching me up like a snare. “It’s nearly three in the morning! Where have you been?”

Like she has no idea. I roll my eyes.

“You’ve been off grid for hours,” my father snaps.

Wait, the grid’s down? My little red dot hasn’t moved all night? That explains why they didn’t show up and yank my butt home. I’m surprised my mother’s still breathing.

P.D. Pabst · August 20, 2015 at 7:28 pm

Name: P.D. Pabst
Email: pdpabst2@gmail.com
Title of Work: THIS SCARY MANOR BLOWS
Category/Genre: MG/Light Horror

35-word pitch: Agnes plays pretend in an old manor and learns she must solve the murder of an eight-year-old ghost, but secret passages and hidden rooms aren’t places to play when a more sinister specter threatens her.

First 250: The dilapidated Galli Manor loomed over Agnes and made her feet shift on the sidewalk. Inheriting the mansion from her grandfather—a grandfather she hadn’t known existed—was supposed to be good fortune. But, she felt certain if she put one foot on the aged steps her future would end with a decayed board through her chest.

For the love of chocolate—RETREAT!

She stepped back with her mother, brother, and a non-related lanky lawyer and gazed at the ghastly stairs. The wrought iron spindles stretched to the railing and wrapped it like bony fingers—each holding a globe-shaped glass light. Several globes had broken, littering the stairs with shards of glass—a hazard to walk around to get to the entrance. The leaning paint-chipped columns stood three times her height, taunting they’d crush her if she got past the steps.

Agnes glanced at her mother and wondered if the poor woman had gone blind. The widow Galli gaped at the manor with fretful eyes. Her thin body, long black hair and pale skin mimicked a taller version of Agnes, or so it’d been said. She squared her shoulders and squeezed Agnes’ hand. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I promise.”

Agnes hoped her mother was right. She cringed at the thought of going back to the shelter. The old geezer who’d slept by her snorted like an elephant & kept her up most nights. Plus going back meant returning to her old school where the kids called her a Dirch (dirty-child) because she didn’t always get to shower.

Mary Newton Lima · August 21, 2015 at 7:02 am

Title: Lost in the Darkness

Category: Contemporary (with a twist!)

Pitch:

Fifteen-year old Corey Tajos is broken. His healing power erases the physical marks his father’s beatings leave behind, but it cannot stop the raging darkness inside.

First 250 words:

Deep breaths. Take deep breaths. Stop the shaking, inside and out. Push down the darkness, get through practice, and this suckhole of a day will be over.

I closed my eyes, open locker shielding me from the rest of the team. Three minutes. All I needed was three minutes.

I leaned my forehead against the row of lockers. Cold metal to hot skin. Good start.

One breath for Father gifting me the fist-sized bruise below my shoulder blade.

One for my backpack vomiting my crap all over the hall before school even started.

One for the slap Amy Gosche laid on me when I pinched her butt for the third time.

One for the D+ on the math test. (Father’d be pissed.)

One for Lindsey Buckner announcing I kissed like a wet fish. To the entire cafeteria.

One for—

BAM! My locker door smashed closed, then shimmied back open from the force. My head jerked off the ringing metal as I spat out a long string of curses.

“Hey FRESHER!” Joe, a landmass of a linebacker, grinned at me with a rule-the-school smirk only seniors could pull off. “Gotcha, Corey. You meditating back here?”

I slapped the locker shut, rammed the lock home, and grabbed my helmet off the bench. Every muscle rang with tension as I said, “Outta the way, ass-wipe.” My helmet may have collided with his stomach as I pushed passed him. These things happen.

Joe’s hand, the size of a mallet, clamped onto my shoulder and spun me around. “What did you say?”

Kerry Reed · August 21, 2015 at 1:56 pm

TITLE: DREAMSCAPE

GENRE: YA FANTASY

PITCH: Sixteen-year-old Chloe Wilder has always been reasonably content with her self-described “average” life – until the dreams start. Soon she’s spending her nights in a fantastical dream world. But are her dreams really just dreams?

FIRST 250 WORDS:

The wide, grassy field was warm and cheerful and strangely familiar.

Like daisies.

Why daisies I had no idea, but I could almost see them in my mind. As if I remembered them. There, all across the field, white and green and yellow. Infinite daisies.

I collapsed back onto the sweet, spring-smelling grass with my knees in the air. The overhead sun was blindingly bright and the sky almost too blue with just a few pillowy clouds. A perfect cloud-watching kind of day, I decided. Like when I was little. My dad and I had loved that game, tracing familiar shapes in the sky – painting cloud pictures, he’d called it – and inventing stories to fit our scenes.

This was when I realized I was wearing my favorite sundress from back then. The one I’d worn night and day for an entire summer the year I was seven: white-smocked with pink, purple, and blue-patterned hearts and ribbons that tied at the shoulders. I’d cried the day my mom had decided it was too small and donated it. Yet there I was, nine years later, wearing it. Strangely it seemed to fit.

Abruptly a shadow crossed above me, blocking my sun.

Not a shadow – a pair of legs. I blinked, a little startled, and another piece of the memory clicked into place.

Calvin.

My Caly. Of course. This field, the daisies, the dress, and Calvin. I remembered it all.

Except the person towering over me now was not Calvin. Definitely not.

“Hi there,” he said.

Belinda Robards · August 21, 2015 at 9:34 pm

Belinda Robards
BelindaRobards@aol.com
Walls Budger
Young Adult Romance

Pitch: A boy who hides his face and a girl who hides everything else. When their worlds collide, they must navigate the chaotic teenage battlefield of changing alliances, hidden motives and each other.

I mindlessly followed Granny through Spendmart as she shopped, until we arrived at the fabric department. My fingers twitched with longing to caress the bright and colorful fabrics and spread them out in the aisles. Instead I stood motionless, eyes unfocused, imagining endless varieties of dresses, skirts, shorts and shirts I could design and make with each fabric.

The stale, artificially cooled air tickled my nose. I double-blinked when the rope dropped down in front of me but otherwise remained inert. The thick, white, plastic-looking rope had knots tied in it every foot or so but it had nothing to do with me.

“Coraline,” Granny called.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said automatically then turned to face her. With effort I focused my eyes on her small, neatly dressed figure.

“What do you think about this?” She held up a bolt of dour looking fabric.

I held a grimace in check with effort as I eyed the fabric. “It’s fine.” Granny was making me a new dress.

“Where did that rope come from?” Granny’s expression was as dour as the fabric she held.

Like it’s my fault it had just fallen from the ceiling? I glanced up to the rafters where the rope originated. “I don’t know, Granny.”

“Stay here while I find someone to ask.”

“Yes ma’am.”

When I turned back, Walls Budger was standing next to the rope. Solidly built and tall, Walls Budger’s shoulder-length chestnut brown hair hung like a curtain over his face. I tried to picture his

Isabel Filippone · August 22, 2015 at 12:34 am

Isabel Filippone
ifilippone33@gmail.com
The Chalk Boy
YA Contemporary

(Pitch)
Every morning Evie draws the chalk boy, the one from that night. She remembers the sirens blaring loudly, as a policeman drew a outline around a dead body. She also remembers her own bloody fingers.

(First 250 words)
The bed was hard, the mattress threadbare, and I could feel the metal frame underneath my weakened body. The room was painted a dull white with mottled stains here and there. It was a bleak room that could only belong in an asylum, and it did. It was my room, but the only thing that was really mine was the little container of chalk hidden beneath my bed.

Each day for thirty minutes, I was allowed outside. The fenced yard consisted of patches of dirt where the grass had long ago died and small areas of asphalt. In one corner of the blacktop, I had found a spot covered by an overhang protected from the elements. This is where I would come every day to draw, and when I drew, it was always the same picture. He was the reason that this was now my home.

Today, like so many other days when the orderly called I grabbed my container from under the bed and followed. She unlocked and opened the door, and I was out. The sun was blinding, but it was always a joyous moment when I realized I was outside. Precious for my short lived freedom, it was also my only time with him.

The asphalt was steaming, the scorching sun shining down upon it. I could feel the burn of the tar on my stomach when I lay down on the ground in anticipation of drawing. After a few minutes of planning my picture, I could feel a sunburn starting on my lower back where my tank top had risen.

Charley Pearson · August 22, 2015 at 9:00 am

Charley Pearson

charley.pearson@gmail.com

RIPPLE IN THE SEA

YA-Historical

Pitch:

Horrified over her mother’s treason, desperate to redeem her family’s honor, a Japanese-American girl infiltrates a WWII Japanese prisoner-of-war camp to free victims of medical experiments. That’s the plan, anyway.

First 250:

I never set out to be a spy. It sort of crept up and ambushed me. That’s what happens to naive little fools.

Then again, how could I have known what was coming?

Never mind. I’ll make this record, while I still have time. Others can fill in my blanks, or pretty it up, or bury the whole thing. Perhaps the latter would be for the best.

Anyhow, here goes.

#

Dive-bombing sea gulls swooped above the knoll, the only decent park in Alameda, sucking my attention across the bay toward San Francisco and the illusion of a tolerable life. I knew better. Frisco was too close to home. Someone would recognize me.

I brushed a stray leaf off my skirt, exposing the high school mascot embroidered along the hem. My mother’s idea, and the world’s ugliest beaver. A reward, she called it, for putting enough precision into my ship drawings. I still heard the taunts when others saw it swishing there around my calf. That hardly mattered, though, and neither did my mother’s gesture, paltry and belated. My mind was set.

I reached over and adjusted the chrysanthemum perched above Maxine’s ear. My friend smiled, and the wilting flower sagged again. Everything in life was sagging. Children squealed in a nearby playground, oblivious to anything outside their perfect moment. I hopped up to recover a wayward ball and tossed it to a short cherub who seemed to need a turn.

Floating strands of silky, ebon tresses whipped into my mouth as I sat down.
___________________

S D Grimm · August 24, 2015 at 5:24 pm

Name: S D Grimm

Email: SarahGrimm99(at)gmail(dot)com

Title: WITCHER

Genre: YA Paranormal

Pitch:

One person can save Allie from the curse that’s turning her into a ghost–the one-handed boy next door–but he’d have to take her place as cursed. He’s willing, but she loves him.

First 250:

Witching for bodies in a cemetery was not my idea of a fun end-of-summer dare, yet I stood at the mouth of a graveyard, divining rods in hand.

At least that’s what Nell called them. Ten minutes ago they were two halves of a metal coat hanger. Nell’s eyes had practically sparkled as she snipped them with wire cutters by the light of her headlights and then bent them into L shapes. Then she handed me the finished product and flashed a dimpled smile. No spells. No witchy juju. How potent could these things actually be?

Though I had to admit, despite the summer heat, the thin wire felt almost cold in my hands. Unnerving. There had to be a scientific explanation.

My friends seemed mesmerized by the entrance to the cemetery, as if the moonlight made the familiar place completely foreign. It was the same looming presence that always sat at the end of my street, yet all five of us stopped in front of the two towering, brick columns flanking the asphalt driveway. Columns that reminded me of rooks in a chess game. Castle watchtowers with no watchers. Who would they protect anyway? Everyone inside was dead.

Vines clutched the weather-darkened bricks like black, sinewy fingers.

No gate barred the way. Only a cracked driveway that led into darkness.

A shudder rippled through me.

“You coming, Allie?” Hunter’s voice snapped me out of my staring, and I watched the rest of my friends head up the driveway, disappearing into the black void one at a time.

Nicole Lynn Hoefs · August 24, 2015 at 7:05 pm

Nicole Lynn Hoefs
nicolelynnhoefs@gmail.com
Syd-ply Misunderstood
YA/Contemporary & romance

(Pitch)
Sydney’s life is complicated. Divorced parents, a meddling best friend, and a cheating ex. She decides to stop dating because she fears heartache and rejection. But the new guy in town might change her mind.

(First 250 words)
I don’t even know why I did it. I mean I had plenty of motivation before, but something inside me snapped. I couldn’t take Drew’s cheating anymore.

So I dumped his sorry ass and didn’t look back. I didn’t care if he was the star of the baseball team, or that he was really, really good looking. And I didn’t care that he smelled so yummy wearing his Calvin Klein cologne.

He didn’t even have the nerve to tell me he’d been cheating. I’d happened along him making out with Roxanne, my sworn enemy, in a dark corner at Brice’s party when I’d been headed towards the bathroom. After he’d finished sticking his tongue down her throat, he’d found me standing in the kitchen, my drink in hand.

Her famous shell pink lip gloss covered his mouth and that was the last straw. I threw my drink in his face, told him we were over, and walked away.

That was over a week ago, and so far, I had yet to regret my decision. The only reason I stayed with him so long was because he made me laugh. I was a sucker for funny guys. I was glad I hadn’t gone past kissing him. I wanted my first time to be with someone special, not some guy who’d betrayed my trust and shattered my self-esteem.

I could barely look at myself in the mirror in the first place because staring back at me are my father’s hazel eyes.

Dennis Staginnus · August 25, 2015 at 8:40 am

Dennis Staginnus
dennisstaginnus (at) gmail (dot) com
“Bionic”
YA Contemporary Science Fiction

Pitch

Sixteen-year-old Jason can go from zero to sixty in eight seconds. Part organic, part bionic—he can lift a small car, but can’t pass biology. As if being a teenager wasn’t hard enough.

Chapter 1

“By the time you get this, I’ll already be dead.”

The text on Detective Brad Taylor’s phone flashed from the passenger seat. The words were seared into his brain—a message from his nephew not five minutes ago.

Tires squealed as Brad veered onto Victoria Avenue. The storefronts became a smear.

“Get the hell out of the way!” he shouted, swerving past a rusted grey Ford. Despite sirens and lights flashing blue-red on his dash, drivers couldn’t pull over fast enough.

He turned hard to the right, bounced over a pothole, and raced over the Fraser River Bridge.

Faster. Gotta get there faster.

In his peripheral vision, he saw a white cross with flowers decorating the railing where a girl had been killed a week earlier. Witnesses said Kelly Mathers had staggered into oncoming traffic. Some said she’d done it on purpose. An SUV struck her with so much force, the impact sent her flying over the edge.

Brad was at the scene when they fished Kelly’s broken body out of the water. Her eyes were open. Bugging out. Bloodshot.

The fourth drug-related suicide this month. Each time a cryptic text message was left behind.

Now it was his nephew.

Brad stepped on the gas.

It would take exactly ten minutes to get from where he was to the precinct—if he were driving the speed limit and obeying traffic lights.

He wasn’t.

He’d get there in four.

Dilyana Kyoseva · August 25, 2015 at 6:22 pm

Your Name: Dilyana Kyoseva

Your Email: dilyana(dot)kyoseva(dot)writer(at)gmail(dot)com

Title of Work: You are the Answer

Category/Genre: YA/Paranormal

Pitch: A difference in species. Trust Issues and a troubled past. Desire to love and be loved. A quest to find the One.

First words:

Tonight was the night I was going to approach them. Everything about that group would make the average moral citizen go out of their way to avoid them: tattoos, piercings, leather jackets, bikes, owning a pub which was rumored to be a cover-up, a legal way for them to explain their income…

They were the largest gang in the nearby towns yet no one could pinpoint what they were up to. Many people had tried to join but none had been accepted. It was as if The Silver Bullets were a family; either you were born as one of them or you were out.

I was unsure of as to what exactly had compelled me to try to gain their attention; I didn’t even know how they’d react to the fact I was gay. Maybe they hated people like me; I had previously been burnt – metaphorically and literally – because of who I was.

I touched my right hand sleeve over the spot where the flames had permanently deformed the flesh.

I refused to hide who I was even though it had brought me pain; I refused to cower and condemn myself to a life of loneliness because I was attracted to my own gender.

No. Not anymore.

This was it; this was the night when I’d either shine or my light would be forever extinguished with me lying cold in a gutter. And what could be a greater act of bravery than to flirt with some of the fiercest men in town?

Valerie Bodden · August 25, 2015 at 11:16 pm

Valerie Bodden
valbodden(at)gmail(dot)com
SAVING YOU
YA Contemporary

(Pitch)
Seventeen-year-old Calli’s downing Adderall while caring for her dying mom. Noah’s jumping off roofs to prove his life isn’t some cosmic mistake. Can they save each other—before it’s too late to save themselves?

(First 250)
The last day of summer beats into my limbs, making them heavy and light, solid and liquid, at the same time. I never want to move again.

A sharp fingernail pokes my side.

I swat my best friend Sashi’s hand away, but she pokes me again.

“What?” I grumble, my face still buried in the sticky-sweet grass.

“Check this guy out,” Sashi says, tugging my arm. I groan. I should have known this was about a guy. A wave of chlorine fumes hits me as I roll over and sit up.

“First you drag me to this party. And then, when I finally manage to relax, you….” My words evaporate as I follow her gaze across the backyard, over the pool, and to Tom Brant’s mansion, site of this annual end-of-summer soiree.

I wait a second for my brain to catch up with what I’m seeing.

Then I spring into full-on lifeguard mode, launching myself toward the pool deck. My feet sizzle when they hit the concrete, but I keep running. Idiot. He’s going to kill himself. A guy I’ve never seen before balances at the edge of the second-story porch roof. He bends his arms and lifts them to the side, then leans forward in a muscle stance to the front. His shirt is still on—a blue Superman t-shirt—but I can detect the outline of his pecs and biceps through it. Someone wolf whistles. Then Tom starts to chant, “Jump! Jump! Jump!”

There must be a good ten feet between the edge of the roof and the edge of the pool.

Brian Truitt · August 26, 2015 at 12:56 am

Psykids

Paranormal MG

PITCH:
A thirteen year old boy who can’t focus to save his life must use his new power to see the past unfolding before him in order to save his kidnapped little sister’s life.

FIRST 250 WORDS:
My room looks like the Hulk tore through it.

I’m supposed to clean it. I hate it when my room gets like this, but figuring out what to do first: I’d rather hand feed great white sharks. Okay, I’ll start with the clothes. Dirty in the hamper, clean on the bed.

Diving into the first pile, I pull out a couple of t-shirts, a pair of shorts, and jeans. The sniff test tells me what’s dirty and what I can get a few more uses out of. Jeans and one shirt on the bed, the clean pile. The shorts and one shirt: back on the floor; I’ll put them in the hamper later.

Wait, what’s in the pocket of these shorts? A balled up math worksheet. Better put this with the other papers on my desk, a white avalanche waiting to happen.

At the top of the teetering mound is an essay with five measly sentences scribbled down. It’s due Monday. I’ll never get it finished if I wait until Sunday. The math worksheet replaces the essay on the pile. More clothes on my chair. Push those to the floor. Hey, there’s an X-Men comic here.

I love this issue. I think. Is this the one where the team travels to another dimension? My butt finds the chair as I start flipping through the bright, colored pages.

“Ben.” Mom taps on the door. “You’re going to be late for swim practice — again.”

Crap!

Shaila Patel · August 26, 2015 at 12:53 pm

Shaila Patel
info[at]shailapatelauthor[dot]com
SOULMATED
YA Paranormal Romance

(PITCH)

Irish empath Liam Whelan searches for the soul mate from his father’s vision and meets Indian-American Laxshmi Kapadia. What will he sacrifice if she’s not The One? Can she defy cultural expectations if she is?

(FIRST 250)

They call this a test?

Not even a ping grazed my mind as the five Elders attempted to probe behind my mental blocks and into my emotions. A sheen of sweat above my cousin’s lip proved he wasn’t faring as well. Of all us cousins who were now of-age, William and I were the last two left. I’d have felt guilty had he ever shown an interest in leading the family estate, but, even as children, we all knew he’d rather be in a library. And now his heart was with his new wife. He, at least, seemed to have a choice.

I sighed. Not me.

“Are we boring you, Prince Liam?”

My attention snapped to Elder Adebayo. In the fraction of a second it took to decipher his heavy Nigerian accent, I schooled my features. The Elders sat along one side of an antique conference table. The manor staff had rearranged the study to hold both the testing and signing-over ceremonies. Gone were the heirloom tables and Tiffany lamps normally dotting the large space.

My throat-clearing echoed in the now silent room. “No, sir, not at all. Although, uh…I’d like to know when it is you’ll begin with me.” I pasted on an oh-so-innocent smirk and watched William shake his head and grin. I shrugged, hoping I’d lightened the mood.

All the Elders cocked an eyebrow, except for Elder Claire Brennan, our lone Irish representative. Her body inched forward.

Ah, well. So much for having a bit of craic.