Please note that I have already made it into the Agent Round of the Blind Speed Dating Contest.
Excerpt from AUSSIE OUTSIDER (YA Mystery)
Scene: Rory Turner (16, an American living in Australia) and Tark Harper (19, a native Aussie) are sitting on a bench along Darling Harbor in Sydney. Rory has just learned that she is the reason Tark was not able to attend university after he graduated high school the year before.
I stood up, blinking rapidly to beat the onslaught of tears that were coming. “I’m sorry,” I said, and took off running.
“Rory!” Tark shouted behind me.
I tore through the crowds of people, afraid that my face would erupt with stupid, unwanted tears before I could find a bathroom to hide in.
“Rory!” he called again, closer now.
Please just leave me alone. I never meant to hurt you.
Eyes no longer dry, I tripped on an uneven brick and braced for smacking the ground. Instead I was snatched by Tark’s warm, rough fingers. They cradled me to his chest as I tried to pull away.
Exhausted, I stopped resisting and let my tears soak his shirt. His arms cocooned me, shutting the rest of the world out. All the unfairness of both of our lives was swept up into the puddle on his shirt.
When I stopped crying, I became aware of Tark’s heartbeat beneath my ear. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.
Faster than normal, it seemed. I tilted my head toward his. His bottomless grey eyes peered into mine. For a brief second I wondered what he saw—red, splotchy eyes, snot dripping from my nostrils, dried tears streaking my cheeks?
Then my breath faltered and my mind went totally blank as his lips lowered, brushed against mine as if a feather had danced across them. My lashes closed and my mouth parted. The kiss deepened, sweet and spicy, dizzy and thrilling all at once. My teeth nicked his tongue as his fingers tangled in my hair. Our noses bumped, angled to make room for each other. My fingers clung to the thin cotton on his back, wishing it were his smooth skin.
All of my senses were buried in his touch, his taste, his smell. Drowning in him.
He drew his lips away as if in slow motion, and the noises of the wharf settled back in: mingling accents, water lapping on pilings, boat engines and car engines. How had I not heard them before?
Excerpt from AUSSIE OUTSIDER (YA Mystery)
Scene: Rory Turner (16, an American living in Australia) and Tark Harper (19, a native Aussie) are sitting on a bench along Darling Harbor in Sydney. Rory has just learned that she is the reason Tark was not able to attend university after he graduated high school the year before.
I stood up, blinking rapidly to beat the onslaught of tears that were coming. “I’m sorry,” I said, and took off running.
“Rory!” Tark shouted behind me.
I tore through the crowds of people, afraid that my face would erupt with stupid, unwanted tears before I could find a bathroom to hide in.
“Rory!” he called again, closer now.
Please just leave me alone. I never meant to hurt you.
Eyes no longer dry, I tripped on an uneven brick and braced for smacking the ground. Instead I was snatched by Tark’s warm, rough fingers. They cradled me to his chest as I tried to pull away.
Exhausted, I stopped resisting and let my tears soak his shirt. His arms cocooned me, shutting the rest of the world out. All the unfairness of both of our lives was swept up into the puddle on his shirt.
When I stopped crying, I became aware of Tark’s heartbeat beneath my ear. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.
Faster than normal, it seemed. I tilted my head toward his. His bottomless grey eyes peered into mine. For a brief second I wondered what he saw—red, splotchy eyes, snot dripping from my nostrils, dried tears streaking my cheeks?
Then my breath faltered and my mind went totally blank as his lips lowered, brushed against mine as if a feather had danced across them. My lashes closed and my mouth parted. The kiss deepened, sweet and spicy, dizzy and thrilling all at once. My teeth nicked his tongue as his fingers tangled in my hair. Our noses bumped, angled to make room for each other. My fingers clung to the thin cotton on his back, wishing it were his smooth skin.
All of my senses were buried in his touch, his taste, his smell. Drowning in him.
He drew his lips away as if in slow motion, and the noises of the wharf settled back in: mingling accents, water lapping on pilings, boat engines and car engines. How had I not heard them before?
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