Category: Snippet!

Cloudy Snippet #2

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by Michelle Andreani
“Thank God,” I groan, reaching to click off the ancient CD player. The sounds of overlapping guitars and the la-la-la-ing singer stop abruptly, my car now mercifully silent. I shudder all over like the power button is covered in raw meatloaf. “No more music by sad boys.”
Zoë, in the passenger seat, crosses her arms over her chest. “You said I could choose.”
“My mistake.” I put the Honda in Park and turn off the engine.
“Well, they’re not sad. They’re—”
“Wimpy.”
“Passionate,” my little sister says, decisively and dreamy-eyed.
“Oh, gag.” I snap off my seatbelt and twist to grab my puffy coat from the backseat. Slipping it on, I say, “Just so you know, on the way home we’re listening to someone . . . blond.”
Zoë’s eyes scrunch up behind her glasses. “Blond?”
“Blond”—I count it off on one finger, then more—“and fond of drum machines. And clapping.”

Kyle Snippet #2

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BY MINDI SCOTT
“All right,” I tell the scrawny, black cat that’s been living in my bathroom for the past twenty-four hours. “I really do have to go. Right. Now.”
I get up off the tiled floor, leaving her lying on the Panda Pillow Pet that I bought at Target an hour ago. It was an idea that I stole from Matty. He got his cat a puppy-shaped pillow to sleep on, which is his big statement about what a badass he thinks Hercules is. (“Dude, he sleeps on top of a dog!”)
As I’m reaching for the door knob, I hear a low, “Mrowrrrr” from the black cat.
She has a deep, growly voice, like she’s a two-pack-a-day smoker. The sound of that strange meow is all it takes for me to crouch down again and go back to petting her.
I don’t know if this is the right thing to do, keeping her locked up with the litter box. I don’t know if I should have brought her home at all.

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Oh, and that Matty! How did he manage to come up with such a clever puppy-pillow idea? 😉

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Kyle Snippet #1: Meet Kyle

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BY MINDI SCOTT

If you’re reading this blog, your probably know that Michelle and I are writing a YA novel together. (Yeah?) She’s writing the scenes that are from the girl’s perspective (Cloudy) and I’m writing those from the boy’s (Kyle).

So, this is an introduction to my character, which should give you some insight into why “Poor Kyle!” is one of Michelle’s and my catchphrases. 😉

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After steering into a space near the entrance, I slam my SUV into park, cut the engine, hop out, and hurry up the sidewalk. The pavement and the church throw echoes back and forth at each other with every step I take.
I climb the short staircase—two at a time. At the top, the foyer is completely dark behind glass double doors, but there’s a set of keys dangling in the lock. I give a yank and the door swings outward. Aiming a fist bump toward the sky (hallelujah?), I rush inside.
Coming here was a desperate move and I know it. It’s just that 1) my dad is in Brazil for a six-week do-gooder vacation and 2) today would have been my one-year anniversary with my dead girlfriend, Ashlyn.
As it turns out, 1 + 2 = me kind of losing it again.
Kind of a lot losing it, actually.

Cloudy Snippet #1: Meet Cloudy!

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Mindi and I thought it would be fun to post little snippets of our WIP as we go along. So, this is a little sneak peek at Cloudy. (Eeep!) Hope you like her! (Eeep!) 🙂

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Here’s the thing about me wanting to kick Jacob Tamsin’s metaphorical ass at the pancake breakfast: I’m not allowed to leave the syrup station.
Unsupervised squeeze bottles of free sugar are basically irresistible, and how embarrassing for you to have gotten diabetes from a cheerleading fundraiser. So I’m supposed to stay put.
But stupid Jenna won’t stop crying.
“There she goes again.”
This comes from Lita, which is unsurprising because she’s been wearing that smile, that there-Cloudy-goes-again smile, since she found Jenna teary and deflated in a bathroom stall and skipped across the gym to tell me about it.
“I’m not going anywhere again,” I say, pushing away from the table. Staring laser beams of fury at Jacob has stopped being satisfying, so the next logical step is to hurtle myself at his over-sized, empty head. “We’re just going to have a nice talk. And he might cry, but it won’t be because I bend his fingers all the way back.”