Down 'N' Derby (30 page)

             
I sat back on the couch and let the heels of my palms dig into my eye sockets, shutting out the light so I could focus on her.  It was getting more and more difficult to remember what she looked like or how she smelled.  But I remembered the little things.  I remembered she called all Coke products Coke and didn’t get how some people called it Soda or Pop.  She always took out one strand of hair and wrapped it around her hairband proclaiming it made her ponytail look good.  She constantly stole my boxers to sleep in, even though she had a slew of boyfriends to steal from.  She had a triangle of freckles on her right earlobe.  I could tell the difference between her ‘pissed off’ whine and her ‘feelings hurt’ sob from oceans away. 

             
I heard footsteps from the girl in my life as she entered the room but I wasn’t ready to let go of Journey just yet and rejoin reality.  Her hands, soft and warm pulled mine from my face.  I could smell the shampoo that Reed insisted I buy for her.  At the time I had no clue what girls liked.  I’d had to learn quickly.

             
She huffed out a tired but annoyed sigh at me and I opened my eyes to see red curls and freckles everywhere.  She literally was covered scalp to feet in clusters of light brown freckles and I’d seen every inch of her.  She wiped away tears I didn’t know were there and then wiped her fingers on my pajama pants.  Before me was the most beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on. 

             
She finally knew she had my attention and I knew by the smirk on her face it would be good, whatever came out of her sweet mouth.

             
“What is it button? It’s late.” I asked her, rewiping my face.

             
She batted her big eyelashes at me and put her tiny hands on her hips.  “Daddy, I think I need a bunny wabbit.  Parker said he has a bunny wabbit.  I need one too.”

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Down
‘N’ Derby

Ache  /
James Carrington (Best song I’ve heard in a long time)

Electric
Feel  / MGMT

Silent All These Years /
Tori Amos

Great Expectations / Elbow

Suit and Tie / Justin Timberlake (Falcon’s song.  I had to!)

Free
Fallin’ / Tom Petty

The Boys Are Back In Town / Thin
Lizzy

If You Let Me Be Your Anchor / Dawes

Sweater Weather / The Neighbourhood

Anchor / Mindy Gledhill

I Am The Highway / Audioslave

1234 /
Fiest

Now /
Paramore

Stop
The Rock / Apollo Four Forty

Alive Like This / 3D Friends

Do It For Me Now / Angels and Airwaves

No Woman, No Cry / Bob Marley

Father of Mine / Everclear

Scar Tissue / Red Hot Chili Peppers

Santa Monica / Everclear

The Fantasy / 30 Seconds
To Mars

Californication
/ Red Hot Chili Peppers

Venice /
The Lighthouse and the Whaler

Short Skirt, Long Jacket / Cake

Venice Queen / Red Hot Chili Peppers

Little Black Submarines /
The Black Keys

Pin-Up / Evans Blue

Holy Roller Novacaine / Kings of Leon

My Medicine /
The Pretty Reckless

Beach Monster / STRFKR

So In Love / The Soldier Thread

Your
Touch / The Black Keys

A Little Death /
The Neighbourhood

Sea of Love / Cat Powers

Storey’s Playlist

Love Letter /
Clairey Browne and the Bangin’ Rackettes

Crazy / Patsy Cline

Walking After Midnight / Patsy Cline

She’s Got You / Patsy Cline

King of New Orleans / Better Than Ezra

Southern Girl / Better Than Ezra

Runaround Sue / Dion and the Belmonts

The Wanderer / Dion and the
Belmonts

You’ve Lost That
Lovin’ Feelin’ / The Righteous Brothers

Fever / Peggy Lee

            
 
Sneak Peek of WICKED THING by Angeline Kace

New Adult, Coming Summer 2013

“What gives you the right? We are
not
together. Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Carmen’s forehead creases, and if I were a fool, I’d say it was in pain.

Her face flushes with anger. “You’re right, Dallas.” Her words are clipped and cold. A stark contrast to the heat radiating from her.  “We’re not together and I had no right. I’m sorry.” She snatches her purse off my dresser and turns to leave.

“Carmen, wait.”

She stops but doesn’t turn around.

I’m confused. She won’t let me tell her how I feel, but I’m supposed to allow her to fix the most broken part of my life? A part of me wants her to. For her to be the one who makes the broken things work. But not like this. Not when she insists on keeping things the way they are. I can’t give myself to her if she won’t accept my heart, let alone give me hers.

She marches to the door and flings it open.

I want to tell her to wait, but I still don’t know what to say. I got what I wanted; she won’t try to push me about Denton anymore. Was it worth losing whatever part of her I had?

I’m not sure it is.

Meet Dallas and Carmen this summer in WICKED THING by Angeline
Kace. For more details and teasers, visit her website at www.angelinekace.com.

Please enjoy this excerpt from Rachel Higginson’s new YA Contemporary Bet in the Dark, out May, 2013.

Chapter One

              I blamed this on Kelly Clarkson.

             
On Kelly-Freaking-Clarkson.

             
The angry man standing across the kitchen island looked like he was about to throttle me. I had visions of large hands gripped firmly around my neck shaking me like a rubber chicken. His eyes flashed with frustration and I cursed Kelly Clarkson straight to the grave.

             
Things started out so good this morning, so unbelievably, unnaturally good. I should have known better. But at the time, I woke up in my bed to the powerful chords Kelly Clarkson was belting through my radio alarm, and laid there for the length of the song just to let her words sink in.

             
Stronger.

             
In fact I started to think Kelly Clarkson was a genius. And like maybe we were these soul sisters that had survived something awful but came out on the other side of it stronger. I started to think maybe she got me…. 

             
Because the bed did feel warmer.

             
I did dream in color.

             
I wasn’t lonely when I was alone.

             
And best of all I was standing taller.

             
Well “was” as in the seriously past tense because with monster-man looming over me, pissed off and yelling about money he wanted and I definitely did not have, I wasn’t standing taller anymore. I was more like shrinking slowly into what I assumed would soon be the fetal position.

             
But this morning, even as the warm sun sifted through my bedroom window and heated my exposed skin, everything seemed possible. I felt strong enough to get out of bed today and conquer the world- or at least the closest Starbucks and my econ class.

             
Which come on, that’s close enough right?

             
And even though last week I missed a seriously important pop quiz in my post-break-up-cowering phase and now my grade was in some trouble…. and then it started raining and I happened to be wearing a white t-shirt and red bra. Who does that by the way? Me apparently, in my Kelly-Clarkson-gave-me-the-strength-to-be-a-skank-mood. And then even after I came home to my roommate on her way out, for what at the time she promised was just a bite to eat even though she was two months behind on her share of the rent, I believed today was the start of better things to come.

             
All thanks to Kelly Clarkson.

             
After setting my purse down on the counter because the entry hall table that I usually placed it on had been moved, I started to wonder if maybe Kelly Clarkson lied to me.

             
Well, Ok, that’s not exactly true. First I wondered if I was hallucinating. And then I ran through the possibility of being robbed, but my roommate’s casual departure quickly negated that idea.

             
I blinked. And blinked again. And then blinked so hard tears formed in the corners of my eyes and I felt like I was trying to be the second coming of I Dream of Jeannie. If I willed all of my furniture and belongings to reappear, they would.

             
But they didn’t.

             
And that was just the start of my disappointment.

             
Then there was the letter…. The one calmly explaining my roommate had a clinically diagnosed gambling addiction, and was thousands of dollars in debt. She explained that she had to sell the furniture, my furniture, to pay for rehab. Her family was insisting on it. She had a real problem. A real problem. And I needed to understand that anything she had done to hurt me was her addiction and not the real her.

             
Well her addiction wasn’t going to replace all of my furniture.

             
Her addiction wasn’t going to come up with the other half of my rent!

             
And her addiction really wasn’t going to explain to the man across the kitchen yelling at me that no matter who he thought I was, I did not owe him seven thousand dollars!!

             
I picked up the handwritten letter of crazy and with a shaky hand and held it out to him.

             
“What’s this?” He paused in his tirade to take the half sheet of torn notebook paper. I noticed my biology notes on the back of the paper for the first time. Seriously, she couldn’t even use her own paper???

             
“Um, see? I’m not the one that owes you money,” I sounded confident, but inside I was a trembling, terrified puddle. And on second thought, maybe I didn’t sound quite so confident….

             
“Who’s Tara?” he grunted after skimming the note quickly.

             
“My roommate,” I said simply and then thought better of it. “My ex-roommate. She’s moved on to group therapy and the twelve steps apparently.”

             
“And who are you?” he asked carefully. His eyes swept over me and suddenly I felt very vulnerable.

             
Ok, more vulnerable.

             
And that was a hard emotion to feel since he had elbowed his way in here not even ten minutes ago and started shouting at me and threatening all kinds of legal action and at times bodily harm.

             
“I’m uh, wait a second! Who are you? You’re in my apartment!” I dug deep for some courage. I slammed my fists to my hips and tilted my chin in my best I-mean-business pose.

             
“Don’t get cute with me.” He sneered. His upper lip curled in frustration and his dark, chocolate brown eyes narrowed. “I’m the guy you owe seven thousand dollars!”

             
Ugh, he was still stuck on this!  I cleared my throat and tried again, “How could I possibly owe you seven thousand dollars? I’ve never even met you before! I don’t even know you’re name.”