The Spirit Keeper
Authors: Melissa Luznicky Garrett
The Spirit Keeper
by
Melissa Luznicky Garrett
The Spirit Keeper Copyright 2012 Melissa Luznicky Garrett
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced, except for brief
quotations, without permission from the author.
The Spirit Keeper is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
events are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Any similarities to actual people, places, or events are coincidental.
Published 2012
Cover design by Damonza
www.Damonza.com
For Hannah, Jacob, and Bridget ~
the keepers of my spirit
Acknowledgments
The publication of this book was a long time coming; about five years in the making, in fact. Most likely it would never have seen the light of day if not for the unfailing support and good-natured pestering of one of my biggest fans, Nova Ordner. When I wanted to give up and shelve Sarah’s story indefinitely, Nova poked and prodded until I finally agreed to give it yet one more go. And I’m really glad I did.
First and foremost, I must thank those early readers who had to wade through some very shoddy work in order to find the heart of the story: Nova Ordner, Lauren Loiacono, Marisa Hopkins, Natalie Allan, Leah Wilds, April Brown, and MaryBeth Mulhall. With your kind and gentle, but no less honest, feedback, I was able to coax and mold this story in to becoming what I’d envisioned all along. Thanks, also, to Anne Riley.
Thank you to Damonza for the exquisite cover design. You were able to capture Sarah Redbird exactly as I imagined her and create a cover that I am so very proud to show off.
Thank you to Emlyn Chand for all you’ve done to pave the way for Indie authors.
Thank you to the multi-talented Lauren Loiacono for the new author photo, and also for putting up with my hysterical bouts of laughter throughout the photo shoot.
Thank you to Ian for your incredible patience while I cried and ranted throughout much of this creative process. Thanks, also, to our children—Hannah, Jacob, and Bridget—for accepting who I am and realizing that
Mommy must have time alone each day to escape to a world of her own making
.
Thank you to the many friends, fans, and supporters I’ve met online. While there are too many of you to name individually, please know that I can’t do any of this without you. Or, rather, I
could
, but it would be very lonely work.
Last but not least, thank you to my readers. Without you, I wouldn’t have a reason for what I do.
Contents
I was going to be late to English.
Again
.
I was standing at my locker, switching out the load of heavy books as quickly as I could, when something cold and hard hit me in the side of the face. My hand instinctively flew to my cheek, but whatever it was had already bounced off and rolled away in the opposite direction.
A grape.
I looked up just in time to see some senior, whose beefy face I recognized, but name I didn’t know, raise his arm and take aim. I didn’t even have the chance to duck.
The grape hit me right at the neckline of my V-neck and disappeared down my shirt. I could feel it wedged between my bra and left boob, but there was nothing I could do but leave it. I wasn’t about to stick my hand down there and dig it out in front of everyone, like I was hunting for buried treasure or something.
Senior Dude was laughing. So was Katie.
I should have known.
Katie Cunningham was the requisite snob of the junior class. She’d been an irritating thorn in my side ever since the fifth grade. Every school has one—the girl who feels entitled to treat others like crap—and Hilltop High was no exception.
“Would you please be so kind as to call off your dog, Katie?” I said through gritted teeth. I could feel the cold wetness of the grape against my skin and hoped it would at least stay in one piece until I could get it out after my next class. I didn’t have time to go to the bathroom now.
Katie raised an over-plucked brow. “Hey Nava
jo
,” she said, punctuating the last syllable as an intended insult. “Don’t forget what Mrs. Raines told you about being late again.”
I slammed the locker door, ignoring the taunt, and hoisted my bag over my shoulder. “Don’t pretend to be concerned about me, Katie. It’s not a flattering look on you. And anyway, you’ll be just as late if you don’t hurry up, too.”
Katie made an ugly face, and Senior Dude flipped me the bird.
“Nice. You two make such a lovely couple,” I said, turning my back on them and practically sprinting down the hall for English.
I scooted around the corner, proud of my rare witty comeback, and entirely missed the leg that jutted out in front of me. One minute I was minding my own business, patting myself on the back as I made my way to class, and the next I had completely face-planted on the scuffed linoleum floor.
And now I had a squashed grape in my bra.
Fantastic.
“Oh man. I’m so sorry. That was totally an accident.”
I looked up to see one of Senior Dude’s friends leaning against the locker, a smirk on his arrogant face. “I’m sure it was,” I said.
I got to my feet, my dignity still somehow intact despite the laughing and pointing going on. I had bit the inside of my lower lip, and the pooling of blood and saliva in my mouth was making me come very close to gagging.
I grabbed my bag and quick-walked to the nearest bathroom to rinse my mouth and take inventory of the overall damage, but more so to escape the laughter.
The constant tormenting didn’t mortify me the way it used to. It just pissed me off. And it
pissed me off
that it pissed me off.
Why did I even care what Katie and her idiot friends thought of me? They were mean and nasty to
everyone
who wasn’t part of their little clique, but I’d been an outsider to them since Day One.
Despite growing up in a town where “Native American” made up less than one percent of the student population, I had never felt out of place. I had never let the color of my skin and hair, or the shape of my mouth and eyes, define me. I had been just
me
. . . until I met Katie. She had singled me out and made it perfectly clear that under no uncertain terms would I ever be like her and her cookie-cutter friends.
The teasing got really bad in the seventh grade. Katie had sprouted long legs and big boobs over the summer break, and I was still wearing a training bra and waiting to get my first period. Things more or less evened out once I hit freshmen year, but none of that mattered. She was still the prettiest of all and had practically every guy eating out of the palm of her hand. But at least I was smarter, a fact from which I took a small amount of comfort.
I was still standing in front of the mirror with a wet paper towel pressed against my mouth when the bell rang. I took another look at my mangled lip and considered making the hike to the nurse’s office across campus. At least she would give me a legitimate excuse for being late. But I dismissed that idea almost as soon as I thought of it. The nurse was a bit of an alarmist and called home about everything, and Aunt Meg tended to worry. She’d probably insist on picking me up and rushing me to the emergency room for stitches. I
so
didn’t need that drama.
Instead, I rifled through my bag for a tube of tinted lip gloss and dabbed some on. I hoped it would mask the damage, even though I could already feel the swelling settling in. As if my lips weren’t big enough already. I sucked in the bottom one and stood back to see if that made a difference. Not a chance. I gave up and instead fished the flattened grape out of my bra, cleaning away the sticky residue as best as I could.