Looking for a good book with a strong, positive heroine? Love the Brothers Grimm and want a new take on their characters? Just want to read a good fantasy novel? Then look no further, this is the book for you.
The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 1
200 years ago, the Brothers Grimm unleashed their stories upon the world.
Literally. Now the characters of the Grimms’ stories walk among us. With every
day that passes, they grow more evil. They are the Corrupted, and only a hero
can stop them.
For 18-year-old Alice Goodenough, that means taking precious time off from her
summer vacation. In addition to volunteering at the local library, Alice must
stop the Corrupted who are now actively hunting her down. With the help of her
magic pen and her trusty rabbit friend, the world has suddenly gotten a lot
more complex. The Corrupted are everywhere, and only Alice can see them for
what they truly are.
This book contains the first 3 episodes of the critically acclaimed series:
Episode
1: Prince Charming Must Die!
Episode 2: Happily Never After
Episode 3: Revenge of the Castle Cats
Additional features for the print edition:
- An introduction
- Two special “Lost Diaries”
- A behind-the-scenes interview
- A collection of original Grimms’ Fairy Tales
The Grimm Chronicles is intended for Young Adults aged 13 and up. The goal is
to provide Young Adult readers with a strong, charismatic young woman in the
role of the hero and provide readers with a positive protagonist who uses her
brain to overcome obstacles life throws in her way.
Sound cool? Well, here's
a taste to whet your appetite:
Chapter
one: Prince Charming Must Die!
I should have known Edward was
too good to be true.
No. Wait. Let me go back to the
beginning. Before I had this curse. Before I went around slaying creatures that
shouldn’t exist. Before I made friends with a rabbit.
Let’s start at the end of my
junior year of high school. That was when all of this really started. I was
looking forward to summer. I didn’t have a job but I had something even better:
a volunteer spot at the local library. It was the best job in the world—sure, I
mostly just put away all of the books and no, I wasn’t getting paid. But I
loved being inside that old building. From the outside, it looked like a big
old firehouse complete with rusty red bricks a rusted fire escape on one side.
All it needed was one of those big garage doors for the fire truck.
Inside, though … that was where
it all happened. When you walked in through the front door, you passed the
little check-out desk where one of the old librarians would give a smile.
Beyond that: rows and rows of old metal bookcases. Fiction. History. Biography.
Science. In the center of the massive space was a circular table with five
computers, the only hint of technology in the entire place.
Even the light bulbs were old! I’m not kidding—the lights hanging from the
tiled ceiling had old steel shades, something out of the nineteenth century. It
was a good thing the library closed before it got dark because without sunlight
streaming in through the windows, the place might take on a much creepier tone.
But in the daylight, it just
looked neat. On the second floor were
more bookcases, mostly children’s books and young adult books, but there was a
reading room up there, too. I remember going there as a child and sitting on
the red carpet of the reading room and following along as one of the librarians
read one of the children’s novels. My dad sat outside, reading Star Trek books.
I remember the first time I
“graduated” to the first floor. I chose a science book about extinct animals
from long ago. I’d been enraptured by a drawing on the first page where a
long-extinct saber-toothed tiger was battling a ferocious lion. I just knew the
tiger had won because tigers are the greatest.
I remember that time because I’d
almost gone into the basement. The basement door was near the bathrooms and I’d
opened the door by mistake. A cool breeze had touched my skin. It was so dark
that I squinted, trying to make something out. Anything. But it was too dark,
and it gave little 13-year-old me the chills.
The basement. If only I’d known
what was waiting for me down there.
Needless to say, I was ready for
exam week to be over. Even my last class of the day—hardly a class at
all—couldn’t keep me entertained. Fencing. Where other girls chose basic gym
because the rules for roller skating and badminton were relaxed enough to allow
casual gossip, I’d made the choice to fence with six other guys—including my
boyfriend Edward—and a girl named Tina who was on the verge of failing.
“You have to attack,” I told her
midway through class. She’d lost twice already during the week and we were
being graded on our form. Tina didn’t have form. Tina had nothing more than an
amazing ability to swing her sword—called a “foil”—left and right as fast as
possible and delay the inevitable.
“I can’t attack,” she told me,
shifting in the chair. We were in a small weight training room off of the gym.
In front of us, two of the other students were fencing in full gear, their
shoes squeaking on the red rubber mats. “The boys are stronger.”
“Oh gawd,” I muttered. “Look,” I
pointed to the two boys fighting. They were both wearing white uniforms but one
of the helmets had an A printed on the back and the other a B so our
teacher—Mr. Whitmann—could communicate the scores.
“What am I looking at?” Tina
asked.
“Watch Gregg,” I said. “He’s the
A. Watch him parry. See how he always uses the same riposte? He loves stabbing
after he parries.” We watched them attack and parry again, the thin blades of
their fencing swords clanging together. Gregg took two steps back, parrying his
opponent’s attacks. When the time was right, he took the offensive, stabbing
wildly at his opponent’s ribs. “Just watch their shoulders,” I told Tina.
Mr. Whitmann called an end to the
fight and tallied up the scores. Gregg was the surefire winner.
“He’s too good,” Tina moaned.
“All these swords just blur my vision. I can’t even see them coming!”
“Just focus,” I said. “We’re not
losing to a bunch of stinky boys. Gregg doesn’t even wear deodorant, for crying
out loud.”
“Alice,” Mr. Whitmann said,
wrinkling his black mustache. “You can’t keep quiet sitting there? You’re up.
Gregg, you stay on.”
I grabbed the B mask and foil
from the quiet boy who’d just been creamed by Gregg. I adjusted the plastic
chest protector underneath my jacket, much to the chagrin of the boys seat at
the edge of the mat. Edward simply smiled, giving me a thumbs-up. I have to
admit, he looked pretty good sitting there. He was one of the few guys who
could wear the bulky fencing gear with any grace, like he was actually comfortable underneath all the padding.
“En guard,” Mr. Whitmann called
out. I barely had time to get a grip on the foil before Gregg came crashing at
me with all the grace of a football player. I parried his thrusts; the clang of
the swords was almost lost inside the mask but not quite and I relished it. I
loved this moment. I loved the salty smell of sweat inside the mask. I loved
the way the world seemed dark and closed-in from behind the black mesh.
And I loved winning. Especially
against boys bigger than me. And as Gregg came in again, I parried low, pulling
his foil downward, taking a quick step back and then a quick step forward and
thrusting the foil into his chest. The tip of my sword pressed into the
protective jacket and the narrow blade bent in a U-shape.
“Point,” Mr. Whitmann called out.
“Parry-riposte from the right. Good job, young lady.”
“Can you sound more surprised?” I
muttered inside the mask. Mr. Whitmann was a small, portly man with jet-black
hair and hairy arms. He favored the boys; that much was obvious. And he loved
Edward. Everyone loved Edward. From the very day he transferred to Washington
High School, he was universally loved.
Gregg came at me again, this time
swinging his sword even more violently. I parried as best I could, stepping away
from him. He didn’t even have his free hand behind his back, and if our foils
weren’t dulled at the tip I could have nicked the skin of his bare hand. He
left me another opening and I took it, stabbing him in the rib.
“Point B,” Mr. Whitmann said.
“Excellent job, Alice.”
Gregg stepped back, tearing off
his mask in frustration. I took mine off and pulled loose strands of black hair
behind my ears. I glanced at Edward, who was sitting with the other boys,
smiling approvingly.
Later, at the end of the day, he
sidled up to me at my locker. “Do you need help with your books?” Students had
begun sifting out; the only ones lingering were the select few who needed a few
extra minutes to fill our backpacks with notes and textbooks. Our school was
like that: a lot of slackers. Kids who preferred C’s because it allowed more
time to watch awful TV shows. Exam week was even worse because some students
only had one or two classes—plus gym—and then could leave.
I spun around and wrapped my arms
around him, planting a kiss on his lips. He had soft, full lips, perfect for
smooching. “We’re waiting for Tricia and Seth. I told them you would give them
a ride home. Is that OK?”
He smiled, holding me close. “Of
course. Will you spend some time with me tonight?”
How could I say no? Edward was
dreamy. Edward was everything a 17-year-old girl wanted: dark looks, chiseled
body, searching green eyes, short brown hair, and of course an earring to top
it all off. That isn’t to say the earring was the deal-maker—more of a cherry
on top of a tasty sundae.
A really, really tasty sundae.
I’d met him in a strange sort of
way. Well, strange in retrospect. At the time, it couldn’t have been more
exciting. I’d been at the park down by Lake Michigan with a couple friends
right before school started. They’d gone rollerblading and so I took to the
opportunity to knock down a few chapters of a new fiction novel, lying back on
a bench. My eyes slowly shut.
When I woke up, he was standing
over me. In all his hunky glory. Wearing a tight blue button-down shirt. He was
looking down at me like he wanted to kiss me. Yeah.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just
noticed that something is about to flitter out of your purse.”
I glanced down at my black purse
sitting on the grass next to the bench. He was right: a little slip of paper
was hanging out, fluttering in the wind. “Flitter,” I repeated with a smile. “I
like the sound of that word.”
“It used to be quite a popular
word,” he said, crouching down beside me. He was regarding me ... really,
really staring into my eyes. “Royalty used it for a long time. And then when
the peasants started using it, the royalty stopped. Weird, no?”
I laughed. “Do you always walk up
to girls and tell them about the history of words?”
He laughed, too, glancing at the
piece of paper still flittering as the breeze picked up again. “No, no. I don’t
know where that came from. I’m usually much
more awkward.”
I felt incredibly calm around
him, calm enough to sit up and hold out a hand. “I’m Alice.”
“Edward,” he said, taking my hand
in his. “So what is it?” he asked, nodding to the paper. “I bet it’s a shopping
list.”
“That’s so goofy!” I said with a
laugh. “I hate shopping. My mom shops for me.” I winced. Stupid, stupid. “I
mean, I shop for myself. Sometimes. It’s just a note to myself. It says Alice, please remember to return your book
to the library.”
“Ah, a library denizen,” he said.
“Do you go to the downtown library?”
“No,” I said. “I live out by New
Berlin. There’s a little library right by my house.”
“So you go to Washington High,
then?”
I nodded.
“I’m starting there this year,”
he said. “I’m a little nervous. I transferred from out of state.”
“Just keep a list of weird words
handy,” I offered.
He smiled. We talked some more. I
don’t remember what we talked about because my head was swimming with
excitement.
He came up to me the first day of
class. We were leaving English, having been assigned a section of Jane Eyre, one of my favorite classic
novels. Just walking through the crowded hall, I could see eyes on me in every
direction. That never happened before. But now here the mysterious new guy was
talking to little old me, telling me about his original copy of Jane Eyre that he wanted to show me, but
only if I agreed to let him take me out to dinner.
That Friday night, the first
Friday of the school year, we had our first date in a crowded dark little
restaurant in downtown Milwaukee that featured $25 plates and whose walls were
covered with old paintings. I thought I was going to die. Being there with him.
Eating food my parents would be jealous of. Staring at the plastic-wrapped
original copy of Jane Eyre, with “An
Autobiography” in small text underneath the title.
Tricia and Seth met us at the
entrance to the school. Tricia was wearing heels today, which made her an inch
or two taller than Seth. They were both wearing their Washington Dragons
t-shirts to show a little school spirit: the girls’ basketball team—the “Lady
Dragons”—had won the state championships again. Seth looked younger with such a
large shirt on. He was already short, and his boyish pimpled face and short
blond hair didn’t help things. He’d gotten an ear pierced a year ago but it had
become infected and he had to take it out … just Seth’s luck.
“That really doesn’t do much for
your figure,” I said to Tricia with a smile. I turned to Seth. “Yours either,
dear.”
Seth just shrugged. “They were
out of small sizes.”
“I got mine for free,” Tricia
said proudly. She tossed her blond hair over her shoulders. “The cheerleaders
were throwing t-shirts into the stands at the last home game.”
Seth jerked a thumb in her
direction. “Trish reached over an old lady’s head and tore it out of her
hands.”
“I did not!” Tricia said,
slapping him lightly on the arm. This could have been the beginning of a long,
drawn-out fight. That was how they were. It was the complete opposite of Edward
and me: we never fought. I didn’t want to deal with their fight today. I didn’t
want either of them preoccupied before our biology final on Thursday. The only
sensible course was a diversion.
“Are those the jeans we picked
out last week?” I asked.
Tricia lifted up her too-long
shirt, extending one leg. “Indeed they are. Acid wash is going to make a
comeback, I swear it.”
Edward and Seth both laughed a
little. “She’s probably right,” Edward said. “Every style eventually makes a
comeback.”
“Yeah but is she going to live
that long?” Seth asked with a raised eyebrow.
Another playful slap. But this
time, he caught her hand and held it. A good sign that they would stay on good
terms and at least try to get some
studying done tonight. I didn’t want either of them to fail.
We walked toward Edward’s car on
the far end of the parking lot. Nothing but the best for Edward: a great car
and a great parking space. Only the upper-class kids had parking spaces in the
little lot behind Washington High. The rest of us peasants parked on the
streets in the surrounding neighborhood, generally upsetting the owners of the
one-story boxes who liked their street quiet and devoid of teenagers.
“You think it’s gonna rain?” Seth
asked, glancing up at the gray sky. “I’m so sick of the rain. I gotta start
biking to work to save money on gas.”
Tricia wrapped her arm in his.
“It’s going to rain every day you have to work. All summer.”
“That’s the meanest thing you’ve
ever said to him,” I told her with a laugh. Edward’s hand found mine and
squeezed it tight. I felt a little surge of warmth spread across my body. I
looked up at him. He was a foot taller than me, a good six inches taller than
Tricia and she was five-ten. He could have been on the basketball team. I told
him that. He would always respond: “I’d rather spend time with you.”
Dreamy, eh?
In the car, Seth sat up front and
controlled the radio dial with calculated fury, making sure we were never
tortured by any commercials. Edward had one of the nicest cars but he drove in
control and always used his turn signals, even as he was pulling out of the
parking lot.
“You’re such a weirdo,” Tricia
told him when he made a complete stop before pulling out of the parking lot.
“Not even one squealed tire? Really?”
He laughed and gave a little
shrug, turning on the wipers as a small sprinkling of rain started up. “I like
to be safe. It’s a nice car, if you haven’t noticed. With some nice ladies
inside, too.”
“Where?” Seth asked, looking
around.
I kicked the passenger’s seat.
“Be good.”
“I bet if we were wearing low-cut
blouses he’d be nicer,” Tricia said with a smile. We were on 85th
street now, heading away from the city of Milwaukee and toward the little
suburb of New Berlin. “Remember two years ago when we didn’t have chests? I
don’t even think Seth ever even talked to me in the hall.”
“I never talked to anyone in the
hall,” Seth muttered. “Especially girls without chests.”
“I bet I’d still have talked to
Alice,” Edward said, glancing at me in the mirror. His dark eyes narrowed
deviously.
“Probably not,” I told him.
Tricia laughed. “Yeah Eddie, she
really wasn’t much to look at when she was a frosh. See how straight her dark
hair is now? It used to be much frizzier. I had to teach her how to use
hairspray. And this face? Zits. Tons and tons of zits. She needed a lot of
help.”
“It’s true,” I murmured. I’d
smoothed out some of the rough edges over the past two years. My skin was
clearer (although I didn’t tan well) and I’d filled into a slight hourglass
shape. My bright brown eyes seemed brighter now than when I was younger—or
maybe I’d just gotten used to them. I used to hate them. Now, I loved how they
complimented my indigo-friendly wardrobe.
“Every high school student needs
a lot of help,” Edward said with a smile. “Me included.”
“Yeah I think one of your pecks
is smaller than the other,” Seth said, giving Edward a poke in the ribs. Edward
flinched, smiling, but said nothing.
Suddenly he braked, forcing my
body against the seat belt. I looked out the windshield and saw the car of Joey
Harrington pass us.
“What an ass,” Tricia said. “Who
passes someone on a residential street?”
“Joey Harrington,” the rest of us
said at the same time. Joey lived in our neighborhood, too. He kept to his
clique of popular students inside the lunchroom and played football and hockey.
He didn’t talk to us, but he didn’t pick on us either. We were the
in-betweens—not quite popular, not quite outcasts who were the target of
bullies. But we had friends in the outcast cliques, and so Joey and his
friends’ taunts affected us too.
After Edward started dating me
and word had spread, Joey was even nice to me in the hallway. Not overly nice, mind you … but he’d say hi.
And it was hard not to enjoy it.
“You should cut him off,” Tricia
said.
“I’d love nothing more,” Edward
responded. “But not today.”
“Not today,” Seth scoffed. “You
always say that. You’ve got, like, the coolest head in the school. And I mean
that in a bad way, dude.”
“Yeah,” said Trish, “what happens
when you get caught in some drama? You’ll have to take a side. Joey and his
friends and those cool girls are obsessed
with making drama.”
Edward just shrugged. It didn’t
get to him. At least, I don’t think it did. He was cool. He looked cool—calm, I
mean. His short dark hair and square jaw made him look like someone out of an
old black-and-white detective film, one of those guys who’s always thinking one
step ahead.
As we headed farther west, the
houses and properties began to spread out. No more small boxy World War II-era
homes … now, everything was getting bigger. Bigger homes. Bigger front yards.
Bigger cars. We passed Southridge Mall, and then our rival high school. The
street widened into four lanes to accommodate more traffic.
Edward turned right at Cherokee
Drive, weaving around bends in the street. The houses in this small patch of
neighborhood were crowded with pine and maple trees. Everything was green.
Summer was here.
“Your stop, my friends,” Edward
said, pulling into the driveway of a long two-story house with brown siding and
wide windows overlooking the road. This was Seth’s house. You couldn’t see it
from the front road, but in the back yard was one of the most amazing swing
sets out there, complete with a climbing tower and monkey bars. As kids, Seth
and I had logged hundreds of hours on that jungle gym.
Tricia opened her door, then
reached out and grabbed Edward’s shoulder. “So you’ll pick us up tomorrow,
right?”
He laughed. “I promise.”
“Please,” she said. She turned to
me. “Don’t either of you forget. I can’t
miss that exam.”
“You need to focus on passing the exam,” I told her sternly.
“I will.” She smiled her pearly
white smile, then blew me a kiss.
Edward gave a wave to Seth,
pulling out of the driveway and heading back toward 86th Street. On
the way, we passed my house. My parents were both home, their twin Toyotas
sitting in the driveway. Our house was narrower than Seth’s. Taller, too—our
house had two floors. The paneling outside was dark blue and the windows much,
much older. Drafty. Edward had never been inside my house, but if he had he
would have first noticed the draft coming in through the windows. Everyone
noticed that first.
We were quiet for a while. Edward
didn’t talk much. I thought it was sexy; it reminded me of the hunks that
always showed up in the books that all the girls in school read during Study
Hall. The hunks were always silent. Always mysterious. Like Edward. Why he’d
zeroed in on plain Alice was the subject of many guesses.
“Are we going to prom next year?”
I asked him suddenly.
He turned right on 86th
Street. “Of course.”
I leaned back. I wished I’d
gotten in the front seat to be closer to him. I wanted to be close to him
suddenly. To make sure he didn’t disappear.
“What made you think of that?” he
asked.
“I just got this, like, real weird
feeling run over me,” I said. “Like, we’re not going to be together next year
or something.” Give me reassurance, I thought. There were prettier girls in
school. They all liked Edward. They talked to him in class. They tried to make
him laugh because he had a nice smile. OK, I’m being modest. A lot of them
downright fawned over him. I pretended not to see it, but in reality we’re
talking more than a little anxiety. He’d made friends so quickly—that was what
happened when you joined track. The runners were popular.
He didn’t answer at first. Not
exactly what I was hoping for.
“Seriously?” I asked. “No
answer?”
“Of course we’re going,” he said
finally.
“But you hesitated.”
“A lot of things happen over the
course of the year, Alice.” He shrugged. “I’m game if you are.”
“But what?” I asked. “You think I
might not be up for it?”
He didn’t answer. The downside to
having a mysterious boyfriend was sometimes he was mysterious in an annoying
sort of way. The popular girly books never prepare you for that.
“You OK?” he asked finally.
I touched my forehead. “Yes. I
think. I’ve just been having some weird dreams.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember
them well. But I keep waking up in a cold sweat. I know they’re scary, though.
I remember them being scary.”
“Don’t eat pizza before bedtime,”
he offered. “It causes nightmares.”
“Thank you, doctor. That’s really
wonderful advice.”
Farther out at the edge of the
suburb were the much larger houses. These houses were less social than the ones
in my neighborhood: each one had a wrought iron gate and expansive yards and
high fences that acted as a buffer between their neighbors. Each house was
secluded and that, I think, was the way the owners liked it.
They liked their yards, too.
Edward’s neighbor had put in a number of massive green shrubs that had been cut
to resemble animals. Edward’s parents had “installed” maple and ash trees
around the edge of the property to give their mansion—a thick, two-story
monolith with off-white paneling and narrow prison-like windows—the feel of a
cabin out in the woods.
A really, really big cabin.
He stopped the car at the gate,
running his keycard across the little sensor box. The gate opened and he drove
up the asphalt driveway, parking at the side of the house. Up close, the house
looked more “middle class” and less “Super Filthy Rich.” There was a small door
that presumably led to the basement and two green garbage bins that always
seemed to be overflowing. Rain water had stained the red-brick foundation with
ugly black streaks.
“Ugh,” I said, stepping around
the garbage bag sitting on the grass next to the overflowing bin. Food wrappers
and empty orange juice cartons were leaking out. “The raccoons got to it. Don’t
your parents tell you to take out the trash?”
“Every week,” Edward said with a
smile. “I hate doing it. It’s a long walk from the house to the street, if you
haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed,” I said. “You
could almost have your own bus line from the street to your house.”
We walked up the concrete steps
to the front door. Edward pulled out his keys and unlocked it.
“No parents?”
“What do you mean?” he asked with
concern in his voice.
“I thought you said they might be
home today.”
“Tonight,” he said. “Later
tonight. Much, much later.”
We walked into the house. The
front door opened into a massive living room. Near the front door were two blue
couches and a large flatscreen TV smushed against the wall. Over the beautiful
dark gray floral pattern wallpaper. That idea had to have come from Edward’s
dad, I thought. No sane woman would hang something over such beautiful
wallpaper.
Beyond the living room was the
kitchen and a bathroom, the only other two rooms—beside his bedroom
upstairs—that Edward said we were allowed to hang out in. The first floor had
three more rooms, each one filled with things teenagers weren’t allowed to
touch. Edward had shown me one afternoon when he was sure his parents wouldn’t
show up. The first room was full of tall marble statues. Old, old statues.
Statues of goddesses and ancient soldiers and plain-looking figures who had the
curly hair and wardrobe of philosophers.
The second room was full of
paintings, which hung on the wall and were held in place by solid metal frames
whose intricate designs were almost as interesting as the paintings themselves.
Lots of cherubs. Edward’s parents had a thing for cuddly little angel babies, I
guess.
The third room led to the
staircase and the bedrooms upstairs. This room was simpler, with tall solid
wood bookshelves that tempted me every time we snuck upstairs. Books so old
just looking at their delicate broken spines might cause them pain. Books so
old the writing on the covers looked as if it had been inked in a different
language entirely, the font so obscure you had to squint and remember back to
your cursive lessons to figure out each letter. It was beautiful.
We went in there now on our way
to his bedroom. I stopped as I always did, exploring one of the bookshelves
nearest the large staircase pressed against the far wall. My bare toes sank
into the soft red carpeting as I ran a finger along the middle row. This was
the only room with carpeting. It looked old, too, as if it belonged in an
earlier generation.
“Fairy tales,” I murmured. “God,
there must be dozens of books of fairy tales.”
“They’re important,” Edward said.
“Don’t you think?”
“I guess.”
“They are important,” Edward said. “Children need to believe in happy
endings.”
“And Prince Charming,” I added. I
looked up at him. “Right? Prince Charming is real, isn’t he?”
He smiled and kissed me on the
forehead. “Of course, my love.”
“What’s this?” I asked, grabbing
a flat wooden box sitting on one of the shelves. There was glass over one side
and when I saw what was inside, I nearly dropped it.
“Careful,” Edward said, taking it
from me. “They’re just butterflies.”
“Dead butterflies!” I exclaimed, wiping my hands on my pants.
“Stabbed with needles!”
“That’s how they’re displayed.”
“Well, it’s gross. Almost as
gross as spiders.”
He seemed offended, sliding the
box back into the bookshelf between two books. “I have a lot of these, all over
the house, so you might as well get used to them. I collect them. Every
butterfly species is different. They’re all beautiful in their own way.” He
looked at me and smiled devilishly. “I bet spiders can taste the difference,
too.”
My stomach lurched. “Oh that is
so gross. Please stop.”
He put an arm around me. “If you
insist, my love.”
We went upstairs. I know what
you’re thinking, but you’re wrong: I didn’t sleep with him. In fact, I’d never
slept with him. It was strange, especially since we’d been dating for more than
half a year, but I was having doubts about whether we should go that far at
all. He seemed so much more mature than me. He didn’t laugh at Seth’s
ridiculous jokes—he just smiled. He didn’t get excited at the hockey and
basketball and football games we went to—he just clapped. He didn’t goof around
with his track mates in class.
If we were going to have sex, I
wanted to make sure it meant something. And I still didn’t know Edward, not
really … I mean, what about that butterfly collection? What was that all about?
Was he going to work in a museum or something? And I hadn’t even met his
parents yet! Always so busy, running around making money.
We necked. There was nothing
wrong with that, right? His bed was soft. His dark blue sheets felt silky on my
bare toes. His lips pressed against mine, then made their way down to my neck.
This is nice, I thought. This could be every night for the rest of my life and
I would be happy.
His hand crept lower. I let it
happen until he reached my waist, then pulled it back. “Not now,” I said.
“When,” he whispered into my ear.
I could sense the longing. It was hard not to give in. Still, I felt something
was wrong about this moment.
“Soon,” I said. “I promise. I
turn eighteen on Monday, remember?”
He rolled back, sighing. His
tight shirt had rolled up a bit and his strong abs were visible now. I had to
fight the urge to run a hand along them. Gawd, I was fighting a lot of urges.
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “Really.
You’re wonderful. Almost too wonderful.
But I want to wait until I’m eighteen.” There. A little lie, yes, but it would
buy me some time before I had everything figured out. Plus, I’d be a thousand
dollars richer, too.
“It’s OK,” he said, staring up at
the ceiling. “It’s OK. This just feels so right for me, that’s all.”
Yeah. Right. I bet it did,
Edward. I didn’t think any of that at the time, though. At the time, I felt
nothing but shame. Like I’d done something wrong for saying no. Like I should
feel bad because I wasn’t ready to have sex with him. Why wasn’t I? He was one
of the coolest guys in school. He was dark. He was mysterious. And he was mine.
He drove me home in silence. I
fought the urge to apologize. Be tough, I told myself. Be tough. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just because a lot of the kids
in the cool clique talked about sex all the time didn’t make it cool. Or right.
I made it past the kiss goodbye.
I made it past the kitchen, where my mom was sitting at the table reading a
magazine. I made it to my room. Then I cried. I felt as if I’d done something
wrong saying no. I felt as if I was supposed
to sleep with Edward.
Mom came into my room without
knocking. Her soft hand rested on my back and stayed there while I let it all
out.
“It’s hard,” I said into my
pillow.
Mom—ever the understanding one in
these moments—simply affirmed my outlook on life with a quiet “Mmmm-hmmm.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because,” Mom said, “that’s just
the way it is. Life isn’t a fairy tale. It has a lot of ups and downs.”
I sighed, dry-hiccupping. The
tears were gone. If Dad was up here, he’d call this a “woman thing” and maybe
he was right. My cycle had begun acting less on time for the last six months,
ever since I’d started dating Edward. It was nothing spectacularly big—a couple
days early, then a couple days late—but it was incredibly strange given how
rigorous my cycle usually was. I didn’t want to mention that to my mom. Those
types of topics had a tendency to lead to “sex talks,” and I’d had enough of
those. Really, just one or two is enough, Mom.
“You’re starting your new job in
a few days,” Mom said. “Look forward to that. Just get through these last few
exams and then focus on that. I’ll run your pillow case through the laundry
tonight, too.”
“It’s not a job,” I murmured.
Gawd, what a teenager-thing to say. Here she was, trying her best to cheer me
up, and I had to go and pick her words apart.
She was
unfazed. “Books,” she said in her soothing “Mom” voice, “are what you love.”
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9/10 Janiera Eldridge
9/10 Books, Books, and More Books
9/11 My Devotional Thoughts
9/12 Feed My Need For a Good Read
9/12 I am, Indeed
9/13 Mom With A Kindle
9/13 LilyElement Book Reviews
9/13
Mallory Heart Reviews
9/14 Window on the World
9/14 The Bunny's Review
9/17
The Insane Writings of a Crazed Writer
9/17 Jenn's Review Blog
9/18 My Cozie Corner
9/18 Rea's Reading and Reviews
9/19 Dana Cuadrado
9/19
Sharing Links and Wisdom
9/20 The Book Tart
9/20 Close Encounters with the Night Kind
9/20
Waiting on Sunday to Drown
9/20 Cheerful (Book) Reviews
9/21 Geo Librarian
9/21 Mademoiselle Le Sphinx
Author bio:
Ken Brosky received his MFA in writing from the University of Nebraska-Omaha
and lives in Madison, WI. In addition to writing The Grimm Chronicles, he also
spends time writing literary fiction and has been published in magazines
including Gargoyle and Barcelona Review.
Isabella Fontaine calls Wisconsin her home. This is her first Young Adult
series. She once read through the entire dictionary because she wanted to know
more about words!
Find them online:
