My 2012 year resolutions

1. Write more – goal is 1,000 words a day – not blogs/stories

2. Finish edits on the four novels I sitting on my computer and Indie pub

3. Love more – that means tell my children and hubby every day how much I love them

4. Visit my 100 year-old grandmother more and listen to her stories – they are awesome

5. Try something new – like yoga/meditation

6. Make more date nights with hubby – no children and lots of adult time

7. Make a point of spending more quality time with my girlfriends

8. Plot out and write synopsis for 2nd YA Sci-fi novel and 2nd Titan series (romance)

9. Support more Indie authors – buy books/write reviews

10. Ditch the clutter in my house

Why are your friendships in high school so powerful?

When I wrote Off Limits which is a story about a friendship that develops and grows between two very different girls it brought back what the word friendship meant to me in school. I had one best friend, a city girl who moved to the country and in grade five we became BFFs. Everything about her sparkled. She was like so cool because she used to live in the big city while I grew up in the country.

There was always this ‘other’ friend who hung around with us but I knew she was at the edge of our friendship because of her life and yes, I will say it, her looks. My best friend in high school was the cheerleader type – and yes we did that too in high school – think blonde, blue eyed and a figure I always envied. I was too skinny (wouldn’t I die to reclaim that now), flat chested and had (still have) frizzy hair. By the time we were in high school the friend on the edge was slightly overweight, wasn’t in our academic classes and never tried out for anything. Looking back I know why but it took me spending the night at her house to understand the depths of her life. I suspected she was being sexually abused by her step-father and while she hinted at things that couldn’t be said, I never came out and asked. But what could a 15 year-old kid do? She escaped her home life by getting married to an older man and didn’t finish high school. I totally lost contact, but never forgot her. I often wished I spoken more to her but people didn’t talk about things like that in my community and honestly, I’m fairly certain they still don’t.

And my best friend, I wish I could say the ordeals of high school didn’t rip us apart but they did. At 15 my best friend got pregnant. Her very Catholic mother, who at that time was going through a terrible divorce – they went from riches to rags overnight because of her father – helped her get an abortion – at the time her mom had five young children to deal with and no support. A year later my friend got pregnant again and not wanting to disappoint her mother, she and her boyfriend and my cousin at the time drove to Quebec so she could have an apportion without her mom finding out. I spent the weekend covering for her. I tried to put myself in her shoes and I couldn’t. While I had a boyfriend and yes, I was sexually active at the age of 16, I also went on the pill because I never wanted children (insert laugh here as I know have 4).

I wanted more than anything to escape my small fishing community and I knew going to university, continuing my education was key. Those two abortions deeply affected my BFF for life. I found out years later she was in counseling for her decisions. After high school, I went on to university and she went on to work full-time. Years later I married, she never did (even though I know that was her high school dream) and once I was settled in my life I had many children (she has had none).

I have often wished we could get together to chat about those days but I realize we will never be able to recapture what we had. I truly loved her. She was the girl I shared everything with. I told all about the feel of my first kiss what I aspired to be when I grew up. She was the girl whose house I’d go to when getting ready for a dance and we’d spend hours trying on clothing and doing make-up. She was the girl who showed me how to navigate the city on the weekends showing me it wasn’t all that scary. She was so smart and had such potential that I envisioned us both going to university, rooming together but that never happened.

Since those high school years I have had many other good friends but never have I had a friendship like I did with my BFF in high school. Why is that? Does it have to do with the changes going on in our lives? Does it have to do with all those ‘first’ memories we shared together? I’d like to know what you think. Drop me a comment and you could win a copy of Off Limits.

Off Limits by Renee Pace Debuts Today

Hi everyone:
I'm very excited that Off Limits debuts today on Amazon. This is book two in my nitty gritty series and let me just say it was very hard to write. I wish I could say I grew up in a high school where things like suicide, young girls getting pregnant, drug overdoses and mean girls didn't exist. Sad, because all of that went on and much more. When I wrote Off Limits I wanted to focus on two girls -give them each a unique voice with their own set of problems. What I also wanted to highlight was the force of a real friendship - you know the type. The type of friend you worry about, the type of friend you try to help out when they're down and the type of friend you tell the truth to even if that means it might kill the friendship.

To celebrate my launch - I'm giving away a copy of Off Limits to read. Leave a comment and one lucky person will receive an e-copy of Off Limits.

Off Limits

By Renee Pace
Chapter One

Lindsay

“You coming over tonight, Rebecca?”

I make the question casual, like it’s no sweat off my back if my best friend can’t come over tonight. Inside my gut twists and rolls with the thought of being alone. She plays with her dyed blonde ponytail, pulling the strands tight to her head to fluff it up higher. She’s not paying attention to me. Rebecca’s one focus is Blair. Blair’s main focus is Rebecca. They make me sick.

“Can’t Linds. I’ve got plans.”

I hate that nickname and no matter how many times I ask her not to call me that she doesn’t listen. She dismisses me with a swish of her ponytail and walks over to plant one on Blair’s lips. I cringe with disgust. For the life of me I can’t understand what she sees in him, besides his muscular body. Muscle or not, he’s not something I’m into.

I re-read the text from my mother and resist the urge to type a pleading note back to her not to spend another night away. Mom’s been at a conference all weekend. I had Friday, Saturday and even Sunday night covered. It’s Monday. She was supposed to come home tonight. Now I’m left scrambling for an excuse to spend the night somewhere else or begging a friend to come to my house for a sleepover. Worse, I have to make my impromptu sleepover sound casual, like it’s an afterthought that me, the so-called perfect girl in this Prep school, wants a friend or better yet friends to spend Monday night at her house. No one has sleepovers on Monday. Even I know that. Thing is, I’m all into bucking the trend. Especially when a friend will keep me safe and they won’t even know it.

Taking the time to look at my reflection staring back at me thanks to my handy-dandy locker mirror I reapply my pink lipstick, add a bit more black eyeliner around my bottom lids and flick my long blonde hair off my shoulders. I look cool and sophisticated thanks to Mother’s recent shopping spree and my practiced ‘I’m fine’ look. I’m totally decked out in designer duds, from my shoes to my new hot purple matching bra and underwear, although no one’s going to see that. It’s the top of the line on this bod. But just once I wish I didn’t feel like trash. They say clothes make the woman. My clothes, like the makeup I carefully apply, are my body armor. They protect me and conceal me. Even my scars—carefully hidden thanks to my long-sleeved sweater. They are my shame. My dirty little secret I can’t tell anyone.

Armed with my new Coach purse, another gift from Mother-dearest, I saunter to class. It would not be cool for me to be late so I never am. Appearances must be maintained and just like my good grades, which are totally expected, I play my part to a T.

The class is totally boring and I can’t absorb one freaking word the teacher is droning on about. Something to do with DNA, mitochondria and cellular fusion. I hate biology. You of course would never know that. My last test was a ninety-eight percent and I participate in class even though inside it kills me.

“Mr. Turner, I didn’t catch the last part of what you were saying, do you mind repeating it?” I make sure to bat my eyelashes at him and throw in a flirty smile. Sometimes using the way I look makes me sick. Not today.

“Sure Lindsay, as I was saying…”

This time I take notes. It helps me concentrate on his class, forcing my mind not to wander into that dark place. An itch starts on both of my wrists but I don’t scratch. Scratching would ruin the plastic surgeon’s work and piss my mother off to no end. My mother and I don’t talk about the “incident”. That’s her word, not mine. I have another word I like to use, but uttering that makes her angry. Trust me, that’s not pretty.

We went from Halifax, Nova Scotia to Mexico, just the two of us, but not once did we talk about anything important. The five and a half hour flight might have never happened. But it did. The “incident” happened and now…now, I am supposedly all better. As if! And like all mistakes, we wiped all memories of it clean from our lives. Well, that’s how Mother viewed it. Me, I’m not so sure.

Now we live in Toronto. To say I hate this place would be an understatement. Gone is my tree. The one tree that grew up with me. Mother planted it in our backyard, blubbering away about “us” making our own memories when my father walked out on us. She never once looked back at that relationship, except to look at me. I should have been the wise one. Make one stupid mistake Lindsay and voilà, you’ll get taken away from all you know, including the stupid silly things that shouldn’t matter, but do. Like that tree, which had been on a piece of property in my mother’s family for close to two hundred years. She sold off the acreage to some developer, but not before we trekked an hour back into the bug-infested woods for that damn shrub. Cedar. That’s it. We didn’t think it would survive but that tree did. It grew and grew, so much so, that it became my own special tree. Now, that’s gone. After all the shit that’s happened in my life, I honestly can’t believe I miss that stupid tree.

My mother couldn’t live with the shame of my so-called accident. The reality is she couldn’t live with the gossip and still to this day, a full six months later, she is not interested in learning the truth. I tried to tell her it wasn’t an accident. That didn’t go so well.

“What did he say?”

Without turning my head I answer Megan. She’s sitting next to me, only because she got assigned that seat. Megan, with her mousy-brown hair, is about as boring as you can get. The cosmetic ladies would have a field day with her face. I bet she doesn’t even own lip gloss. I look at her for a good twenty seconds.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

“You doing anything tonight?” I turn my head slightly, giving her a bit of my attention but not all of it. Inside my head I am still going through all my friends, trying to figure out who might say yes to coming to my house tonight. Most of my friends have cheerleading practice on Monday night. Since I couldn’t even try out for the team because of my “weak” wrists lie, I’m not on it. Neither is Megan.

She hasn’t answered me, so I’m forced to look at her. “Megan, you busy tonight?”

She gives me a puzzled expression. “No. Why?”

“Want to come over?”

“Over. Like, as in to your house to do homework or something?” I can’t help notice how her uni-brow furrows in frustration and she’s got a pack of whiteheads on her nose that could seriously use some medication. What she really needs is a good makeover. Oh. My. God. I am a genius.

I move my chair slightly closer to her. “Look, come to my house tonight and we’ll give each other makeovers.”

Her eyes widened and honestly the biggest smile on the planet lights up her face. I feel like a heel. What the hell am I thinking? Oh, I know; I’m not thinking. I’m desperate. I can’t believe Megan is my last hope.

“Sure. That would be great. I can come over for a bit.”

A bit. I need her to commit for the night. “I was thinking…you know, there’s nothing going on…why don’t you spend the night?” I gulp. It’s too late to swallow back the words but I know I have just committed social suicide. For a second I wonder which is worse—home alone or having Megan over.

“A sleepover?”

Thank god she asks the question in her whisper-like voice. “Yeah,” I nod. “A sleepover, that’s a great idea.” I am so royally screwed. I made her think sleeping over at my house was her idea. It’s not, but if it will get her to commit, I don’t care what she thinks.

“You sure?” she asks.

Not really, but I don’t have anyone else to ask and you’re my last hope. I nod, making sure my smile is bright and full, stretched taut across my face. I notice she’s still taking notes. How the hell can she concentrate on this boring stuff when my guts feel like they are being twisted into pretzel shapes?

“Just you and me, tonight at my house for a makeover. Come around six and we’ll have time for a movie later.”

“You sure your parents won’t mind? It being Monday night and all.”

“My mother’s away at some stupid work conference. And my stepfather doesn’t care what I do.” And that’s the truth. He only cares about one thing but that’s not going to happen—if she comes over, that is.

“You are so lucky. By the way, I don’t have any makeup to bring.”

“Don’t you worry. I have enough stuff to outfit my own store. When I’m done with you tonight you can take whatever you want home with you.”

“I wish I had your life.”

I gulp. A flash of terror slides through my skin at her words. If she knew my real life, if she knew what went on in the dark, when Mother’s not home, she most certainly would not want my life. I can’t say anything for a full minute. Instead, I start to take notes again. My heart’s hammering away and sweat glides down my new shirt. I’m glad now I put on my sweater.

“You okay?” she asks.

“You bet. Just plotting out in my head what we’re going to do tonight.”

The bell rings. Class is over. I gently close my laptop. No one carries scribblers or school books at this school. It’s high-tech all the way. The sickening part is that with it being mid-morning, religious class is next. I am not one bit Catholic, even though my mother said we were. I fake my way through religious class much like how I pretend being happy. Guess I learned how to lie from a pro. The worse part about my next class is with it being Monday it’s mandatory confessional. Honestly, some of my best lies take place in the privacy of a wooden closet. Just me and the priest, separated by a silly wooden barrier. I should journal some of the “indecent” things I confess. They sound exciting even to me so, I can just imagine the hard-on they give that fat, disgusting priest. If there’s one thing I have learned in the past year it’s how to spot a pervert. Trust me, he’s just like Greg, my stepfather, who ever since I turned fourteen has snuck into my room to show me his idea of loving. The concept of that type of love is not something I want. If that’s loving, I will take hate any day.

I know something the priest and most of my fellow students don’t know. There is no hell in the afterlife. I’ve been there. Died for a good three minutes. I didn’t feel a thing. Only this life is living hell.

“See you at six,” I remind Megan, as we casually join the mass exit from class.

“Can’t wait,” she says.

I can’t help noticing the bounce in her step. It should make me happy. It doesn’t. I don’t even like Megan. She’s a pathetic excuse for protection but she will have to do.

Freaks of Greenfield High - If you liked Terminator you will love this YA book

Freaks of Greenfield High by Maree Anderson is a great YA cross between the Terminator movies and the Sarah Connor TV show. I devoured this book in two nights. It totally played out like a movie in my head. Anderson’s descriptions of cyborg Jay were amazing. I especially loved that Jay was a girl, trying to learn how to cope with new situations while learning more about humanity. I loved how Anderson added human angst to Jay who was trying to cope with blending in while playing being human. And Tyler and his twin sister had their own problems but friendships are the underlying theme in this book. It was fast paced, riveting, real teen language that I loved and I didn’t want it to end. I seriously hope Anderson will write a sequel featuring more cyborgs. I don’t have a rating system but this YA book is a must read.


Check out Freaks of Greenfield High at http://amzn.com/B005M9TC3K. This book is a .99 cent read. Read other books by Anderson at http://www.mareeanderson.com

Book Blurb:

When a teenage cyborg is forced to hide out at a small-town high school, the unthinkable happens: she falls in love.

Jay’s a cyborg who looks just like normal teenage girl. She’s super-strong, super-smart, and she can even appear to grow and age like a human. When a covert organization intent on using Jay as a weapon comes after her, she needs to find a place where she can blend in. Greenfield High seems perfect… except that the boys all think she’s totally hot and keep hitting on her, and she has no clue how to handle the attention. Who knew high school could be so perilous?

To add to her confusion she’s evolving - experiencing human emotions for the first time. And when she encounters ex-jock-turned-outcast Tyler, he sends her logical brain into a spin. She’s just starting to get the hang of this girlfriend/boyfriend thing when her pursuers track her down. Now’s sooo not the time for a cyborg to fall in love and get all emotional!

Joined 4 other talented writers to form YA Beyond: Breaking Boundaries

I am very excited that I’ve joined with four other talented multi-published authors to form YA Beyond: Breaking Boundaries (www.yabeyond.com). This site will highlight everything teen related. We are a diverse group and our writing styles vary as much as our experience in the writing field. Like many young adult writers we’re all using pseunonyms. For me, Renee Pace, is a reclaiming of my maiden name and I couldn’t be happier writing YA under my birth name. I’m a mother of four children, three boys and then our girl and I’ll soon gab about how that little girl came to be but the journey to writing for all us began first with our love of reading.

I read a ton of books. I usually read at least three books a week. Books are everywhere in my house. Picture my night table by my bed piled high with books and that’s me. Magazines also fill my bathroom but books line my bath tub – nothing makes me happier than a long hot soak, glass of wine and a good book. This habit is something two of my boys have developed – minus the wine so far but I encourage reading at a young age and so what if I had to fork out $30 for the last book my 10 year-old dropped in the tub – he was in there for an hour reading – such a wonderful gift we can pass to our children. If I’m falling in love with a book I’ve been known to sit on the sofa all evening reading, somehow the children’s homework gets done and usually I’m oblivious that the TV was left on.

This brings me back to yabeyond. We’re going to be frank and honest and talk about teen issues, the joy of writing teen stories, how we do research, books we love, how to encourage healthy teen living, talking about those hard topics like sex and drugs with your teen, how writers get pulled in many directions but must learn to manage time and much more. I can’t wait to showcase some new and exciting YA Indie authors I’m discovering. I’m hoping we can get them to do guest blogs later on. And most importantly we’re trying to reach out to teens. The biggest question YA authors have is how do we get our books in teen hands? It’s not a simple question but I’m a firm believer in engaging teens in reading and the creative process.

My 13 year-old son is reading my first YA novel Off Leash and besides being a bit shocked at how much he’s liking it (again he’s my teen) one of his nicest comments was how my writing reminds him of Eric Walters – that would be his fav author and one I’m sure I’ve helped finance a trip somewhere considering I always go out and buy all his books asap for my teen. So saying that I realized I had never read an Eric Walters book. Since he has an entire bookshelf of his books I’m about to fix that.

So let me say a huge shout out to fellow www.yabeyond.com bloggers:

Cat Kalen author of Pride’s Run and debuting soon Pride Unleashed, an edgy paranormal

Tawny Stokes, author of Static, and Demon Whisperer, dark paranormal YA stories that will leave you breathless

PJ Sharon author of Heaven is for Heroes (so loved this book), On Thin Ice and debuting in 2012 Savage Cinderella

Anne Rose, who is a multi-published author under a name and the best writing coach ever – she recently launched TheRedPenCoach and Anne is working on her first sci-fi YA – which I have to say is great!

December 1 is out debut day on www.yabeyond.com. We’re also on twitter@yabeyond. We’re hoping to hear from many of you.

Day 24 and Nano Panic Has Set In

Day 24 of Nano and yes the panic has set in. I’ve got 33,000 words written in my third nitty gritty novel, Off Stroke and I’ve hit the part where I’d like to rest and go back and edit. Yeah, you read that right, edit. But alas if I go back I won’t finish. And now I’m calling it that damn book, that’s what happens when the pressure is on.

I will confess I’m writing this book by the seat of my pants. I’m not a plotter but I usually know the beginning and ending of the books I’m writing. Off Stroke is going to surprise me. I can feel it building. My characters have done their intros and we’ve passed that first kiss scene, which is a first for me in my YA writing journey and we have moved into the nitty gritty reality of life. When I left my characters this morning Eje, my main guy, had just had the crap beaten out of him. Finally. I could sense it coming but wasn’t sure how or the circumstances to they why. But I had faith in my voice and the creative process. And now I’m excited.

The tension is building between Eje and Shannon, the lines are being drawn in the sand to speak but will their friendship survive all the obstacles I’m going to throw their way (insert evil laugh here). This is where the pace is going to pick up. Tomorrow another 2,000 words to plug out so I’ve got six more days to reach 50,000. Okay, yeah I’m totally worried, but this book will be done by the first week of December, and hopefully by then I’ll have nailed down the ending.

And the good news is my cast comes off Dec. 1st - so excited! I'm seriously hoping they'll put me either in a boot cast or let me attempt to walk on two legs. This will be my best Christmas present.

Marketing Update for Off Leash

On October 8 I launched Off Leash as two books. I sold 4 copies in total at $2.99 with 70% royalty rate. I also quickly realized this angle was not going to work. Offering the book with two endings selling it as two different books was saturating my market and sales. So a few days later I reworked both books into one book –Off Leash: Bonus Content and tagged the nitty gritty ending on as the 2nd ending all in one book. My stats at this point remained about 80,000. I also changed the price to .99 cent which meant a drop in royalty to 35%.

Marketing: Fired off queries to about 10 YA blog sites asking if they’d read an e-Arc of Off Leash.

Three YA blog sites responded. Again good exposure but no increase in sales.

Blog: I attempt to be more active with blogging and reading more YA books.

Twitter: I made it a point to really up my tweets and start following more YA authors/bloggers. Not sure if this increased sales but this is something I enjoy and again it’s tied into exposure. I also make it a point to always respond to 4-6 people when I log in. Whenever someone starts to follow me I also send them a note of thanks.

Goodreads: I joined and added a number of YA/Indie groups. I confess here I find it hard to utilize this site for promotion so would welcome any helpful hints. Even getting my book listed on Goodreads was hard.

Digital Book Today – On November 7 Off Leash was posted. In order to get posted you need at least 5 reviews (this can be very hard to get for an Indie author), but once I got them I fired off a note and they agreed to feature it. This was free.

The Frugal E-Reader – Launched Off Leash on Nov. 6th – the double exposure really helped to move Off Leash up to the Top 100 Amazon Kindle list. In terms of sales all together that day 6 books were sold.

The Kindle Daily Deal – This was my first paid ad at $59 (US). It was worth it. I sold 23 books and moved as high as #13 on the Top Amazon Kindle List for Best Children’s Books for Boys and Men. Four days later I was still ranked in the Top 100. This was great for exposure. A lot of new people on twitter started to follow me also.

Total sales todate: 38 books

What’s next?

I booked a Pixel of Ink ad for Off Leash which is about $119 (US) and I’m slated for Dec.10, 2011 – this is perfect timing. My second book, Off Limits I hope to have live on Dec 5th and I’ll be keeping that priced at $2.99 with 70% royalty in the hopes of making more sales.

Goodreads – goal is to better utilize this site

Facebook – attempt to get more exposure about the series through my Renee Pace site

Twitter – continue doing what I’m doing

YA reviews sites – research more and attempt to get more reviews – nice to have 20 reviews so I can approach other Kindle Nation sites that require this.

Locally – Mail my print copy of Off Leash to local Teen Magazine so they can have one of their teen reviewers read and post a review – aim is January.

Emailed my local library asking them to purchase a copy for their collection. Also emailed library to see if they’d be willing to host a local YA Indie group workshop – still waiting for reply.

RWA Takes the Spotlight off First time Author Sales

It’s Sunday morning and when my children were younger Sunday wasn’t so crazy. Now it’s filled with the race to make it to Church on time, soccer practice and usually a basketball game. I still crave my early morning reading time so this morning I picked up the latest November RWA magazine and sat down to read it. I always read the “Sold” section because I’m applauding all those wonderful authors who got their first sale. But then I turned the page and read the article called, “What Constitutes a Sale?”. I read the article a few times because honestly it wasn’t clear to me.
The article goes on to cite the definition of sale and then states how historically authors were paid an advance on signing which earned them the right to be listed in the First Sales column, and wear a ribbon recognizing their efforts at conferences. It further states, “It is a big step to move from the ranks of unpublished to published.” Yeah, you heard it but there’s a huge but coming up. The gist of it is that based on 778 first sales published in the RWR since 2007 only 65% of sales – meaning authors here – did not make $1,000 to qualify for PAN membership.

But at the end of this article I was left scratching my head. “…RWA is changing its recognition of a member’s first sale.” Really, how? The article left me hanging, so I guess I’ll have to wait until December to find out how they’re going to showcase first sales.

Here’s the thing that bugs me. If RWA doesn’t like the terminology of the words First Sales – how about Recognition of Authors Hard at Work? Okay, maybe that title sucks but surely some marketing RWA guru can come up with something jazzy that can truly shout out to me, the RWA reader, look what your fellow writers have accomplished this month. And, isn’t that the purpose of RWA? To support authors, encourage writers to keep on writing, showcase marketing trends, and talk about the changes in the publishing industry.

I think many RWA authors if you asked them started the journey of writing books firstly for the love of writing. Sure making money is great but tying a specific amount to what qualifies you as a writer, to honor your first book deal, is honestly none of RWA’s business. What RWA should be doing is what I did this morning—applauding all those writers who wrote a book and sold it. That’s a lot of hard work and worth a lot more than the $1,000 profit you are supposed to make.

I would like to see RWA stop nickelling and diming writer’s accomplishments and get with the program. I think RWA should read the article a little later on called, “Keeping Readers for Life” and think how they can best work on keeping members for life.

Heaven is for Heroes by PJ Sharon - Great YA Read for Remembrance Day

I have tears in my eyes again. I just finished P.J. Sharon’s amazing YA book Heaven is for Heroes and I think it’s only fitting that on Remembrance Day I highlight it. Heaven is for Heroes starts off with a funeral but quickly becomes a journey for both Alex (aka Coop) and Jordan who both have to learn to get over the loss of Lee, brother to Jordan and friend and marine buddy to Coop.


I loved how the book took me inside Jordan’s head, from her trying to be normal, wishing to uncover the truth about her brother’s death to her growing feelings for Coop and her struggling sense of what the future holds for her. There’s such struggle between Coop and Jordan that I was rooting for them from the get go to get together, but I’m not going to tell you how this ends because it’s worth reading every page of this book.

I loved how Sharon was descriptive with her prose, so much so, I could picture Coop trying to learn how to cope with one leg, how often he cursed at the nurses and at himself. Guilt is a huge layer in this book but it doesn’t take away from the fact that Jordan and Coop are teenagers wanting to explore each other like any normal teens. Those awkward ‘almost’ moments were precious.

For anyone who has family in the military this book is a great teen read, and for those that don’t it certainly will give you a true appreciation of how the effects of war reach well beyond the people who fight in them. For a person who has never read a YA book about an injured marine, I highly recommend this book.


For more information on PJ Sharon and her books check out http://circlepad.com/pjsharon/Books

Purchase link -

Heaven Is For Heroes by PJ Sharon Permalink: http://amzn.com/B005NWRLCU

Pride's Run Review- YA Psychological Thriller of a Read

Cat Kalen’s debut YA book Pride’s Run is a wild rollercoaster, paranormal psychological thriller. The minute I started reading I fell in love with Pride—a strong, wounded teen wolf who craves freedom more than anything. But freedom at the cost of her fellow friends who are still trapped in a crazy man’s state-of-the-art military styled prison won’t cut it for her.

Pride might have been born as the runt of the litter in the puppy-mill prison but she’s anything but weak. She’s pride of heart and mind and her journey from the compound, through the wilds of a National park and her exploration of discovering “herself” were honest, heart-wrenching and powerful.

Kalen did an amazing job drawing me in to Pride’s wolfish nature and her attention to detail blew my mind. I don’t want to spoil things for other readers but I loved Logan, the alpha male teen who encourages her to embrace both the female side of her and her wolf side. I equally loved bad wolf teen, Stone. Reading Pride’s Run felt like watching a great paranormal teen movie and I want more. Can’t wait for the sequel, Pride Unleashed.

Accomplishments: Defining them in the grand scheme



All 4 of my accomplishments on our Disney trip last year.
Notice teens grimacing.

 I got thinking this morning about what I could write as my blog this week and then it hit me how much I didn’t get accomplished. I must have said this out loud because hubby promptly told me to get real. He cited I can’t move but still seem to manage the household of four kids and himself (insert here he’s going out of his mind) and Off Leash made it on an Amazon Top 100 list on Monday.

 

Yes, topping that list thrilled me. Was it my accomplishment? You bet. I realize trying to keep up on all the marketing opportunities for Indie authors is hard work. But in the grand scheme of my life that ranking doesn’t top this list.

 

• Getting accepted to Dalhousie University - leaving home and not going back
• Securing my first job which enabled me to rent a room in a house -granting me independence
• Getting accepted to Ryerson University's Journalism program - omg moment for me!
• Finding true love – lots of little loves along the way but they don’t compare
• Saving money for first starter house down payment – not dream home but it was mine
• Giving birth to four healthy children – I have endometriosis so I had to have surgery before conceiving and viola
• Trip to Europe with little money and one child in tow
• Deciding to become a stay-at-home mom (really no choice with 4 couldn’t afford cost of daycare)
• Sticking with hubby when I’d like to pull a Thelma and Louise because true love is powerful even when teen issues kill
• Writing first book and securing an e-publisher
• Securing a job I love now after 10 years out of the market
• Writing more books after that first one
• Writing Off Leash – facing my demons and starting something new!

 

 What do you consider your accomplishments? I’d love to hear them.

 

 

 

 



 







Nitty Gritty YA Writings: Off Leash - Top 100 list on Amazon

Nitty Gritty YA Writings: Off Leash - Top 100 list on Amazon

Off Leash - Top 100 list on Amazon

Talk about waking up to a great Monday morning. First I get an email that Off Leash is featured on Emlyn  Chand's Books You'll Adore Section - very exciting.

And, then I get an email that Off Leash just made Amazon's Top 100 list for Best Children Boys & Men's Books. To say I'm over the moon would be an understatement!

This totally makes up for my major nightmare last night and lack of sleep. This still means thought I've got to pound out 2,000 words this morning for the third book in my nitty gritty series, Off Stroke.

A Poem Dedicated to my grandmother who turns 100 today!

Me with my leg propped up in a cast on a
chair with my greandmother, who today turned 100!

A blink of an eye – 100 years has gone by


In 1911 with the cold November wind Susan Thelma MacKenzie was born.
A hundred years have passed and life as she knew it changed.
Gone are the horse drawn wagons, buckets full of well water and candles lighting the way.

First it was electricity, trams, cars, the talkies and then black and white TV’s.
Two world wars later, the Halifax Explosion, the 1930’s depression
Thelma, like the tides of Clam Bay which had been her home, survived.

She married, had six children and called the North End of Halifax home.
Furs were fashionable, and making do was the norm.
Christmas was about family, not the presents.

Back to the country, another house built by hand.
Children aged and found their own way. Granny Mac was said to have yelled a lot.

It’s a parade of color now.
Techno-color movies with famous stars like Elizabeth Taylor and Grace Kelly fairy tales coming true. Color TV, vinyl records, and cars fill the now-paved roads where once forests grew.

Two bridges span Halifax Harbour.
Years and seasons pass and it’s tapes, VHSs, DVDs, computers, Internet and HD-TV.
Through it all Thelma smiles.

She’s surrounded by grandchildren who care about picking blueberries and flowers.
Hand in hand she walks with them, up the country road, around another bend, it’s always a “Once Upon A Time Stories,” when tucked tight and snuggled in her bed at night.

One hundred years and the world has changed.
But Thelma taught me much remains the same.
It’s not the things that define us rather
Family, love and caring—those are the traits of a life well lived.


Happy 100th Birthday, Gram
-Love Renee, November 6, 2011

Comparing Ankle Surgery to Launching an Indie Book

Two of my children have signed leg. They think it's cool - it's soooo not!

Well it's been 12 days that I've had my right ankle reconstructed and now it’s in a cast and 34 days since I launched my first Indie publication Off Leash. I thought I'd do a comparison for what I've learned going through both processes:

Ankle: Two years ago incident happened
Off Leash: Two years of edits

Ankle: Saw 3 doctors before finding right one
Off Leash: Sent mss to about 21 agents/5 publishers

Ankle: 1 year to convince specialist to do surgery
Off Leash: Jan 2011 enter Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest- 5 month ride

Ankle: Called 8 months in a row specialist secretary to
Off Leash: Send full mss to 3 agents who requested all - happy

Ankle: get on surgery list -1st step and feeling good
Off Leash: Get email from Westside Book – excited

Ankle: Get call  for surgery in June, due to work have to cancel
Off Leash: Get 2nd email Westside Books – they are closing -want to cry

Ankle: Get second surgery call for Oct – accept it.
Off Leash: Decided enough – going Indie route – start research

Ankle: July research cadaver surgery – refused to watch video on it.
Off Leash: Book cover artist, figure out ISBN stuff, join Indie groups

Ankle: Stressing: book other moms to get my kids to school
Off Leash: Oct 3 launch Off Leash on Smashwords/Amazon with different endings

Ankle: Crazy mom in overdrive: clean house/freeze suppers, etc
Off Leash: Send 7 queries off asking YA review sites if they’d like ARCs

Ankle: 1 wk before surgery almost talk myself out of it
Off Leash: Oct 18 want to puke: 2 copy idea not working so cancel both

Off Leash: Create Off Leash: Bonus Content and start relaunch – Oct 19
Ankle: Oct 24 – on my own walk into surgery and wait

Ankle: Surgeon says cancelling; hospital has no bed. I talk him into sending me home - it's a go!
Off Leash: Send out queries for author interviews/start marketing.

Ankle: Puke my guts out/get home/living on pain killers
Off Leash: Slow process, getting booked for interviews, feeling more positive

Ankle: Move from bed to sofa
Off Leash: Taking positive approach: nothing ventured, nothing gained

Ankle: Recovering for 12 days
Off Leash: 2 of my boys want to lend voices for audiobook. Excited.

Ankle: House is a mess, kids trying to be helpful, feeling lonely
Off Leash: Messy house & feeling not so lonely as Indie author

 Today I'm also being interviewed at http://teacherwriter.net/2011/11/05/interview-with-renee-pace-author-of-off-leash and would love for you to stop by and comment.

Self-publishing - not sure Chapters/Indigo Know the meaning of the word

Okay, let me say the words self-publishing obviously means different things to different companies – notice I didn’t say people. Since I launched my own Indie publication Off Leash here is what I’ve learned. Getting your indie book into stores is hard.

Last night I tried to get Off Leash into Chapters/Indigo and because they have a bold Self-publishing icon I clicked on that. I read everything, filled in the information and then got my phone call this morning. Here is the jest of it. After I’ve forked out my own money for a cover artist and editor Chapters/Indigo would like me to pay them $599 for their basic self-publishing package which is managed through iuniverse. Oh, yeah, I totally get the I in iuniverse because they own the universe of Chapters/Indigo I’d like to get my book into. That was the basic price structure and trust me it went up from there.

When I spoke with the nice lady on the phone, who I know is just doing her job, I asked her if many people use this service. Hundreds of thousands of people do, she said. Tell me again how this is self-publishing? She told me they’d list my book in their Chapters/Indigo catalogue, ensure book placement in the store and do some marketing. Really if I paid the $4,000 package I’d like you to bark just like my dog Ollie does in Off Leash and shout out “for sale” every five minutes because then just maybe I might make some money off my book. Iuniverse does pay royalties, the polite-lady said. So what?

According to the lady all traditional publishers have to pay to have their books listed in the Chapters/Indigo catalogue. Really, I’m not sure, but again, I clicked on the self-publishing icon meaning I’m not a traditional publisher. I can’t get my head around this.

I explained to her how Smashwords work (FREE and hat’s off to them – they have been great) and how Amazon.com works and yes they do offer platform pricing for more distribution channels but it’s about $40 not hundreds of dollars. She didn’t comment. Why would she? The only person in this self-publishing relationship making money seems to me to be iuniverse.

Now that I know what takes place when I read all those lovely book excerpts on Chapters/Indigo’s marketing site about the “authors that made it” I realize they have something I don’t—money already lining their pockets. Those books don’t look so shiny and great to me anymore.

Farsighted by Emlyn Chand - great journey of a read

I loved Farsighted by Emlyn Chand by the end of the first page when I realized Alex the main character in this adventure out-of-the-ordinary story is blind. It was obvious to me that the author spent a lot of time around blind people because she was able to not only convey what he saw, by not seeing but by hearing and listening to the empty spaces.

Alex is like any boy going into his sophomore year in high school. He wants to do well, have a real friend and nothing to do with his parents, or in this case, more his father. When a psychic lady takes over the shop next to his mother’s flower shop this opens the story to intrigue. And, when the new girl in town, Simmi enters the school, for the first time Alex feels he might be able to have a real friend.

The ironic thing with Alex is he has second sight and when his hallucinations take over he must rely on his senses to determine what’s real and what’s not. Farsighted takes the reader on a journey into mystism, the occult, psychic powers and a boy transitioning from boyhood to adulthood with real responsibilities. I especially enjoyed the fumbling love triangle Alex starts to develop.

Chand did a great job overlaying his blindness and grasping me into the type of world he lives in. I loved that she conveyed how anger tastes to him and how he starts to understand his hallucinations by different smells.

I will say that this is a book I wanted to hold in my hands. I wanted to be Alex, let my fingers glide over the chapter headings, feel the weight of the paper just like he does when reading and take in the smell of the book. I sincerely hope this book becomes available for the blind. I also thought this would make a great audio read book.

Emlyn Chand

The book is a journey and I highly recommend readers to embark upon it.

• Farsighted on Amazon > http://ow.ly/75HvL


• Farsighted on GoodReads > http://ow.ly/75Hwo

Don’t forget to check out the official Farsighted tour page.

http://www.emlynchand.com/

Cry Me A leg of Tears

So we're into day three of post-recovery and hubby goes to library and brings me home Punkzilla by Adam Rapp, Just Another Hero by Sharon Draper and Broken by Alyxandra Harvey-Fitzhenry. I start to cry and he's all concerned but when I finally tell him why he just laughs. Ugh, he doesn't get it.

This is my week of hell. Thirty minutes before my Monday surgery my period shows up bright and bold just to make sure I'm not nervous and have more to think of than my upcoming ankle being ripped open. Picture me quietly trying to tell the person about to put me totally under that my period just started - picture a guy about 45 here and you see my dilemma. I then asked for the nurse and she lovingly told me she would take care of me - and she did, but seriously I had to tell them or else they'd wonder why I'm bleeding everywhere beside my ankle and since I have a bleeding problem well you get the picture. And today I woke up with a cold, so me and my pile of used Kleenex are growing. But the crying - that's because as I'm skimming Punkzilla I realized it's a Candlewick Press book. Let me just say here that between Flux and Candlewick Press books I'm in heaven and Candlewick really liked Off Leash but they went out of business. So now do you all get my crying!

How am I going to survive this? It hasn't even been a week and I'm totally bored of my living room and watching the birds (okay, I do like that but unless a freaky out of nova scotia bird shows up, I'm not getting excited anymore with the blue jays, hairy or downy woodpeckers or the white capped nut hatch) and all I can do is lug myself to the washroom, and while I like Jericho, I can't watch more than 3 episodes. I did manage to write 700 words and yes my girl in the story is recovering from an accident, had to put that in, as I can totally relate to my character now, but soooo bored. I keep thinking 11 more days and this first cast gets off and then 6 weeks in the other cast and somehow, just somehow I am going to take a damn bath (even if I have to wrap my frigging leg in a tarp).

So this is my rant of woes. All of this came about because of Punkzilla which I'm starting to read tonight.

Pride's Run by Cat Kalen amazing YA debut novel

I am so excited. My good friend is launching this amazing YA book and while she's a published author, like me in another genre, this is her first venture into the Indie YA market. This book I couldn't put down.

Coming November, 2011


Blurb

Seventeen year old Pride is a tracker—a werewolf with a hunger for blood. Taught to trick and to lure, she is the perfect killing machine.

Kept leashed in the cellar by a master who is as ruthless as he is powerful, Pride dreams of freedom, of living a normal life, but escape from the compound is near impossible and disobedience comes with a price.

When she learns her master intends to breed her she knows she has to run.

But Pride soon learns that if she is to survive in the wild, she must trust in the boy who promises her freedom, the same boy she was sent to hunt.

With life and death hanging in the balance the two find themselves on the run from the Paranormal Task Force—officers who shoot first and ask questions later—as well her master’s handlers.

Can Pride flee the man who has held her captive since birth and find sanctuary in the arms of a boy who has captured her heart? Or will her master find her first?

Chapter One

California Wine Country

August 23rd, six days until full moon

The click of the lock at the top of the stairwell is my only indication that morning is upon me. My ears perk up and I listen for the coming footfalls. The weight on the stairs combined with the creaking of each wooden step will let me know which handler has come for us this time, which unlucky puppet has drawn the short straw and is stuck with letting the dogs out, or in this case, the werewolves.

Sure, he’ll come sauntering down the stairs sporting a brave face and looking at me with cold, dark eyes meant to intimidate. But the wolf inside me can smell his inner fear. Despite the fact that I’m the one caged, underneath the handler’s cool, superficial shell he’s the one who’s truly afraid.

A long column of light filters down the stairs and I blink my eyes into focus as the bright rays infiltrate the pitch black cellar. I don’t really need to blink. Not with my exceptional vision. But I do it anyway because sometimes I simply like to pretend I’m a normal seventeen-year-old girl, one who can’t see in the dark. It’s nonsense, I know. I’m not fooling anyone. Least of all myself.

The door yawns wider and before the first heavy boot, soiled with old blood that he’ll pass off as wine stains, hits the top step, my senses go on high alert. I never know what morning will bring—or who will bring it.

A breeze rushes down the stairs ahead of the handler, carrying the aroma of the grand estate with it. I push past the metallic scent of dried blood to catch traces of grape juice in the air, a common smell on the majestic vineyard—that and illegal drugs, the estate’s real source of income. Going beyond those familiar fragrances, I breathe deeper and get hints of fresh bread baking in the upstairs kitchen. It must be Thursday. Mica, the estate’s cook, always bakes on Thursday.

In my human form I roll onto my side and lean toward the smell. Wistfully, my tongue darts out and brushes over my bottom lip. There is something about that scent that always entices me and before I can help it I envision myself eating a warm slice covered in rich creamy butter, crispy on the outside, moist and tender on the inside.

My nostrils widen, but I know the bread isn’t meant for me and not even one delicious crumb will pass over my dry lips. Not unless Mica sneaks it to me. As much as I’d love to taste her offerings I don’t like it when she takes chances for me. Disobedience is far too risky for the aging housekeeper. Despite that, my stomach growls in response to the aroma and I fight off the cravings. I can’t hope for bread when it’s unlikely that I’ll even be given a scrap of food today, especially if I can’t please him.

My master.

A boot hits the second step—the handlers always descend slowly—and as I stretch my legs out on my dusty mattress I hear the waking groans of Jace and Clover stirring in their own cages beside me. I glance their way, and that’s when my attention falls on the one empty cage in the cellar. My mother’s den. I breathe deep and fight off a pang of sadness that I cannot afford to feel.

I turn away from the empty cage and stare at the gray cement walls. I can’t bear to look at her den any longer. It only reminds me of how they killed her and how all the pups were forced to watch—to learn that disobedience comes with a price. Guilt and sorrow eat at me to think that she’d died trying to free me.

When step number five creaks, I diligently try to shake off the memories. The handler is close which means I can’t think about my mother right now. I push all thoughts of her aside, knowing that right now I have to think about my father and what he taught me before the master killed him. Never let them see your fear.

I harden myself.

Prepare.

Before my master’s puppet even reaches the bottom step, I know it’s the one they call Lawrence, the handler I hate the most. The one with a weak mind, strong back, teeth like baked beans and beady eyes that fit his ugly rat face.

He likes to call me kitten. I have a few choice names that I’d like to call him in return, but I always bite the inside of my cheek to resist the urge. Partly because I’d be whipped and partly because Miss Kara educated me and taught me all about manners. I realize that an educated wolf with manners might sound laughable. In my line of work, however, education and manners are as lethal as a bear trap to those I hunt. That’s how I lure my marks, how I bait my prey. A pretty face and good grace go a long way for a trained killer like me.

My glance wanders to my leg, the one peeking out from beneath my ratty blanket, and my eyes are drawn to the long jagged scar tracking the length of my calf. I grimace. Even with my education and manners, I never forget what I really am. I’m never allowed to.

“Hey kitten,” Lawrence says. Most would think the nickname is a play on my birth name, Pride. But I know it’s the handler’s way of cutting me down, to find control where he feels none. My parents called me Pride because I was their pride and joy. Lions live in a pride and since lions are cats…

He tosses a collar and chain into my cage. “Leash up.”

I take note of the gun in his holster before my glance locks on his. As I give him a good hard stare, he flinches. The movement is slight, but I notice it. Dressed in my knee length nightgown, long hair loose around my shoulders, I might look like an average seventeen-year-old girl—harmless and innocent—but we all know I’m not.

Even though Lawrence keeps his face blank and stares down at me with those dark eyes of his, he reeks of terror. The scent is like a mixture of hot sweat and rotting compost. Oh, it’s not pretty by any means. Nevertheless, the werewolf slumbering restlessly inside me feeds off his fear, thrives on it, so I inhale and draw it deep into my lungs.

Without taking my eyes off his, I take my time to leash up. My movements are slow and deliberate as I position the collar. Metal grinds metal and the sound cuts the silence as I secure it around my neck. The handler winces. So do the older, more obedient wolves that I bunk with.

Jace cuts me a glance, chocolate eyes now milky from old age warn me to behave. I realize he’s doing it for my own good, but this morning I’m cold and hungry and in no mood for Lawrence’s insults. Clover makes a noise to draw the handler’s attention away from me, and all sets of eyes shift to her.

As Clover tries to pacify Lawrence, averting her gaze in a show of respect and making small talk about the weather, Lawrence opens my mother’s former cage and pulls out her cot. He gives it a good hard shake and the breeze stirs the dust on the unfinished boards masquerading as our ceiling. The particles dance in the stairwell light before falling to the cold, cement floor.

When Lawrence tosses the cot into a corner I stiffen. It can only mean one thing. My mother has been gone for a little over a year now, and I know the master rarely keeps a cell empty for long, which makes me wonder when and how he’s going to fill it?

Who will he breed?

I cringe at the thought of bringing puppies into this world, but know it’s not something I have to worry about. The master would never breed a wolf like me. My mother always said I was a survivor, the only pup in a litter of three to make it, but hey, a runt is a runt. Thanks to Darwin and his theory of ‘natural selection’ a runt is a heritable trait that a pack can do without. When it comes to canine reproduction, only one motto dictates: runts need not apply.

Deep in the bowels of the estate’s basement, the master keeps other wolves, separating the strong and young from one another. I’m smart enough to understand that he distances us so we can’t conspire against him or speak telepathically. Wolves can only use telepathy when in animal form, however. Well, most wolves that is. Oddly enough, I along with Stone, an alpha wolf two years my senior, are able to communicate while in our human forms.

Sometimes the master does in-house breeding, sometimes he sends us out to one of his associates—other drug lords who also harbor werewolves. It’s like he’s running a regular old puppy mill in here. Except his puppies kill for him. Which begs the question, what does my master have in store for me today?

Check out www.catkalen.com
 



 
 

Recovering and in pain but functioning

Today I'm home recovering from ankle surgery which means I'm in a cast, can't really move and having to rely on my hubby and children to take care of me. I've discovered I'm not the best patient. And, this got me thinking about the ya books I've been writing. Off Leash is really all about a boy in pain, yes today that's me. I'm not taking the meds as they make me feel sick but while coping with the throbbing in my leg, I'm functioning. Off Limits which is book two in the nitty gritty series is about two girls in pain and Off Stroke which I've mapped out is once again POV of a boy in pain and for the first time I'm adding a girl POV.

I'm very excited about starting Off Stroke which will be my Nano challenge for the month of November - that's right folks I'll be writing 50,000 words in one month. The base for the third book is my own paddling club, Maskwa Aquatic Club, which I love being the club manager off. And just like my club in which we launched our first inner-city program to get youth who might never have the opportunity to be in a dragon boat or war canoe, my book Off Stroke starts with a young boy entering into an after school program in which he's forced to learn how to kayak. And yes he hates it at first, especially since he's black and everyone at the club is white but he quickly discovers it doesn't matter what color your skin is everyone has scars, some deeper than you think.

So, today I got my print proof for Off Leash and love it. Off to launch it on Amazon so it will be available in print. This makes my weeks ahead - 8 of them when I can't move around - look a lot better.

SPCA Animal Shelter in NS - what an average day is like

The spark of an idea to start my young adult book, Off Leash was my teenager taking a dog walking job. This opened my eyes to dogs in general, their needs, and often the cruelty that happens to these innocent animals daily. To highlight Nova Scotia’s SPCA and the role they play dealing with animal adoption and cruelty I interviewed Kristin Williams, Executive Director, NS SPCA.

Leave a comment on my blog and one lucky person will be randomly picked to receive an e-copy of Off Leash: Bonus Content, which has both endings in one book.


What is your average day like when you come into the office?
It depends on the area of our operations that you are speaking of. With respect to animal care, our volunteers and staff work tirelessly to attend to the needs of thousands of animals currently in our care, either in foster or in shelters. This includes cleaning, laundry, socializing and play, along with feeding, watering and health monitoring. Our shelters are bustling activity centers with the public and volunteers coming and going. At our Provincial Shelter in Dartmouth, we have over 400 active volunteers! Our adoption rates have increased by 63% in just two years and our overall provincial intake has increased by 8% this year. This was accomplished without additional capacity – just by addressing animal flow and adoption promotion.

Our special constables are no less busy. With just two provincial special constables to manage the work load of the entire province, we struggle to address the demand for service. We get over 18,000 calls per year on animal welfare concerns per year and our case load has increased this year by nearly 20%. The most disturbing trends are animal hoarding and abandonment, but we routinely see animals suffering neglect (not provided with food, water and shelter or veterinary care). In the majority of cases, we can resolve the matter through education and voluntary compliance, but there are serious cases of abuse, neglect and cruelty that we see every day. With the volume of calls that we receive, cases are prioritize based on the assessed level of distress of the animal and the potential harm the animal may be in.

In my role as Executive Director, I oversee all aspects of operations, which includes animal care, cruelty investigations, humane education, marketing and communications, public affairs, human resources, finance and administration and fund development. I support the Provincial Society and its network of Branches. In the last year in particular, I have been spending a great deal of time working on engagement with various stakeholders who have a role to play in animal welfare. This list includes, but is not limited to political leaders, municipal units, veterinary associations and police services. I have also been spending a great deal of time working with our Board of Directors on a new governance model to increase compliance and allow for greater standardization across our network of Branches.

How many dogs a week would you say the SPCA processes?
The Nova Scotia SPCA has a relative capacity, which includes both shelters and foster based branches. Our annual intake is close to 8,000. Our hard capacity for dogs at any time is 143 and it is 566 for cats.

How does the volunteer dog-walking program work? Can teens participate?
It depends on the Branch, but generally all of our Branches accept the generous assistance of volunteers who are keen to help give some love and social time to the dogs in our care. Because these activities are generally adhoc in nature, volunteers may be asked to sign in, leave some ID with us and receive some coaching from staff or volunteers in animal care. Many volunteers walk many animals each day, which helps our dogs become socialized. With improved behaviour, their prognosis for a quick adoption also increases. At this time, we accept the assistance of youth under 18 with the help of a guardian/parent.


It’s hard to pick a favorite but can you tell the readers about one special dog that came into the SPCA that captured your heart and why?
There are many wonderful stories and it is hard to pick just one. A recent case we had involving 27 pure bred huskies comes to mind. They were found in deplorable conditions at the hands of an irresponsible breeder. The case took nearly 8 months of hard work by our investigators and resulted in a conviction with a sentence of a prohibition of ownership. The accused also covered all vet costs. The accused actually pled guilty on the first appearance due to the strength of the case. The huskies required a great deal of time in foster care, because they needed to learn to be pets. Absolutely beautiful dogs. They are now in loving forever homes.

The SPCA is an animal shelter and needs funding how can donors donate and what at this time is needed most for the shelter?
Our area of greatest need is actually cruelty investigations. We only receive $3,000 from the provincial government and our budget for province-wide investigations is approximately $500,000. The quiet work that our investigators do behind the scenes is often shadowed by the higher profile of our wonderful shelters. Donors can best support us by visiting on line and donating via Canada Helps. They can target that donation to animal care, cruelty investigations or the area of greatest need. www.spcans.ca.



What is your average day like when you come into the office?
It depends on the area of our operations that you are speaking of.  With respect to animal care, our volunteers and staff work tirelessly to attend to the needs of thousands of animals currently in our care, either in foster or in shelters. This includes cleaning, laundry, socializing and play, along with feeding, watering and health monitoring. Our shelters are bustling activity centers with the public and volunteers coming and going. At our Provincial Shelter in Dartmouth, we have over 400 active volunteers! Our adoption rates have increased by 63% in just two years and our overall provincial intake has increased by 8% this year. This was accomplished without additional capacity – just by addressing animal flow and adoption promotion.

Our special constables are no less busy. With just two provincial special constables to manage the work load of the entire province, we struggle to address the demand for service. We get over 18,000 calls per year on animal welfare concerns per year and our case load has increased this year by nearly 20%. The most disturbing trends are animal hoarding and abandonment, but we routinely see animals suffering neglect (not provided with food, water and shelter or veterinary care). In the majority of cases, we can resolve the matter through education and voluntary compliance, but there are serious cases of abuse, neglect and cruelty that we see every day. With the volume of calls that we receive, cases are prioritize based on the assessed level of distress of the animal and the potential harm the animal may be in.

In my role as Executive Director, I oversee all aspects of operations, which includes animal care, cruelty investigations, humane education, marketing and communications, public affairs, human resources, finance and administration and fund development. I support the Provincial Society and its network of Branches. In the last year in particular, I have been spending a great deal of time working on engagement with various stakeholders who have a role to play in animal welfare. This list includes, but is not limited to political leaders, municipal units, veterinary associations and police services. I have also been spending a great deal of time working with our Board of Directors on a new governance model to increase compliance and allow for greater standardization across our network of Branches.

How many dogs a week would you say the SPCA processes?
The Nova Scotia SPCA has a relative capacity, which includes both shelters and foster based branches. Our annual intake is close to 8,000. Our hard capacity for dogs at any time is 143 and it is 566 for cats.

How does the volunteer dog-walking program work? Can teens participate?
It depends on the Branch, but generally all of our Branches accept the generous assistance of volunteers who are keen to help give some love and social time to the dogs in our care. Because these activities are generally adhoc in nature, volunteers may be asked to sign in, leave some ID with us and receive some coaching from staff or volunteers in animal care. Many volunteers walk many animals each day, which helps our dogs become socialized. With improved behaviour, their prognosis for a quick adoption also increases. At this time, we accept the assistance of youth under 18 with the help of a guardian/parent.

It’s hard to pick a favorite but can you tell the readers about one special dog that came into the SPCA that captured your heart and why?
There are many wonderful stories and it is hard to pick just one. A recent case we had involving 27 pure bred huskies comes to mind. They were found in deplorable conditions at the hands of an irresponsible breeder. The case took nearly 8 months of hard work by our investigators and resulted in a conviction with a sentence of a prohibition of ownership. The accused also covered all vet costs. The accused actually pled guilty on the first appearance due to the strength of the case. The huskies required a great deal of time in foster care, because they needed to learn to be pets. Absolutely beautiful dogs. They are now in loving forever homes.

The SPCA is an animal shelter and needs funding how can donors donate and what at this time is needed most for the shelter?
Our area of greatest need is actually cruelty investigations. We only receive $3,000 from the provincial government and our budget for province-wide investigations is approximately $500,000. The quiet work that our investigators do behind the scenes is often shadowed by the higher profile of our wonderful shelters. Donors can best support us by visiting on line and donating via Canada Helps. They can target that donation to animal care, cruelty investigations or the area of greatest need. www.spcans.ca.

You Know You've Launched Your Indie Book When:

• You live off coffee
• Frantically search your house for your coffee mug because yet again you’ve lost it
• You are addicted to your computer
• You can’t stop searching for blog review sites but don’t have time to cook supper
• You are becoming multi-lingual: bit/apps are part of your new language
• You can see the inside of your fridge and your kids are the ones grossed out by what they are discovering in it
• You mindlessly drive your children to their after school activities – on the wrong day!
• Your hubby is trying to set the mood to help you celebrate your launch and you’re doing a list in your head of all the places you MUST email tomorrow
• Your children are bringing you your coffee mugs because they feel sorry for you
• First thing in the morning you check your Amazon sales site before you even shower
• That diet you launched two weeks ago is totally gone out the window and you are allowing your kids to eat dry Mr. Noddles because that way you can still avoid getting groceries
• You check your emails a gazillion times a day to the point the F9 button is worn through
• You are one minute happy and the next crying and it’s not even PMS!

Renee Pace is trying to juggle motherhood and the launch of her first YA debut novel, Off Leash while keeping her sanity and she would love any help or feedback.

Renee Pace

www.reneepace.com

twitter@ReneePaceYA

Off Leash:Hollywood Ending (Nitty Gritty series)  | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005S4G65Q

Off Leash: Nitty Gritty Ending (Nitty Gritty series)  | http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005S34JO2

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Off Leash Debuts on Smashwords

I have finally done it! Late last night I uploaded my first young adult Indie publication to Smashwords. Off Leash is my baby or rebirth in a way. It was an extremely hard book for me to write and took me over a year to polish and feel comfortable with to launch. The book was also a semi-finalist in the 2011 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest which had it's own ups and downs. I feel totally awed that it made it that far. And while two publishers expressed interest one passed on it and another publishing company folded. Five years ago that would have broken my heart. Not anymore. One good thing about this movement of Indie publications for authors is that the stories we feel most compelled to tell are getting told.

Someone once asked me where I got the story idea for Off Leash. It's two-fold. One I will admit I was in a writing rut and looking to move into a new genre so when my eldest son took a dog walking job with a neighbour I used that to start the story. The second aspect was I wanted the book to touch on poverty and more importantly I wanted to write about a little girl suffering with cancer because for me I wanted to write about my good friend, Sissy, who died when she was very young. I never forgot her and I wanted my character in this book to feel that way so I created Jay Walker, who's angry at life and the circumstances beyond his control which force him to make adult-like decisions but who loves his little sister with all his heart.

When I came across a US article on dog fighting I thought why not add that element into the story. Turns out dog fighting really does happen in Nova Scotia so in a way my fiction was based on reality.

You can read an excerpt of Off Leash and pick your ending - the nitty gritty real life ending based on reality or the Hollywood happily-ever after ending. I'm very curious to see which ending sells more.

Off Leash: Hollywood ending at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/93453

Off Leash: Nitty Gritty ending at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/93444

Thanks so much

Renee Pace

www.reneepace.com

twitter@ReneePaceYA

Off Limit - Excerpt

As promised the first 25 pages of my second nitty gritty story, Off Limit. This story is about Lindsay, a spoiled rich girl with a dirty little secret and Megan, who knows all about faking a life. Two misfits who are thrown together and who discover real friendship has nothing to do with money. Teenage life is not pretty. Can two teens find their voice or will the real adult issues they face drive them to the edge.

Off Limit
Book II in the Nitty Gritty series
By Renee Pace

Lindsay

“You coming over tonight, Rebecca?”

I make the question casual, like it’s no sweat off my back if my best friend can’t come over tonight. Inside my gut twists and rolls with the thought of being alone. She plays with her dyed blonde ponytail, pulling the strands tight to her head to fluff it up higher. She’s not paying attention to me. Rebecca’s one focus is Blair. Blair’s main focus is Rebecca. They make me sick.

“Can’t Linds. I’ve got plans.”

I hate that nickname and no matter how many times I ask her not to call me that she doesn’t listen. She dismisses me with a swish of her ponytail and walks over to plant one on Blair’s lips. I cringe with disgust. For the life of me I can’t understand what she sees in him, besides his muscular body. Muscle or not, it’s not something I’m into.

I re-read the text from my mom and resist the urge to type a pleading note back to her not to spend another night away. Mom’s been at a conference all weekend. I had Friday, Saturday and even Sunday night covered. It’s Monday. She was supposed to come home tonight. Now I’m left scrambling for an excuse to spend the night somewhere else or begging a friend to come to my house for a sleepover. Worse, I have to make my impromptu sleepover sound casual, like it’s an afterthought that me, the so-called perfect girl in this Prep school, wants a friend or better yet friends to spend Monday night at her house. No one has sleepovers on Monday. Even I know that. Thing is, I’m all into bucking the trend. Especially when a friend will keep me safe and they won’t even know it.

Taking the time to look at my reflection staring back at me thanks to my handy-dandy locker mirror I reapply my pink lipstick, add a bit more black eyeliner around my bottom lids and flick my long blonde hair off my shoulders. I look cool and sophisticated thanks to Mom’s recent shopping spree and my practiced ‘I’m fine’ look. I’m totally decked out in designer duds, from my shoes to my new hot purple matching bra and underwear, which no one will see. It’s the top of the line on this bod. Just once I wish I didn’t feel like trash. They say clothes make the woman. My clothes, like the make-up I carefully apply are my body armour. The only scars I have are carefully concealed thanks to my long-sleeved sweater. They are my shame. My dirty little secret I can’t tell anyone.

Armed with my new Coach purse, another gift from mom, I saunter to class. It would not be cool for me to be late so I never am. Appearances must be maintained and just like my good grades, which are totally expected, not accepted, I play my part to a T.

The class is totally boring and I can’t absorb one freaking word the teacher is droning on about. Something to do with DNA, mitochondria and cellular fusion. I hate biology. You of course would never know that. My last test was a ninety-eight percent and I participate in class even though inside it kills me.

“Mr. Turner, I didn’t catch the last part of what you were saying, do you mind repeating it?” I make sure to bat my eyelashes at him and throw in a flirty smile. Sometimes using my looks makes me sick. Not today.

“Sure Lindsay, as I was saying…”

This time I take notes. It helps me concentrate on his class, forcing my mind not to wander into that dark place. An itch starts at both of my wrists but I don’t scratch. Scratching it would ruin the plastic surgeon’s work and piss my mom off to no end. My mom and I don’t talk about the “incident”. That’s her word, not mine. I have another word I like to use, but uttering that causes my mom to break down. Trust me, it’s not pretty.

We went from Halifax, Nova Scotia to Mexico, just the two of us, but not once did we talk about anything of meaning. The five and a half hour flight might have never happened. But it did. The “incident” happened and now…now, I am supposedly all better. As if! And like all mistakes, we wiped all memories of it clean from our lives. Well, that’s how Mom viewed it. Me, not so sure.

Now we live in Toronto. To say I hate this place would be an understatement. Gone is my tree. The one tree that grew up with me. Mom planted it in our backyard, blubbering away about “us” making our own memories when my dad walked out on us. I should have known then. She never once looked back at that relationship, except to look at me. I should have been the wise one.

Make one stupid mistake Lindsay and viola, you end up moved away from all you know, including the stupid silly things that shouldn’t matter, but do. Take that tree, which was originally on a piece of property that had been in my mom’s family for close to two hundred years. Mom sold off the acreage to some developer, but not before we trekked a mile back into the bug-infested woods for that damn shrub. Cedar. That’s it. We didn’t think it would survive but that tree did. It grew and grew, so much so, that it became my own special tree. Now, that’s gone. After all the shit that’s happened in my life, I honestly can’t believe I miss that stupid tree.
My mom couldn’t live with the shame of my so-called accident. The reality is she couldn’t live with the gossip and still to this day, a full six months later, she is not interested in learning the truth. I tried to tell her it wasn’t an accident. That didn’t go so well.

“What did he say?”

Without turning my head I answer Megan. She’s sitting next to me, only because she got assigned that seat. Megan, with her mousy-brown hair, is about as boring as you can get. The cosmetic ladies would have a field day with her face. I bet she doesn’t even own lip gloss. I can’t even fathom why she doesn’t try.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

“You doing anything tonight?” I turn my head slightly, giving her a bit of my attention but not all of it. Inside my head I am still going through all my friends, trying to figure out who might say yes to coming to my house tonight. Most of my friends on Monday night have cheerleading practice. Since I couldn’t even try out for the team because of my “weak” wrists lie, I’m not on it. Neither is Megan.

She hasn’t answered me, so I’m forced to look at her. “Megan, you busy tonight?”

She gives me a puzzled expression. “No. Why?”

“Want to come over?”

“Over. Like, as in to your house to do homework or something?”

I can’t help notice how her uni-brow furrows in frustration and she’s got a pack of whiteheads on her nose that could seriously use some medication. What she really needs is a good make-over.

Oh. My. God. I am a genius.

I move my chair slightly closer to her. “Look, come to my house tonight and we’ll give each other make-overs.”

Her eyes widened and honestly the biggest smile on the planet lights up her face. I feel like a heel. What the hell am I thinking? Oh, I know I’m not thinking. I’m desperate. I can’t believe Megan is my last hope.

“Sure. That would be great. I can come over for a bit.”

A bit. I need her to commit for the night. “I was thinking…you know, there’s nothing going on…why don’t you spend the night?” I gulp. It’s too late to swallow back the words but I know I have just committed social suicide. For a second I wonder which is worse.

“A sleepover?”

Thank god she asks the question in her whisper-like voice. “Yeah,” I nod. “A sleepover, that’s a great idea.” I am so royally screwed. I made her think sleeping over at my house was her idea. It’s not, but if it will get her to commit, I don’t care what she thinks.

“You sure?” she asks.

Not really, but I don’t have anyone else to ask and you’re my last hope. I nod, making sure my smile is bright and full, stretched taut across my face. I notice she’s still taking notes. How the hell can she concentrate on this boring stuff when my guts feel like they are being twisted into pretzel shapes?

“Just you and me, tonight at my house for a make-over. Come around six and we’ll have time for a movie later.”

“You sure your parents won’t mind? It being Monday night and all.”

“My mom’s not home. And my stepfather does not care what I do.” And that’s the truth. He only cares about one thing but that’s not going to happen—if she comes over, that is.

“You are so lucky. By the way, I don’t have any make-up to bring.”

“Don’t you worry. I have enough stuff to outfit my own store. When I’m done with you tonight you can take whatever you want home with you.”

“I wish I had your life.”

I gulp. A flash of terror slides through my skin at her words. If she knew my real life, if she knew what went on in the dark, behind my closed door when mom’s not home, she most certainly would not want my life. I can’t say anything for a full minute. Instead, I start to take notes again. My heart’s hammering away and sweat glides down my new shirt. I’m glad now I put on my sweater.

“You okay?” she asks.

“You bet. Just plotting out in my head what we’re going to do tonight.”

The bell rings. Class is over. I gently close my laptop. No one carries scribblers or school books at this private school. It’s high-tech all the way. The sickening part is that with it being mid-morning, religious class is next. I am not one bit Catholic, even though my mother said we were. I fake my way through religious class much like how I pretend being happy. Guess I learned how to lie from a pro. The worse part about my next class is with it being Monday that means it’s mandatory confessional. Honestly, some of my best lies take place in the privacy of a wooden closet. Just me and the priest, hidden by a silly wooden barrier. I should journal some of my “indecent” things I confess. They even sound exciting to my ears so I can just imagine the hard-on they give that fat, disgusting priest. If there’s one thing I have learned in the past year it’s how to spot a pervert. Trust me, he’s just like Greg, my stepfather, who ever since I turned fourteen liked to sneak into my room to show me his idea of loving. The concept of that type of love is not something I want. If that’s loving, I will take hate any day.

I know something most of my fellow students don’t know. There is no hell in the afterlife. I’ve been there. Died for a good three minutes. I didn’t feel a thing. Only this life is living hell.

“See you at six,” I remind Megan, as we casually join the mass exit from class.

“Can’t wait,” she says.

I can’t help noticing the bounce in her step. It should make me happy. It doesn’t. I don’t even

like Megan. She’s a pathetic excuse for protection but she will have to do.

 
Megan

I’m doing time calculations in my head. There is no way I can make it home, which takes me a good hour and get back in time to meet Lindsay at six. Shit! What the hell was I thinking? Oh, I know I was thinking maybe I could pull this off.

Moving away from the school, I wait until it’s totally clear before calling home. No sense getting caught. Using the one public phone within miles, I drop my quarter in and dial, praying no one I know walks by. It’s so not cool to not own a cellphone but like mom points out, “It’s not the end of the world.” Maybe not to her, but for me, it makes me a social pariah.

“Mom, is it okay if I stay at Lindsay’s house tonight?” I tell her about a huge assignment we so don’t have but if lying will make my life easier, I do it. She asks me a bunch of other questions and even threatens to drop off my clothes. Like that’s going to happen? Mom’s been in a wheelchair for the past decade because of MS and the thought of her attempting to make her way to one of the accessible subway lines makes me shiver.

“Seriously, Mom, stop being so over-protective. All is good. Lindsay says I can borrow some of her clothes. Wouldn’t that be cool and amazing. It’s no worry and not a bother. I’ll give you a call…what, what…I can’t hear you. The line’s getting fuzzy. Don’t worry. I’ll call you in the morning, okay? Love you.”

I hang up before she asks once again to talk to one of Lindsay’s parents. Like I’m about to let that happen. No way!

I officially have a good hour to kill before I walk to Lindsay’s house. I know exactly where she lives. Everyone in the school does. She lives in the mega-mansion at the end of the cul de sac about two blocks from the school. Must be nice to only have to get up ten minutes before class and not worry about being late. For a second I let that jealous feeling harden, like a peach pit in my stomach. Then I remember the look on Lindsay’s face when she asked me to her house. It wasn’t a look normally plastered to her polished façade.

Slowly making my way to the city’s library I pass four coffee houses. I’m dying for a cup but yesterday I calculated how much money I’ve been spending on java and figured the money I save by not buying will go to a better use. My mom’s been saving for two years now. She needs at least twenty thousand to cover all her expenses for the MS liberation procedure. At the end of this year, with my no-coffee-buying money I can contribute over four hundred. With my part-time army reserve job I can add another three thousand. It’s not a lot but every penny counts. That’s her motto and me and my older brother live by that. Or, we used to.

I try hard not to think about him. My skin starts to get clammy and for a second I think I’m going to puke. Right there on the sidewalk with all these rich kids walking past me like I’m dog shit. Forcing my gag reflex to stop, I get a grip on my emotions.

Flashing a smile at one of the librarians, I head to my usual haunt. Up two flights of stairs, take a left and you enter the world of specialized literature. It’s my favourite part of the library. The books are all hard cover and bible-thick. Some are written in foreign languages, but most are in Latin or old English. If the kids at school found out that in my spare time I like to study Latin I would be a laughingstock. Wait a sec, I’m already that. Hunkering down in the only chair in this part of the library, I make sure the coast is clear before I haul out my thermos. Time for my own homemade brew. It’s a little cold, after suffering a day in my small locker, but I am not about to pass up a much-needed jolt of caffeine.

Removing my sweater, I think about what I can say to Lindsay. Not a lot comes to mind. We are night and day. She’s rich, spoiled and Cosmo beautiful. Everyone loves her. Me. I’m a nobody. The only reason I’m at the private school is thanks to a scholarship I got through my reserve unit. If my so-called school friends, none of which I really have, knew I was there at the Prep school only because of my scholarship, or if they had an inkling of where I hail from, well I might as well get lice. Seriously, I would be the biggest social outcast and I am not going to let that happen. This school is my stepping stone to getting into a university. Nothing and no one is going to squash my dream. My mom’s counting on me. And that’s why my mouth is shut. That’s why my identity in school has to remain hidden.

I realize I’ve been moping about my life way too long. Checking the time on the large old-fashioned round clock mounted high on the wall, I repack a piece of my sandwich, which as usual, I didn’t dare open or unwrap in school. Tucking my thermos back inside my bag, I get up and stretch. Why did I say yes to Lindsay? Now, I’m going to have to wear my clothes twice in a row, which is so beyond cool I’m thinking of cancelling and going home. But home isn’t home anymore, and I never get asked by anyone to spend the night with them.

I make my way out of the library and head toward her house. My stomach’s feeling sort of queasy. Maybe cold coffee wasn’t such a hot idea. I step up to Lindsay’s house and I’m about to knock on the large mahogany door when it startles me by opening.

“Took you long enough. I was getting worried.” She actually looks like she was. She opens the door wider and in I enter a world so beyond my two-bedroom apartment I almost make a dash for the exit.

Her hand grabs my arm.

“Lindsay, is there someone here?”

A loud booming male voice invades the space as I allow Lindsay to haul me inside the large, airy foyer.

“Yeah, there is. My friend Megan’s spending the night, Greg. That’s my step-father.”

She whispers the last part like I hadn’t figured that out. I’m not stupid. Proof in point the twenty thousand dollar scholarship I got to go to school. What I can’t figure out is if Lindsay meant what she said. Am I really her friend? Or by her panicked expression, am I just the body she needed tonight so she didn’t have to be alone with her step-dad? The fact I understand her body language causes goose bumps to form all over my own.

 
Lindsay

I thought for sure Megan was going to be a no-show. I can tell by her startled look, with those piercing green eyes of hers, she’s wondering why I’m acting like I am. Well, if you had to worry about being alone with Greg, you’d act like a freak too. Forcing myself to get a grip, I watch her take it all in. I can just imagine what she’s thinking. Spoiled rich kid. She’s got part of that correct. Spoiled. Check one. Rich. Check two. Kid. Not so much. I stopped being a kid the moment Greg snuck into my bedroom over two years ago. Kids cry. Kids run and tell their mommy they’re hurt and their mommies make them all better. Not my mother.

“This place is amazing,” she says. “So where’s your room?”

She’s acting so nonchalant I don’t buy it. Again, I’m wondering if I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. Then I hear Greg moving around in the kitchen. He’s looking for the beer I hid. Last time I did that, he flipped out on me. Again, mother-dearest wasn’t around. I pleaded ignorant but when he found the liquor a few days later, he poured a can all over me, ruining one of my designer shirts mommy dearest bought. His only joke was I should enter a wet-T shirt contest. I didn’t bother responding. He’s such a fucking prick! I did the only thing I could. I marched into my room, locked the door to the washroom—that’s the only room with a lock—and took a shower. Then I threw out my clothes. I didn’t mention the incident to mom. Why bother? He’d twist it into something gross and disgusting and make mom hate me more than she already does.
“My room’s upstairs. Where’s your bag?”

The minute I ask I see panic leap to Megan’s face. Oh shit, if she’s thinking of leaving I will seriously lose it.

“Don’t worry if you forgot it. I’ve got lots of clothing. You’re welcome to borrow anything you want.”

“Are you serious?” She follows me upstairs.

We’re almost at the top when Greg saunters out of the kitchen, shirtless and all. I resist the urge to flee with Megan but I’m hoping she won’t notice.

“Hi. You must be Lindsay’s friend,” says Greg, walking up the freaking stairs like its normal to walk around half-dressed.

“Nice to meet you,” says Greg. He’s a step below Megan and holding out his hand for her to shake. I feel sick. Normal dads do not walk around half naked. He’s flexing his chest muscles for Megan and I can’t resist rolling my eyes at him. Of course he notices and flashes me one of his sexy smiles. I don’t think they’re sexy, but he does. If a shark can smile and look harmless that’s exactly how Greg looks when he flashes his pearly whites. They are only pearly white because of all the enhanced cosmetic attention his teeth, face and tanned body receive thanks to my generous mother. She likes to throw out the comment to anyone listening, he’s her boy-toy and really good for one thing. Thinking of that one thing makes me want to puke.

“Nice to meet you Greg. I’m Megan.”

“Lindsay’s never mentioned you before.” He’s goading her on to annoy and embarrass me.

I flash a smile at Megan but it’s hard to do since I’m a step ahead of her on the stairs. She turns her head and smiles at me, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Funny how I notice that.

“That’s okay. We sort of just became friends, didn’t we Lindsay,” she says.

I nod, feeling robotic with my movements. “Yeah, we did. Anyway, Megan and I are busy tonight Greg. We’re doing girly things.”

He laughs. I notice Megan doesn’t.

“Well, trust me I don’t want to get in the way of girly things. I’m about to order pizza. You girls want some?”

“Sure that would be nice,” says Megan, before I can tell Greg to fuck off and leave us alone.

He nods. “The usual Linds.”

When Greg calls me Linds I almost hurl right there on the steps. He’s such a waste of a human being. I manage a curt nod and then race up the rest of the stairs. Only when I hear Megan’s echoing footsteps does it dawn on me I’m being rude.

I flop down on my bed. She stands in the middle of my room. Her eyes aren’t looking at my room though. She’s looking right at me, like she can see me with all my scars and it scares me shitless.

“Should I have told your step-dad I’m a vegan?”

“What?” I say.

She laughs, the sound startling soft. “I was kidding, Lindsay. Just kidding.”

I’m so happy she didn’t call me Linds I sit up and smile. A real, thank you smile, letting the tension ease from my body.

“So what’s your usual?” She’s still talking about the stupid pizza.

“The works, loaded with onions.” I give a nervous laugh. She doesn’t understand that onions make me reek, and just like garlic for warding off vampires, onions ward off Greg.

“Sounds delicious.”

“Oh, it is.” For the first time all day, I think this night might be okay.

 
Megan

My face is so loaded with makeup I don’t even recognize myself.

“See, I am a genius.” Lindsay turns my head back to the bathroom mirror. I can’t help but gawk.
She’s right. She’s an artist when it comes to my face. I keep blinking. I think there is too much mascara on my eyelashes. I swear to god I had a dozen zits on my nose this morning when I woke up. After she made me put on a smelly mud facial wrap they got peeled off. My uni-brow, after all that painful plucking, is gone.

“I might have overdone it a tad with the mascara.” Her head is so close to mine as she peers into the large mirror I can smell the lilac perfume she sprayed on her neck. I would have loved the perfume but my ingrown worry of smell setting off one of mom’s wicked headaches made me politely decline her generous offer.

“No. It’s all great.” And it is. The outline of the dark green eyeliner makes my eyes look like they are neon green.

“Makeup makes you look a lot older,” says Lindsay. “Now I know why your parents don’t let you wear it.”

I turn my head to look at her. She’s outlined her eyes in heavy black eyeliner, giving her a sexy Goth look. It makes her look like she’s twenty or something instead of sixteen and it doesn’t suit her. “I don’t think your mom would like the Goth look.”

“Trust me, she hates it and since I’m not into forcing a pissing contest with her I don’t go around looking like this.”

She starts removing the makeup with a delicate makeup remover. I didn’t even know there was such a thing.

“So, what’s with your parents anyway…all teens wear make-up. It’s no biggie,” she says.

I resist the urge to tell her I don’t have parents, only my mom, and half the time her meds knock her out so she’s not someone I can count on. Not that I blame her one bit. Between her headaches and constant joint pains, I’m sure I’d pop pills for relief.

“My mom’s like super-sensitive to scented products. I even have to use no-scent deodorant,” I say, hoping she’ll drop it.

“Oh my god, I heard of people like that. You know what, let’s go to the drug store right now and buy some no-scented make-up.”

Shit. This isn’t what I want to do at all. First off, I don’t have any money for make-up and second, even if I did have money I don’t want to spend it on lip gloss, eyeliner and other stuff that will only make me feel guilty whenever I use it.

“Scratch that idea. Let’s go pop up popcorn and watch Scream II,” she says, letting me breathe easy for a moment.

In the course of three hours I have discovered Lindsay likes to bounce from one thing to another. It’s like she’s not comfortable in her own skin or in her own house.

“Now that sounds like a plan.” I plop down off the bathroom counter and follow her back into her bedroom.

“You girls having fun?” asks Greg.

I wonder how long he’s been standing quietly inside Lindsay’s bedroom. The guy creeps me out. By the sheer look of terror on Lindsay’s face the feeling is mutual. Her entire body has gone from being relaxed to stiff like the gobs of mascara on my eyelashes, in seconds. She’s fisted her hands together by bunching up the material on the long baggy sweater she’s wearing. The sweater is ugly and not at all what I thought she would ever wear in public. Then again, we’re not exactly in public.

“Yeah, loads of fun,” I say, because Lindsay’s not speaking.

“Get out of my room, Greg.”

Lindsay doesn’t move a muscle. She’s speaking through her teeth and staring at him with a look most people at our school could easily decipher. Loosely translated, her expression says fuck you! You’re dog shit and not worth my time of day. I know that look. She’s used it on me more than once. Again, I wonder what I’m really doing here.

“Don’t use that tone with me, young girl,” says Greg

“Get out of my room now!” says Lindsay. She’s still standing straight as a toothpick but with a more menacing look on her face. It’s like the two of them have forgotten I’m in the room. An awkward tension fills the space. I long to say something to diffuse it but don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I say nothing.

“Your mother called and she’s not coming home tonight,” says Greg. He gives a dramatic pause.

“I figured you already knew that.”

Lindsay sneers at him. “Yeah, I did. Don’t feel like you need to babysit us, Greg. We’re fine on our own. Right, Megan? In fact, Megan and I were just about to go out.”
We were. I think that but don’t speak it.

“I know the security code so it’s cool if you want to spend the night elsewhere.”

Greg laughs. “What, and miss all the fun? Sorry Linds, I promised your mom I would keep an eye on you and you know how she can get. She’s so over-protective.” He says the last part of that sentence to me, like he’s sharing a secret.

“I bet my mom’s more over-protective.” I catch a weird look from Lindsay. Shit, I should have kept my mouth shut.

“Leave now, Greg. We’re going to get ready.”

“See you later girls. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he laughs as he exits Lindsay’s room.

“So, what’s with you and your step-father?” Lindsay yanks out clothes from her mega-designer closet like there’s no tomorrow.

“Here, I think these will fit you. I need to get out. And in case you haven’t figured it out, I hate him!”

“I pretty much figured that.”

“You’re so lucky your parents are together.”

I give a soft, hurt laugh. “Yeah, think again. My dad died when I was three and my mom…well, she’s kind of busy.” Busy coping with MS that is.

“Shit. I had no idea.”

I shrug. “Most people don’t. I’m a private person.” More like I’ve got no friends and no one at school ever cared enough to ask.

“So it’s just you and your mom?” asks Lindsay, urging me to try on a purple skin-tight shirt that I love but know will make my large breasts look like melons.

“Now, it’s just Mom and me.” My brother…he’s kind of out of the picture now. She’s holding the purple shirt out for me to take. I shake my head and pick up a dark brown shirt that looks a bit baggier.

“No way, Megan. This shirt was made for you. It will look fabulous on you. Trust me.”

I look at Lindsay. Trust her. I don’t even know her. Without a doubt she doesn’t know me. With trepidation I take the shirt.

“You can change in the washroom if you like.”

“Thanks, I will.” I take the shirt and a black skirt she also hands me. There’s a big smile on her face.

“I’m okay with wearing my own clothes, Lindsay. You don’t have to give me yours.”

“Are you kidding? Have you seen the amount of clothing in my closet? Please. You are doing them a favour. I didn’t even know I had that purple shirt.”

I laugh. “So are you saying your clothes have feelings?”

She laughs this time. “You’re funny, Megan. At school you’re different…so quiet.”

“That’s because no one talks to me, Lindsay.”

A pause fills the space. “Except you,” I say.

“That’s not true,” she says.

I shake my head. “It is. You just don’t notice.”

“Well, Megan, all that’s about to change. You hang with me girl and with these clothes and that face…” She twists me around so I can look at myself in her mirror hanging off the back of her door, “others will discover you.”

I gulp. I don’t want anyone to really discover me. I flash a smile at her and say thanks. Then I head into the washroom to yank the clothes on. There’s a part of me that likes the feel of the designer fabrics on my skin, but as I stare at myself in the mirror I know something Lindsay doesn’t. Change in my life has never been good.

The first time change happened Dad died. The second change was when Mom got diagnosed with MS. The third change happened a few months ago when my brother, Johnnie, got high and brought his best friend over for the night. That didn’t go so well for me. Johnnie left the next day after I told him what happened and Mom and I haven’t heard from him since.
Things changed in our house after that. She only asked me once if we had a fight. I think he must have called and told her some excuse why he wasn’t at home anymore. I never asked her. I used to be sick with worry about what he was doing but realized after two weeks of living through that hell, the only person hurting was me. Now, that worry has fizzled like stale ginger ale into simmering anger. For that alone, I hate my brother.

 
Lindsay

I have no idea what came over Megan. One minute she was dressed like a queen, wearing my best clothes and I know she liked them, and then violà, she said no thanks. Who the hell turns down wearing designer clothes?

We make our way down Spadina Street. It’s dark but there are as usual lots of people. Some homeless, a few Goths who followed us for a good block and enough weirdoes to fill a loony-bin. All of them, like us, are roaming the streets. In Halifax that wasn’t always the case. On my street in Clayton Park when it got dark most people stayed inside. There was a path I could walk and I often spotted deer on it. Not here. The only wildlife are squirrels the size of large housecats and rats, almost as big.

“I really don’t want to go to a drugstore,” I say.

“Me neither.”

“How about a drink?”

“Coffee, right?” asks Megan. The way she says it gives me an idea.

“Have you ever tried to get into a bar?”

“Lindsay, anyone can go into a bar, we just can’t order a drink,” says Megan, like I’m nuts.

“Want to try?” I blurt out, feeling adventurous.

She’s looking at me like I’m nuts and partly like she’s up for trying it. “You serious?”

“I am now. Come on, there’s this bar I heard of that’s a bit dingy but supposedly Rebecca and Blair got loaded there last weekend.”

“Are you kidding?” Megan’s fidgeting with her sweater.

“Nope. We have to take a subway to get there. I still haven’t figured them all out.”

Megan pushes her bangs off her face. “Now subways I know all about. I heard you came from out East. Don’t they have subways?”

I stop so abruptly a girl collides into me. She mumbles sorry and walks around us, her earphones still in place. “I came from Halifax. It’s the biggest city in Nova Scotia and it’s nothing like this place. They don’t have subways. They’ve got buses but my mom would never let me take one. Here she seems to think subways are safer than buses. She of course would never set one foot on the platform.” I chew my bottom lip, thinking I’ve said too much.

“I hate the subway. It always stinks like stale air and body odor. But buses here aren’t as fast. I’ve never been outside of Toronto. You are so lucky you get to travel.”

I wish I could tell Megan the truth. My mother’s so busy I’ve never really travelled. I don’t count our trip to Mexico as a vacation. The only thing I saw there were the four yellow-painted walls in my room. I heard from Mom the weather was great. She of course stayed at a nearby resort and popped in daily to brief me on her pool life. The only good part had been she’d ditched Greg. I originally thought she had done that because she believed me. Now I know different.

“You know what I miss the most about moving?” I fall into step with Megan who has slowed down.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I force myself to laugh. This is the role I’m supposed to play. Gone is the old Lindsay. Only the “new” Lindsay is allowed to take the subway, go to a bar and order a drink. The old Lindsay would be wallowing in self-pity and walking down that long dark road of why me? Not anymore. Wow, my psychiatrists would be so proud of me. Too bad she only hears the lies I’m allowed to say. Even telling her the truth has consequences.

“Here’s the entrance to the subway. You sure about this Lindsay?” Megan’s looking at me with a mixture of worry and hope on her make-up free face.

I stop. Take out my handy-dandy make-up bag and urge her to move to the side of the steps leading down to the subway line. “Stand still and do not move. I’m only going to apply lipstick and black eyeliner. The make-up will make you look older.”

I wait for her to complain. She doesn’t. I apply my magic and flash the hand mirror at her. Megan smiles. I wish a bit of make-up made me happy.

“You okay?” asks Megan, jarring me away from my dark thoughts. She’s too perceptive.

“Fine. Lead the way.” I follow her down to the platform. She’s right. The place stinks of urine and body odor.

“Told you,” she says, catching me off guard. How the hell did she know I was thinking of what she had said earlier?”

“You’re wrinkling your nose so I know you’re thinking I’m right. Let’s just hope the subway comes fast. This place really stinks. I bet homeless people have been sleeping here.”

“Really?” The thought repulses me.

“Of course. At least it’s warm in here. However, most times the police kick them out. Ohh, feel that.” She looks down at the grime-crusted floor. “That vibration means the subway will be here in a minute. You feel it, than hear it, than you see it.”

A minute later she’s correct.

“See, told ya.”

She steps through the doors like a pro. Me, I still hesitate. It’s not like I’m about to fall in between the space separating the platform and the subway but knowing it’s there always makes my steps hesitant. Keeping my head up and ensuring my smile is plastered to my face, I walk into the subway thinking this is not exactly how I had planned our night.

My other thought echoing in my brain is that if my mother finds out she’ll kill me. I resist the urge to laugh. I tried to die and she wouldn’t let me. Instead, she made me promise to never talk about what happened. Then, to better erase all evidence, we moved to better pretend all is fine. Our lives are nothing but lies. I might as well add this night to my growing list of sins.

 
Megan

Lindsay is sucking on the bottle of white wine like there is no tomorrow. “My turn.” I swipe the bottle from her slippery fingers. She doesn’t resist. I think all that hyper energy she had got diffused when we didn’t even make it past the door of the bar. Guess we both look young for our ages. The bouncer laughed when we told him we were nineteen. His exact words were something like, come back in five years. Lindsay told him to fuck himself, while I urged her to move on.
Now my butt is frozen and I’m chilled to the bone. For early November we’re lucky we’re not sitting on snow. Another month and it will be Christmas. I wish I hadn’t thought of that.

“You going to drink it or stare at it?”

“You, Lindsay are a surly drunk,” I say. She barks a dry laugh and snatches the wine from me.

Taking a large swig of it, she wipes her mouth when some of it drips down her chin.
Brandishing the bottle up in the air like it’s a trophy she says, “At least I managed to get us this.”
“I tried.” And was mighty happy when I failed. I had thought she wouldn’t get the guts to venture into the corner store. Wrong. She waited thirty minutes to gather her nerve but then sauntered in the place, looking like her usual million bucks self. The clerk didn’t bat an eye. I know because I spied at her from the side window. Lindsay even flicked her hair over her shoulder like a pro. Then we hide our stash under my large jacket and took the subway back to her place. We never made it to her place though. Her bright idea—drink our illegal alcohol on the school grounds. Nothing like adding an element of danger to our strange night.

“My butt’s frozen…you want to head inside soon, Lindsay? We could watch a movie now.” I’m sure it’s well after midnight but I’m desperate to get warm and inside. I hate scary movies and that’s all she had picked earlier but at this point I’d take watching Scream or even Saw if it warmed me up.

“Almost done.” Her voice sounds more slurred than it had a few minutes ago. I look at the wine she’s guzzling in earnest and realize I’ve only had about a cup of it. She drank the rest of it.
When Lindsay stands she almost stumbles off the school steps. I’m glad I insisted we move to the back part of the school to drink our stash. I picked it because it’s the darkest area.

“What the fuck are you two doing?”

Even in the dark I would know that voice anywhere. Instantly, I grab Lindsay before she topples down the steps. “Just hanging. What are you doing here, Peter?”

Normally I would want Peter Spencer to come closer just so I could get a whiff of his expensive cologne he wears at school. Even though our trendy school has a no scent policy not one student follows it, except me. My excuse for following it has been I keep with the rules. The reality is that’s a lie. I’d love to wear expensive perfume but I love my mom too much to put her through that.

“Is that you, Lindsay?”

His voice is full of concern. God I hate that. As usual he doesn’t notice me. Same old, Same old.

“Yeah, it is, Peter. Go fawkooff,” says Lindsay, brushing off my hand that’s trying in vain to keep her standing. She stumbles down a step and Peter Spencer pulls a freaking Superman move. He’s there to catch her so fast I want to hurl my disgust on his designer high-tops.

“Jesus, Lindsay. You’re drunk. It’s Monday night, what’s going on? And why are you here, Megan?”

He’s looking at me like I’m the culprit. I wish he had kept walking by us. Right now with him this close to us I can’t help noticing how his brown hair looks messed. A vision of him lying warm in his bed hits me. My face flushes with warmth and even though it’s dark where we are, I’m sure he notices.

“Let me go, Pete. Megan’s sleeping over. Want to join us?” Lindsay leans more into Peter than I like.

“She’s wasted. Why did you let her do this?” asks Peter.

“It just sort of happened,” I say, meaning it.

“Well this is your fault as much as hers. If her parents find out they won’t be impressed. You’re lucky it’s just me that’s walked by you two. What if a cop came by or something? Trust me, you don’t want that.”

The way he says it makes me wonder if he knows from experience that would suck big time.

“I’m walking both of you home.” His declaration causes Lindsay to laugh hysterically.

“What’s so funny?” I ask Lindsay.

“He’s our knight in shining armour, Megan. Good old goodie-two-shoes Peter Spencer will walk us to the door to ensure our safety…shit, this fucking sucks. Go away Peter. You’re too good for the likes of me.”

“What’s she talking about?” asks Peter to me.

I think we’re having one of the weirdest conversations ever, but now that I’m up off that godforsaken cement step I’ve got the chills. “Let’s just get to your house, Lindsay.” I’m urging her to walk, trying hard to ignore the fact Peter’s casting angry glances at me or the fact Lindsay’s leaning her head on his shoulder. If getting drunk would have earned me one of Peter’s shoulders I would have gladly had more of that stuff.

“Megan. I thought you didn’t do this stuff. I thought you were good.”

“Go fawk yourself Pete. You don’t know us. Megan’s great. She’s savvving me tonight and for that she’s my BFFFFF always,” slurs Lindsay, her feet tripping along behind her. Peter’s practically dragging her down the block now.

“It’s BFF, Lindsay. You are so going to regret this tomorrow. You had both better show up for school tomorrow or I’m telling.”

“What?” I almost stop, but if I stop Lindsay’s likely to fall to the ground. I think for a second her eyes must be closed.

“Everything has consequences Megan. I’m helping you to the door but the rest is up to you. Get her in her room quick. But like I just said, I expect to see you tomorrow at school. No excuses.”

“When did you become such a prick?” I ask, glaring at him.

“Prick? Can’t imagine you say that word a lot, Megan. It’s not like you.”

I shrug, knowing he can’t see it, even though he’s right. Growing up around kids who swear like it’s their second language, I long ago made a point of not using profanity. “Like Lindsay just said, you don’t know us.”

He stops at the bottom step to Lindsay’s house. I can’t believe we got here as fast as we did. I realize now if Peter hadn’t shown up this trek would have taken me over an hour to drag Lindsay along.

“Just get her inside. I trust you Megan to do the right thing.” The outside light is on and I notice he’s staring at me with his bright blue eyes for a good minute. That look conveys more than his words ever could. He really does trust me. He shouldn’t.

He let’s go of Lindsay’s almost limp arm and turns away from us. I watch him walk down the sidewalk. With the street lights on I notice his fashionably tailored black leather jacket, and how long his legs look in his designer jeans. He turns up the collar of his jacket. I wonder if he does that because he’s cold or because it’s fashionable. Peter is just like Lindsay. They would make the perfect couple. They are cut from the same cloth—rich. In that moment, I hate Lindsay, even though I know I shouldn’t.

 
Lindsay

I can’t believe I let Megan talk me into going to school. What the hell was I thinking? My head is pounding and my stomach feels queasy. The double café latte I sucked back this morning is doing nothing to help.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Rebecca’s voice sounds like a jackhammer in my head. “Keep it down. Why are you yelling?”
“Linds,” she says, causing me to cringe. “I’m not yelling. You really don’t look well.”

“Yeah, and I don’t feel well either,” I mumble.

“If I didn’t know you better I’d think you have a hangover,” she laughs. She’s right on target but

I’m not about to confess. I shut my locker and for once don’t bother to check out my reflection in the mirror. Why bother? I looked like shit this morning and no amount of make-up helped. I even hauled out the expensive make-up Mom got for me from Japan. Adding that to my face only made me look more chalky-white. Megan helped me wash it off and honestly I would have flopped back down on my bed to snooze for another two hours but she was like a freaking hound-dog, making sure I got up to move my ass or else. The or else part is the only reason I’m here now.

“I just ate something that didn’t sit well with me.” More like drank an entire bottle of cheap white wine and now I wish I could purge.

“You should see the nurse and get a white slip so you can go home.” Rebecca shuts her locker. Her eyes, as usual, dart to Blair sauntering down the hall with that jock-stride I hate.

“Have to go. See you in second period.”

She doesn’t wait for me to respond. Sometimes I wonder why she’s my friend. We are not one bit alike. Except for the money connection. Rebecca’s parents are loaded. Old money, said my mother, with disgust. Unlike her they never had to worry about their business. My mom worked her ass off to get where she is, and while I admire that, I also hate her for it. Even with Mom’s disgust with the notion of old money and people that inherit stuff like that without having to work for it, that didn’t stop her from making an instant networking connection within a week of us moving here. My first impression of Rebecca hasn’t changed. She was sweet and charming from the get-go but she’s all fluff. Inside she likes to push the envelope way too much. The funny thing is, if she really knew me, she’d think in her weird way, I was “cool” for trying to commit suicide. Trust me there was nothing cool about it.

Then I think Rebecca’s a genius. For the first time that morning I feel a ray of sunshine with the prospect of getting a white slip that will send me home.

I’m almost at the nurse’s office when I spot Peter as usual trying to convert more people to his committee. Ugh. There is no way I can hide or ignore the fact he’s watching me like a hawk. At the door of the office he walks over to me.

“Going somewhere, Lindsay?”

Peter’s play acting he’s concerned for my well-being is totally fake. What a jerk. I didn’t believe Megan’s story this morning until she described in detail what Peter wore. Knowing he’s my curse for being here and feeling like shit, even though he wasn’t the one drinking, makes me glare at him. My look is totally wasted on him.

He steps in front of me, effectively blocking my way. “Don’t even think of asking for a white slip.”
“Go away, Peter,” I say, “And, move out my way.”

He shakes his head. I get a whiff of his cologne and clutch my stomach. It’s the same stuff Greg wears and it makes me seriously feel like puking on his sneakers.

“Life isn’t pretty Lindsay, but you should have thought of that last night.”

“Jesus, Peter, what are you, Mr. Perfect, or something.”

“Far from it. I just thought this lesson would be your easiest. I can’t believe you and Megan were drinking last night.”

“Shh!” I try stepping past him.

“What, you don’t want everyone to know that you, Ms. Perfect, aren’t so perfect?”

Okay, is he trying to piss me off just to annoy me. “Look, Peter. I never said I was perfect. Why don’t you leave me alone and go fuck yourself.”

He tisks at me, like a two-year-old. “Lindsay, you obviously weren’t paying attention in health class, I can’t fuck myself. However, if ever…”

I grit my teeth and know my eyes are wide open. I let him finish that sentence with silence. The idea of fucking anyone in general, let alone Peter, who stinks like my step-father, repulses me.
Peter laughs. “I was only kidding Lindsay. You don’t have to look so disgusted. It ain’t going to happen.”

“That’s one thing you got right. It ain’t never going to happen. Now, get out of my way before I seriously give into my desire to hurl on you.”

He backs up with my declaration. Sweeping his arm across his chest in an old-fashioned gesture, I think for a second he’s on something. Then I dismiss that. Peter Spencer is just weird. He’s also head of the anti-drug committee at our school and something of self-declared fanatic. Thank god I didn’t sign up for that committee.

I open the door and step through the entrance into the nurse’s office. I force a smile to my face. Even that hurts my head.

“Can I help you, Lindsay?” asks Nurse Munroe.

Like our blue and white school uniforms, Nurse Munroe rocks her old-fashioned white uniform, equipped with the pill-box hat. This is casual week, meaning no uniforms. Next week it’s back to our boring knee-length pleated skirts and catholic-white blouses. Nurse Munroe, who is probably in her sixties, always wears a uniform.

Calmly, Nurse Munroe ushers me into her office and urges me to take a seat. I shut the door behind me, instantly feeling better. At my old school we didn’t have a nurse. We had a guidance counsellor I had to visit once. Mom made sure I never went back there. For that I was thankful. My old guidance counsellor’s office was nothing like this. The walls for one are painted a bright cheery yellow, there is a comfy leather sofa at one end of the office and I’m sitting on a plush black chair. There’s nothing remotely institutional about Nurse Munroe’s office. All of the nursing stuff is located in a side office, which she accesses. There’s even a private washroom.

“I’m not feeling so well, Nurse Munroe.”

I keep my voice lowered on purpose. Sitting back in the chair, I think about the lies I’m going to need to say to escape school. For a moment guilt swamps me. I told Megan I wouldn’t bail on her. However, I never asked her to trust me. While I’m glad she spent last night at my house, it’s not like we’re going to be best friends or something. If Rebecca and the others knew Megan spent the night at my house that wouldn’t go well. Best to pretend as usual I don’t know her.

“Well, I am sure we will figure out what’s wrong. It’s probably nothing. But, there are basic questions I ask all my students who visit here. So let’s begin with the first, shall we?”

I nod, thinking let’s get this over with and give me that goddamn slip so I can claim my bed again.

“When was your last period?”

I blink. She pushes out a laminated calendar. The months are outlined in black, clearly marked with the weeks in red and the days are color-coded in green. I stare at last month’s outline thinking Holy fuck. I am so screwed!