by B.R. Myers
Release Date: 9/21/15
Nimbus Publishing
Summary from Goodreads:
When seventeen-year-old track and field star Jesse Collins’ dreams of a full scholarship are shattered after the sudden death of her dad, she leaves home to work as a summer camp counselor to escape the small town nosy stares...and her own secret guilt.
After a mix-up at registration, she’s put in charge of a boys’ cabin, and the head counselor, Kirk, predicts she won’t last the first two weeks. In the midst of fending off four twelve-year-old boys who are hell-bent on mortifying her and a growing attraction to Kirk, Jesse finds the inspiration to run again from an unlikely source. But getting her old life back isn't that easy and soon Jesse will realize that a good pair of legs can take a girl far, but she'll never outrun the truth.
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Excerpt:
Chapter 2 Girl on the Run by
B. R. Myers (September 2015)
Cool
morning air hit my face. My sneakers kept count with a steady beat.
“Feet
and lungs, Jesse!” Dad called out.
I
pumped my arms faster, not even hearing the gravel crunch under my
shoes. I wasn’t running, I was flying. I bounded through the air
for a few more seconds before slowing down.
“Beat
that!” I laughed between deep breaths.
But
he wasn’t behind me.
“Dad?”
My voice echoed through the empty park. A woodpecker knocked above my
head.
I looked up, but there wasn’t a bird. Then the park melted into
darkness...into
nothing.
I
blinked and my bedroom came into focus. Someone knocked on my door. I
pulled the covers over my head.
“Hey,
Legs,” Grandma sang. “You up?”
“Yeah,”
I mumbled into the pillow.
This
was the worst time of the day. For a few seconds, I believed that
life for the last four months had only been a dream, and that Dad was
actually downstairs making breakfast.
Although
Mom was the caterer, Dad owned the kitchen on weekend mornings. It
was unusual to wake up and not smell bacon or hear the gurgles from
the coffee maker. But that had changed, too. The familiar knot
tightened my stomach. Reality packs a mean punch.
“Legs?”
“Yup.”
I pushed myself up in bed and rubbed my face. Grandma’s white
spiked hair
peeked
around the doorframe. A big smile on her red lips made me return the
expression automatically. She closed the door, then sat down on the
bed and took my hand in hers.
“Oh,
Legs.” She’s the only person who still calls me that without it
feeling forced or
sarcastic.
Her silver bangles tinkled as she traced the lines of my palm with
her wrinkled finger.
“Let
me guess,” I yawned, “an unexpected romance.”
“Hmm,”
she frowned.
“Good
or bad?”
“Shh,
I’m concentrating. This is very interesting.” She turned my hand
and gently
squeezed
the flesh, making ridges along the side of my hand.
I
knew what she was looking for. “How many kisses, Grandma?” I
asked.
“More
than you’ve had before, one in your very near future.”
“Someone
special?” I played along.
“Someone
who loves you,” she promised. Then she leaned forward and kissed my
forehead.
“How was your date last night?”
I
groaned. “He kept calling me Jessica.” It was an honest mistake,
I guess. Not many girls are named Jesse. I was supposed to be Julia,
after Julia Child, but Mom was so dopey from painkillers after she
had me, Dad got to choose. He was a sportswriter who worshiped Jesse
Owens, and when I paired up with track and field like peanut butter
with jelly, it seemed I was fulfilling my namesake’s destiny. Even
Mom, food whiz extraordinaire, was excited to have a super jock for a
daughter, and once the trophies started to pile up, she finally
forgave Dad.
“Looked
like you made up by the end,” Grandma teased. She’d been watching
through the drapes, of course.
“Never
kiss anyone goodnight after they’ve eaten a tub of flavoured movie
popcorn,” I told her. I could still picture him sprinkling two full
packages of the fake seasoning.
“He
didn’t even flinch when I warned him about the MSG.”
She
nodded like she was mentally cataloguing my advice. We sat quietly,
and her gaze fell on my huge duffel bag, bursting with clothes.
“Chloe
said she dropped off some outfits,” I said.
She
smoothed out the yellow chenille bedspread. “I put in a couple of
extra things for you too,” she said. I snuck a glance at the
closet, wondering if she’d found my sneakers. My doubts about
leaving for the whole summer began to creep back.
“I’m
worried about Mom,” I confessed.
“Of
course,” Grandma said. “But your mom needs this time too. Her
grief is different
from
yours. She needs to go through all of his things, get rid of his
clothes, organize
papers—”
“But
I can help her do that!”
“No,
Legs, she needs to grieve without you watching or listening.” She
let me sort out
what
she had said. And the more I thought about it, the more it made
sense. Didn’t I do all my real gut-wrenching crying when I was
alone?
“She
needs to cry, without being worried I’ll hear her,” I finally
said. I hadn’t been the only one in the house pretending all these
months. I drew up my knees, hugging them under the bedspread.
Grandma
looked at my door as if she expected Mom to walk in on us. “Can I
give you
some
advice?”
My
eyes flicked between the door and Grandma. “You’ve never asked
before.”
Then
she leaned closer and made her voice soft. “Kiss as many boys as
you can.”
“Is
this the same advice you gave to Mom when she was my age?”
“Of
course not, you’re completely different girls.” She paused, and
then brushed a stray hair away from my face. “Therefore, you get
different advice.”
“Anything
else I should know?”
She
pursed her lips and looked to the side. “If you’re ever in a
sticky situation, especially with a boy—”
“This
sounds kinky.”
“—and
you need a quick getaway, there are two courses of action that never
fail.”
“Mace
and kicking?”
“No,”
she waved her hand. “Crying and talking about tampons.”
“Grandma,”
I moaned. “I think you just set feminism back by thirty years.”
“It
always worked for me.”
“So...kiss
lots of boys. That’s your advice?”
She
laughed. “Because someday you’ll be an old fool like me, and no
one will want to
kiss
you.”
I
circled her tiny frame with my arms, inhaling her familiar scent of
lavender skin cream.
She
leaned back and patted my cheek. “Legs,” she said, “take this
summer for you. Go
skinny
dipping, curse out loud in a quiet room, eat French fries and ice
cream for
breakfast...”
“That’s
more your style than mine.”
“Doing
things outside of your comfort zone helps you grow,” she said
matter-of-factly.
But
I was terrified. What if I couldn’t do it? My commitment to
training and running had kept me focused. Without it I was
floundering and clueless, completely lost. Maybe doing some- thing
brand new wasn’t the best idea. “What if...” I started, then my
voice caught in my throat.
What
if I never feel like me again? What if I stay this loser forever?
What if I ruin
everything
at camp too?
“What
if this is a mistake?” I finally asked.
“That’s
how you learn. I didn’t get this smart from always making the right
choices.
Besides,”
she squeezed my hand, “the mistakes are the best stories.” She
laughed and a little bit of my worry melted away. “Now get up.
Scarlett O’Hara has called twice already.”
Chloe
squealed so loudly, I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “So?”
she giggled.
“Is
the Kissing Clause a myth or did the hot lifeguard bring you back to
life?”
“His
name is Ben,” I reminded her. “Last year he worked as a camp
counsellor, so he
gave
me some advice—don’t let the kids drown. Profound, huh?”
She
let out a disappointed sigh. “Another one bites the dust.”
I
squirmed on the spot. “It’s me that’s the problem. I feel like
I’m letting everyone
down.”
Chloe
made a surprised sound. “The only one you’re letting down is Old
Jesse.”
“Old
Jesse?”
“Yeah,
remember her?” she sassed. “That girl was always smiling and
laughing, but she was a real bulldog on the track. She’s the one
who never gives up.”
Bulldog
on the track.
I
never used to back down from a challenge. The dirtier, the better.
But that girl left town four months ago and was never coming back. I
was watching life from the sidelines now.
My
finish line vanished the day I threw my runners in the closet.
She
was quiet, then she said, “Hey, at least tell me how the kissing
was.” Her tone was so hopeful it made me smile.
I
wanted to tell her that I’d felt it all the way to my toes. That
kissing Ben was like tasting honey over vanilla ice cream. But I
couldn’t. I pictured the tiny molecules of flavored MSG sliding off
of his tongue and into my mouth. The kiss could be summed up in one
word—well, actually, one flavour. “Dill pickle,” I said, dully.
After
promising to email Chloe regularly, Mom, Grandma, and I piled into
the van.
The
scenic drive through the valley was a little over two hours. There
wasn’t much talking; instead we let the radio break up the silence.
Soon the wooden sign announcing we had arrived at Kamp Krystal Lake
came into view.
Along
the winding dirt road, trees to either side gave way to expansive
grounds. The area was teeming with kids. In a flash of red, one kid
ran right in front of the van, then something slapped against the
door.
“That
little bastard threw mud at the car!” Grandma announced from the
back seat.
“What
kind of place is this, the delinquent hall?”
My
heart began to beat faster. What did I know about delinquents? The
only kids I
babysat
were the Turner triplets, and they were angels. I gripped the edge of
the seat.
“Don’t
worry, Jesse,” Mom soothed. “I’m sure he’s full of nervous
energy. Besides, girls are always better behaved.”
The
parking lot was a sea of buses and cars. All around us kids were
hugging parents
goodbye
while teenagers high-fived each other.
“Wow,”
Grandma said. “I bet she’s pop, pop, popular!”
Standing
tall among a giggling group of kids, a platinum blond ponytail armed
with a
clipboard
showed off a brilliant smile. Everyone else was a tray of stale
graham crackers, and she was the cupcake with pink fluffy frosting.
She ushered the group away from the buses, clearly their newly
appointed summer queen.
“Are
you all right?” Mom asked, studying my face. “Have you changed
your mind?”
I
snuck a look at Grandma in the backseat. “No, I need this time too,
Mom.”
My
armpits got sticky and my fists, full of vinyl, started to cramp. I
couldn’t move.
Grandma
leaned forward and put her head between me and Mom. “When I was
seventeen,”
she began, “I spent my summer at a resort. There was one nerdy boy
who was a terrible flirt. One night he asked me to help him carry
some watermelons up to a private function. I expected some bridge
club meeting, but it turned out to be this wild party for staff.”
Grandma
sighed and her voice became dreamy. “And that’s when I saw
Johnny. He was hired to teach the rich old ladies the fox trot. I
fell so hard for him. He taught me about dancing, and love and
well...it was a summer I’ll never forget. And all because I helped
carry watermelons to a party.” She stared out the windshield, lost
in her thoughts.
“Grandma!
That’s Dirty Dancing!”
Mom
closed her eyes then pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb
and finger. “I think the point Grandma is trying to make is that
someday, you may have your own daughter at camp.” She paused for a
moment then gave me a slight smile. “Do you want to tell her about
a movie, or a real story—maybe one that might happen here, this
summer?”
My
mouth fell open. “Are you telling me to have sex?!”
Grandma
exploded with laughter from the back seat. “Oh my god, Maria, if
Stevie was still alive he’d have a heart attack all over again.”
“Mom!”
“Grandma!”
An
uncomfortable silence filled the car. Slowly our sniffles punctured
the quiet air.
“I’m
sorry,” the three of us said together. Grandma reached for our
hands.
“That
was a good movie,” Mom finally said.
“Yeah,”
I whispered. “Especially the ending, when he catches her in the
air.”
Mom
cleared her throat. “Next year you’ll be getting ready for
university, and you’ve
always
spent so much time training. It’s good to slow down sometimes,
Jesse,” she said.
“I’m
worried you’re missing out on being a teenager.”
I
stared down at my lap. My little summer camp experiment had become a
test. A test to see if I could learn to live without running. Without
Dad.
“But
don’t do anything stupid,” Mom said, suddenly pan- icked. “Don’t
lose your head in a false romance.”
“False
romance?”
“Have
fun, but don’t come home pregnant,” Grandma said.
“That’s
it!” I screeched. “Any more talk of sex from you two, and I’ll
be in the monastery for life!” I jumped out of the car and grabbed
my duffel bag from the trunk.
“Nuns
go to the convent,” Grandma called out.
We
had discussed earlier that I would walk away on my own. No goodbyes,
no tears— well, none outside the car. I shouldered my duffel bag
and followed all the other kids.
The
Cupcake ran by me, her perfect ponytail swinging from side to side, a
clip- board tucked under her arm. I reached up and tried to smooth
out my own hair, still somewhat straight from Chloe’s make- over
last night.
“Hey
Legs!”
Grandma
had taken my seat, and was leaning out of the passenger window of the
light blue van as it pulled away, and I suddenly wished I was going
with them. “Just
remember,”
she called out. “Nobody puts Baby in the corner.” Then she
laughed and
blew me a kiss.
Book Trailer:
I write YA, appreciate a design in my cappuccino, love shopping for vintage jewelry and dream in color. Coming from Nimbus Publishing, my contemporary coming of age novels, BUTTERFLIES DON'T LIE (SEPTEMBER 15,2014) and GIRL ON THE RUNJUST JESSE (Fall 2015). from Fierce Ink Press, ASP OF ASCENSION (July 2015).
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