Well, here it is. The first chapter to the sequel to THE BOOK OF LUKE.

Read on, enjoy, and let me know what you think. Fasten your seatbelts… Luke and Emily are in for a bumpy ride.

Chapter 1

 My roommate was a mermaid in her previous life.

I learned this nifty little fact as I slipped the elastic corners of my brand new cushioned mattress pad onto the barren twin bed set against the wall. The fresh bedding still smelled like fabric softener. My mother believed that everything was better with fabric softener, as if the scent of cotton meadow was a magic elixir against the unpleasantness of everyday life. Her next book was going to contain an entire chapter on scent etiquette – What Your Nose Knows.

The only thing my nose knew right then was that, if the musty, stagnant aroma of my new dorm room was any indication, the college facilities manager could benefit from the olfactory etiquette tips in the next installment of my mother’s bestselling series of books.

The girl who I would share the next nine months waking up to had already unpacked and was in the process of decorating her side of the room. Her mother obviously subscribed to the motto fend for yourself, because while I stretched my freshly laundered, meadow-scented linens across my bed she pounded nails into the wall with an improvised hammer – the heel of a faded black combat boot.

My mom could have suggested a less destructive hanging method, as well as the correct tools and ergonomic technique. But my parents were already on the highway heading home, and in an hour and forty minutes they’d walk into our house and probably find TJ had already turned my old bedroom into a game room for his friends. 

“Why don’t you try something in here?” I offered, and handed her a small box of various supplies my mom had packed and slipped into one of my three duffle bags. “I think there are tacks or hooks or something that might be easier.”

She took the box and started rummaging through the various sheets of Sticky Tack and plastic hooks with easy to remove adhesive backing.

“What do you think you were?” my new roommate asked me after selecting a few plastic coated push pins.

“When?” I asked her, focused more on making my bed than the voice coming from across the room, which, thankfully, was no longer punctuated by the sound of crumbling plaster.

“In your previous life,” she explained. “My boyfriend, Mark, was a dolphin.”

My mermaid roommate was dating a dolphin. How perfectly nautical.

 “I’m not sure I ever thought about reincarnation before,” I told Kaitlin, although I was sure that I had started to think, in this life, my roommate might be a whack job. Kaitlin had seemed normal enough when we talked on the phone over the summer. And she looked normal enough, no fish scales or tail hidden in her jeans far as I could tell. With her long dark hair and smoky almond-shaped eyes she was almost exotic looking, nothing like the pale red-head I’d always come to think of as the quintessential mermaid thanks to Disney.

When I found out my roommate would be Kaitlin Fleur from New Jersey there was no mention of her previous aquatic existence or that of her marine mammal boyfriend. Still, Kaitlin seemed nice enough, which was more than I could say for Josie’s roommate at Skidmore, a militant vegan who wore Lobsters Have Feelings Too and Cows Love Vegans t-shirts and attempted to vegucate Josie on the finer points of slaughter house injustices. I gave their living situation no more than a month before they each found a new roommate.

The push pins must have worked because when I turned around Kaitlin’s entire wall was covered with a purple, turquoise and gold jewel-toned tapestries that looked like they belonged in a subtitled movie with belly dancers and snake charmers coaxing pythons out of wicker baskets, not a dorm room in Western Massachusetts. Kaitlin stood back and admired her handiwork before turning to me.

“Want to see him?” She reached for a silver filigreed picture frame that had been propped on her night table.  “This is Mark.”

She came over to my side of the room and held out the photograph of Kaitlin and Mark sitting on a beach, her head resting on his shoulder.

I stared longer than I should have.

“He’s a year younger, so he’s a senior this year.”

“He’s really cute,” I offered, because he was and because I figured if I kept the conversation on Mark she wouldn’t ask why my voice suddenly sounded funny.

“Yeah, he is.” Kaitlin tipped her head to the side and smiled at her dolphin. “We were on the Jersey Shore, in Stone Harbor, ever been there?” she asked.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. I’d had my own photograph a few weeks ago. My own sandy beach with orange and pink sunset. Only instead of resting my head on the shoulder beside me I had been wrapped inside arms that were pulling me close.

I looked away. “A dolphin, huh?”

“Yeah, what about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

I slipped my pillow into the crisp case my mom had neatly folded around a lavender-scented sachet, a little aromatherapy to help me relax and sleep well in my new bed.

I shook my head. “My fish got away.”

Kaitlin looked truly crestfallen. “That’s okay, there’s someone out there for everyone.”

“There’s more fish in the sea?” My attempt to make her laugh only seemed to escalate her concern for my lackluster love life.

“Look, Emily. I’m interested in anyone new, but we’re in college now. There are a billion guys out there for you to meet.” She emphasized the B in billions, as if I’d be disappointed by mere millions.

“It’s not a big deal, really,” I assured her. “A guy is the last thing I need right now.”

Kaitlin nodded her agreement and then changed the subject, moving on to a topic that was safer and as far from this summer as we could get. “You know what classes you’re going to take?”

 I figured someone who believed she spent her previous life with a finned tail instead of legs would be the studio art or philosophy type of student, maybe even dance (she had to be almost six feet tall and was definitely thin enough to be mistaken for a ballerina, although after our brief conversation I could already tell she was more likely an improvised, tribal dance kind of girl).

Turns out my mermaid roommate was an engineering major. And she had already planned out her entire course load for the year – computer science and math classes with East Asian Languages and Literature thrown in for good measure.  

“I’m going to head over to the campus center, want to come?” Kaitlin offered after we’d finished swapping our knowledge of the course catalog, of which hers was way more thorough than mine.

Her side of the room looked like she’d already been there for days, but my side was still pretty barren and I still had to unpack my clothes. “I’m going to finish unpacking.”

Katilin grabbed a ten dollar bill out of her night table drawer and stuffed it into her jean pocket before heading out the door and leaving me alone in my new room. Just me, a tired and scuffed hardwood floor that had already impaled a splinter into my big toe (lesson learned, socks from now on), a blank wall pleading with me to do something as cool as Kaitlin’s tapestry, and stale dorm air that was starting to make me feel claustrophobic.

I went over to Kaitlin’s side of the room to open the window but stopped when I passed the silver frame on her night table. Mark was really cute. I could see why she didn’t care if he was still in high school. But she had to know the odds of the mermaid and the dolphin living happily ever after. Zero. Zilch. I gave them three months tops. Everything would change now that Kaitlin was away at college. High school was a lifetime ago. Even August felt long gone.

August. August 13. A Saturday. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head as I erased the mental image of a calendar and that day. That night. The image of Luke.

The picture of us on the beach was still in my duffle bag, I knew that. It was face down in the bottom, beneath my socks and sweatpants and all the new underwear my mom insisted on buying me, because who starts college with the same underwear they wore in high school? Not the daughter of an etiquette guru, apparently.

My breath caught in my throat, and as much as I wanted to believe that the lack of a well-oxygenated environment was to blame, I knew that wasn’t true. That photograph in my bag, I don’t know why I even brought it with me to school. I should have left it at home with everything else I’d decided to leave behind. That was my plan. My mom had been downstairs with my dad, both of them yelling to me that it was time to go, college awaited! But, after glancing around my bedroom one last time to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything important, I spotted the blue glossy triangle of color poking out from beneath my desk lamp. A corner of the ocean. I couldn’t see us, the rest of the photograph was hidden under the lamp base, but I knew we were there. I grabbed the photo from under my desk lamp and stuffed it into the bottom of my bag before flipping off the light switch on the wall and going downstairs to say goodbye to TJ one last time.

I did know why I brought the picture of us with me. And the reason made my eyes sting and my chest constrict, like my heart was breaking open inside me and every muscle, every bone was trying to keep it from shattering into a million pieces.

Breath, I reminded myself, just keep breathing.

I reached over and cracked open the window to let in some air. September had barely begun but already the breeze was different, more unsympathetic. Summer was definitely over.

And so were me and Luke.

Over on YAoutsidethe lines.com this month’s theme is growth – either our own as writers, or the growth of our characters.

When I first learned of this month’s theme – moments of growth or turning points for our characters or ourselves – I thought I knew what I’d write about. But then I received an email. Here is an excerpt:

I *doubt* you remember me, but…  I met you probably 8 years or so ago at a writers conference in Colorado Springs. You took the time to help me with a pitch I was working on for a book. I have yet to sell that book – BUT I did sell one! The point is, you believed in me at a time when I really needed that – and I just wanted to take a moment to thank you. Somebody asked me in an interview the other day why I kept going – after so many fails (haha). Today I was going through my shelves and found a copy of your book and it all just flooded back to me. Wow – you were a big part of why I didn’t give up. So thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. 

When I received that email I was shocked. I remember that conference in Colorado Springs, but it feels like another lifetime ago. I’d only published two books when I attended as a participant on a panel. Can you imagine what it was like to receive this email? 

The thing is, I never thought that I was really helping this person, I was just doing what I would have hoped someone would have done for me. Be helpful and nice. I read that email and, if I didn’t know it was about me, I would think that the writer she was referring to was “fully baked.” Had her act together so much that she could share her experiences with someone starting out. But I know that back then I felt like I was just a beginner, too. Even if I had a few books published, I was still learning what it was like to be a writer. 

Now, eight more books later and at least eight years later, I still feel like that. I write a chapter or a scene and I doubt myself. I think I suck. I question if I’ll ever finish another book, or if I’ll actually like what I’m writing. Almost a decade after I started writing my first book, I’m still growing. It doesn’t stop. It actually gets harder, at least for me. Because with each book I want to get better, try something different, push myself. I want to keep growing as a writer. 

And this email reminded that in order to grow we have to help others grow, too. We have to extend ourselves not just to help and maybe teach, but to also learn from others. Because now, when I start to doubt myself, I will read this email again and remind myself that this writer hung in there and it paid off. And now it’s my turn to learn from her. And keep typing.

Last weekend one of my best friends from college came to visit. In a snowstorm, because that’s what best friends do (as long as JetBlue is flying). She made it out of Richmond and into Boston. The plan was to meet for lunch in Boston and do some shopping. The snowstorm had other plans in mind. So she took the train to my house and we spent the entire afternoon hanging out, listening to music and talking (we also gorged ourselves on CheezDoodles – an entire bag – it was our dinner).

The next morning my other best friend from college picked us up and we headed to Providence for lunch with an old friend of ours. She left Smith her sophomore year but we’d managed to stay in touch. And she is fabulously wonderful and cool and has led a life that makes the of us feel downright boring (she married a juggler and traveled the world… really, her stories are crazy). The juggler is long gone, but us girls are still around. So Ina, Vicki, Vangie and I enjoyed lunch and shopping and an amazing day in Providence. We met eachother (gulp) 27 years ago! Our Freshman year of college. But sitting there talking about life and where we are today and how we got there (we are all divorced and the better for it), we could have been 18 again. It was so awesome.

Once again I was reminded how awesome my friends are and how I couldn’t survive without them.

That night we had our boyfriends join us for dinner and we had an awesome, fun time. But there is nothing like just girls. I can’t wait to do it again.

My fellow Girlfriends Cyber Circuit author and Smith alum Jessica Brody has a new book out! Best of all, you can Readers can download the first five chapters FREE!  Yes, free! Just in time for spring break reading. Read on…

The only thing worse than forgetting her past…is remembering it.

When Freedom Airlines flight 121 went down over the Pacific Ocean, no one ever expected to find a single survivor; which is why the sixteen-year-old girl discovered floating amid the wreckage—alive—is making headlines across the globe. She has no memories of boarding the plane. She has no memories of her life before the crash. She has no memories…period. As she struggles to piece together her forgotten past and discover who she really is, every clue raises more questions. Her only hope is a strangely alluring boy who claims to know her. Who claims they were in love. But can she really trust him? And will he be able to protect her from the people who have been making her forget?

Set in a world where science knows no boundaries and memories are manipulated UNREMEMBERED by Jessica Brody is the first novel in a compelling, romantic, and suspenseful new sci-fi trilogy for teens.

Today I had such an awesome afternoon. As I drove home from Boston I couldn’t help but just be happy. Why? Girlfriends.

First I met my very good friend Ann for lunch. We met about 5 years ago professionally. Ann was in advertising in NYC and has fabulous stories about the good old days. She went to Mount Holyoke (a fellow Seven Sister college just down the road from Smith). She is funny and fun and so smart and laid back and silly but thoughtful. Love her. It doesn’t hurt that she always takes me to her club for lunch because she knows I adore their turkey sandwiches. We just had an hour together before she had to head back to work, and it didn’t feel long enough. Could have sat there for hours talking.

Then it was on to the Isabella Steward Gardner Museum to meet a new friend, a fellow author, Alisa Libby. Alisa and I participate in the same YA blog site (YA Outside the Lines). Alisa and I write vastly different novels but that’s the thing about writers, I truly have not met a YA writer I didn’t thoroughly enjoy. Alisa and I ate dessert (flourless chocolate cake for me, yummy) and chatted about writing, frustrations, encouragements, and just shared stories. Although we’d never met in person before, it was a relaxed easy hour.

There are women who are girls girls and women who prefer hanging with the guys. I have no problem hanging with the guys but, boy, I sure do love my female friends. They make me very happy and I don’t know what I’d do without them.

Me! It was my birthday this week. And I LOVE my birthday. Those women who are all coy about their age, the ones who are all “I’ll never tell…” Well, I always tell!! I am so proud to be one year older, and hopefully wiser. And there’s cake! And people send you good wishes all day long and friends you haven’t spoken with in a while ring your phone.

Can’t wait for my next one!

I am the alumnae admissions coordinator for my local Smith College club. That means I get to interview local prospective students and also set them up with other alums to talk to. Well, for those of you who are seniors in high school, you know that this is crunch time. Applications are due, interviews have to be done and write-ups submitted to colleges for consideration.

So I’ve met with lots of students lately and can I just say, what amazing young women!! Really. I swear, I was not as awesome when I was 18. Love these girls. I have one more to go tomorrow and then interview season is over and the rest is in the hands of the college. I wish all the girls luck!!! You are amazing!

Love this cover. I think it’s so brilliant. And the book? Melissa Walker’s SMALL TOWN SINNERS. Here’s a little more about it:

Does falling in love mean falling out of faith? 

Lacey Anne Byer is a perennial good girl and lifelong member of the House of Enlightenment, the Evangelical church in her small town. With her driver’s license in hand and the chance to try out for a lead role in Hell House, her church’s annual haunted house of sin, Lacey’s junior year is looking promising.

But when a cute new stranger comes to town, something begins to stir inside her. Ty Davis doesn’t know the sweet, shy Lacey Anne Byer everyone else does. With Ty, Lacey could reinvent herself. As her feelings for Ty make Lacey test her boundaries, events surrounding Hell House make her question her religion.

I ended 2012 under water. In December I went scuba diving for the first time in my life. And I’m not exactly a water person, I love the beach, but don’t love the water so much. It’s always too cold. But in the Caribbean the water was just right and I received some fabulous instruction and the next thing you know, I’m 40 feet under the sea grazing the bottom of the ocean.

That I ended 2012 by doing something I’d never done before was a good omen for me. (although omen has such an ominous connotation and not necessarily positive given the scary movie, but I don’t know what else to call it).

2013 started in the snow, twelve inches of fresh powder to be exact. I went to Deer Valley, Utah skiing and it snowed from the moment we touched ground until the moment we went wheels up. It was freaking awesome. I’ve skied just about my entire life and loved deer Valley. The fact that we stayed at the St. Regis, which sits slopeside and has the best hot chocolate every afternoon at 3:00 in the library, didn’t hurt. 

But I also tried something new – snowmobiling. Let me say, it was a cold day. Like single digit cold, and the  snow coming down in our faces, there were times it was actually painful. But it was also so much fun. And I was so glad to start 2013 going 30mph across the snow in the Utah mountains.

I’m hoping that 2013 is filled with lots of new firsts. I hope yours is too!!

Ready to ring in 2013 with a new book? Then check out Lucienne Diver’s Vamped series and the latest installment, FANGTASTIC. Learn more about Lucienne and her Vamped series at her web site. Or how about buying it right now here!!! Read on…

Gina Covello and her band of federal fugitives are on the run after taking down a secret (and sinister) government facility. Strapped without cash or credit cards—a fate worse than death for Gina—the rebels must find a place to lay low. They roll into Salem, Massachusetts, the most haunted town in America and the only place they have friends flying under the radar. But within a day, Gina and her gang are embroiled in a murder mystery of the supernatural kind.

Someone—or something—is strangling young women, and it’s rumored to be the ghost of Sheriff Corwin, late of the Salem Witch trials. Is it the ghostly Sheriff or is someone on this side of the veil using the famous story as a cover up? Gina is determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, and she needs to do it before a paranormal reporter on the scene exposes them for what they are…fanged federal fugitives.