Would you dare to defy destiny? Are our destinies written in stone? Do we become nothing more than the self-fulfilling prophesies of other people's opinions? Or can we dare to become who we believe we were born to be?
“A gorgeous, heartfelt journey of redemption and love” (Wendy Higgins), ONLY A BREATH APART is a young adult contemporary novel from critically acclaimed Katie McGarry.
“Haunting, authentic, and ultimately hopeful” (Tammara Webber), ONLY A BREATH APART will be available on all retailers on January 22, 2019!
About ONLY A BREATH APART
Jesse dreams of working the land that’s been in his family forever. But he’s cursed to lose everything he loves most.
Scarlett is desperate to escape her “charmed” life. But leaving a small town is easier said than done.
Despite their history of heartbreak, when Jesse sees a way they can work together to each get what they want, Scarlett can’t say no.Each midnight meeting between Jesse and Scarlett will push them to confront their secrets and their feelings for each other.
Amazon | Kobo | Google Play | B-A-M
“Gritty and real, Only a Breath Apart is a story of hope conjured from pain, strength drawn from innocence, and love earned from self-respect. Beautiful, poignant, and fierce.”
― Kristen Simmons, critically acclaimed author of the Article 5 series
Excerpt
SCARLETT
I’m defying my parents by attending a funeral.
Reckless and adventurous teenage behavior, I know. Most seventeen-year-olds lie
to their parents so they can go on a date with a forbidden boy or attend a
party where there will be questionable behavior. Me? I’m outright lying to my
dad, and it’s because Jesse Lachlin’s grandmother died.
The entire way here I’ve questioned my sanity, but
I don’t know how I’d live with myself if I stayed home. Jesse Lachlin used to
be my childhood best friend. We were inseparable. We had the type of friendship
people strive to have, and then, a few years ago, he cut me so deeply that I
still bleed. But ten-year-old me would have never abandoned a hurting Jesse. So
today I’m not only honoring the memory of Jesse’s grandmother, but also the
memory of our dead friendship.
On my way to the funeral, the high grass of the
field swats at my legs, but I don’t mind the sting. I love walking barefoot in
grass, I love the smell of the earth and I love that brief feeling of freedom
open spaces can provide.
It’s the dog days of August. The type of hot that
starts when the sun rises and makes you sweat through your clothes within
minutes. While my skin and palms are on fire, the pads of my feet are cool
against the dirt. The heat is unwelcome, but the sky is deep blue and the sun
is bright, and for that, I can be grateful.
Walking out of the field, I stop short of crossing
the one-lane road to slip on the flats that dangle from my fingertips. My
mother would be mortified if she knew I was entering a church in a cotton
daisy-print sundress. It’s not one of the dresses with stiff fabric and
impossible back zippers she would have picked for me at an overpriced
department store. It’s the type that’s machine-washable and breathable. The
type of dress Jesse’s grandmother would have given her stamp of approval.
I can practically hear my mother heavily sigh and
mumble my name, Scarlett, as if it were her personal, private curse word. Mom
believes there’s a certain way to dress and behave, and I’m breaking all sorts
of her rules today. Watch out, world. I’m officially rebellious.
I smile to myself because I’m the opposite of
rebellious. For the last few years, I’ve followed every rule. I’m the teacher’s
pet and the girl with straight A’s. I’m the poster child of
perfection, and have earned every snarky ice princess comment Jesse’s friends
whisper about me in the school hallways because he and I no longer speak.
There are only six cars in the parking lot of the
white church, and that makes me frown. I thought more people would have wanted
to attend. Jesse’s mud-covered pickup is there, and so is an unnaturally clean
black Mercedes that belongs to his uncle. This ought to be interesting. Jesse
and his uncle have a mutual hate for each other that runs deeper than any root
of any tree.
Movement to my right and I slowly turn my head.
Shivers run down my spine at the sight of Glory Gardner. Even though I’m
seventeen and too old for ghost stories, I still can’t shake the ones regarding
this woman. Girls would whisper over lunch boxes that Glory was a witch. As I
grew older, I understood that witch meant con artist. She claims she can read
palms, tarot cards and “sees” spirits from beyond the dead. All for a glorious
fee.
She’s a beautiful woman—long dirty blond hair that’s
untamed, even in a bun, and she has an eclectic taste in clothing. Today she
wears a white peasant shirt and a flowing skirt made of material that shimmers
in the sun.
Glory watches me like I watch her, with morbid
curiosity. I knew her as a child, back when Jesse and I ran wild in the fields
near her home, but we haven’t talked in years.
She stands under the shade of a towering weeping
willow. There are lots of those trees around here. Mom says it’s because there
is too much water in the ground. I say it’s because the people in this town
have cried too many tears. Mom doesn’t like my answer.
I tilt my head toward the church, an unspoken
question if Glory will be joining me. She shakes her head no. I’m not shocked.
According to rumors, Glory will go up in flames if she enters the house of God.
But who knows? Maybe I will, too.
The church is one of those picturesque, historical,
one-room school buildings squeezed between a cornfield on one side and a hay
field on the other. A huge steeple with a bell attempts to reach the heavens,
but like anything created by a human, it falls tragically short.
The foreboding wooden door makes no noise as I open
it, and I’m able to slip in without a huge, squeaking announcement. Orange
light filters in through the dark stained glass windows, and its struggling
beams reveal millions of dancing particles of dust.
On the altar, there’s no casket, but there is an
urn. My heart dips—Suzanne is dead. I used to wish she were my grandmother, and
many times, she treated me as if I belonged to her. Suzanne was the epitome of
love, and the world feels colder now that she’s gone.
Choosing a spot in the back, I drop into a pew, and
as I scan the church my stomach churns. How is it possible that this place is
so barren?
Besides the Funeral Brigade, or the FB, as I like
to refer to them, there aren’t many people here. The FB are the older group of
woman who attend every funeral in our small town even if they didn’t know the
person. Attending funerals isn’t my idea of fun, but who am I to judge?
The FB sit directly behind the one person the town
believes to be the lone sane member of the Lachlin family, probably because he
isn’t blood related—Jesse’s uncle.
On the left side of the church is Jesse. Only
Jesse. And that causes a painful pang in my chest. Where are his stinking
friends? The anarchists in training who follow Jesse wherever he goes? Where is
the rest of the town? Yes, Suzanne was polarizing, but still, where is any
respect?
Quietly, so I don’t draw attention to myself, I
slip from the right set of pews to the left. Someone should be on Jesse’s side,
and it’s sad it has to be me.
A door at the front of the church opens, and the
pastor walks out from the addition the church build on as a small office ten
years ago. I would have thought any pastor assigned to this place would be as
ancient as this church. Sort of like an Indiana Jones Knights Templar scenario
where he lives forever as long as he stays inside. But no, he’s the youngest
pastor from the main, newer church in town. His name is Pastor Hughes, and he’s
a thirty-something black man with a fit build who is just cute enough that he
should be starring in a movie.
The pastor looks up, and he flinches as if
startled. I peek over my shoulder then sigh. Clearly, he’s surprised to see me.
Flipping fantastic.
His reaction, and the fact he won’t stop staring,
causes every person to turn their heads. Lovely. I’ve had dreams like this
where I enter a room and become the center of attention. Only in my dreams it’s
at school, it’s my classmates and I’m naked, but still, this is disconcerting.
Eventually, the FB and Jesse’s uncle return their
attention to the front, but Jesse doesn’t. He rests his arm on the back of the
pew, and it’s hard to ignore that he’s made me his sole focus, but I do my best
to act as if I don’t notice.
To help, I concentrate on what my mom taught me as
a child—to make sure the skirt of my dress is tucked appropriately so that my
thighs don’t show. I then fold my hands in my lap and straighten to a
book-on-head posture. I can be the ice princess people claim me to be.
Five pews separate me and Jesse, and it’s not
nearly enough. My cheeks burn under his continued inspection. Jesse has done
this a handful of times since our freshman year. Glance at me as if I’m someone
worth looking at, someone worth laughing with a little too loud and smiling
with a little too much. Then he remembers who I am and snaps his gaze to
someone else.
But he’s not looking away now.
About the Author
Katie McGarry was a teenager during the age of grunge and boy bands and remembers those years as the best and worst of her life. She is a lover of music, happy endings, reality television, and is a secret University of Kentucky basketball fan.
Katie is the author of full length YA novels, PUSHING THE LIMITS, DARE YOU TO, CRASH INTO YOU, TAKE ME ON, BREAKING THE RULES, and NOWHERE BUT HERE and the e-novellas, CROSSING THE LINE and RED AT NIGHT. Her debut YA novel, PUSHING THE LIMITS was a 2012 Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction, a RT Magazine's 2012 Reviewer's Choice Awards Nominee for Young Adult Contemporary Novel, a double Rita Finalist, and a 2013 YALSA Top Ten Teen Pick. DARE YOU TO was also a Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction and won RT Magazine’s Reviewer’s Choice Best Book Award for Young Adult Contemporary fiction in 2013.
No comments:
Post a Comment