"It could not be worse for ninth grader Becky Michigan on her first day at a new school, sitting in beet juice and staining her white jeans in a classroom about to fill up with students. In the nick of time, a gorgeous blonde boy named Danny comes in and offers his over-sized baseball jersey so she can cover up, get to the office, and change. By the time she pulls the shirt over her head, however, he has mysteriously disappeared.
Becky scours the school in search of her dream-athlete and wonders why after contact with him she has magically gained the ability to throw a fastball ninety miles per hour! Instead of finding the answer, however, Becky's new skill pits her against the school bully and the entire varsity baseball team.
That night, after her exciting showdown in front of the entire school, Danny shows up at her bedroom window. If she will agree to meet him behind Rutledge High at midnight on the ball field at the edge of the woods, he promises to reveal a secret meant to alter the past and change her life forever."
Purchase your copy here:
Nicholas Fisher is a college professor and
a sports enthusiast. He writes adult horror under another name, but thought of
the idea for Becky’s Kiss while
coaching his son’s baseball team. Since the story involved high school drama he
decided to write his first young adult piece. When not writing or teaching,
Nicholas Fisher enjoys pizza, reality television, and playing the banjo. He
lives in Pennsylvania with his wife and his son goes to Arizona State
University.Connect with the Author Here:
Snippet
She pushed inside.
“Meyers…” Mr. Marcus called out.
“Here,” some guy said, his voice cracking a bit on the first ‘e,’ and the class laughing back at him. The chairs were arranged in the ‘U’ shape like yesterday, with Becky’s seat at the far corner under a Salinger poster. But today, all the desks had been pushed back farther, so close to the wall that she had to make kids shove in as she passed. Teachers were insane and cruel, they really, really were.
“Messersmith,” Mr. Marcus said.
“Yeah.”
“Messersmith?”
“What! What?” She was had short hair and a ton of bracelets going up her arm. Mr. Marcus looked up with a thin smile.
“Take out your ear buds, and you’ll better know the volume of your voice.”
The girl was a statue. The smile on the teacher’s face vanished.
“Take…out…those…ear…”
“I hear you! Whatever! She took them out and folded her arms. Becky rounded the near corner of the ‘U’ and banged her book bag on the laptop cart parked behind her, blunder number one of the day. Slow down! she thought. One step at a time, and of course, her bag swung back a tad and brushed the crown of this muscled guy in a black t-shirt, blunder number two and counting. He hunched in and rubbed the back of his crew cut.
“Head shot, dude. Hit in the head. Can I go to the nurse?”
“No,” Mr. Marcus replied.
“I gotta see the counselor,” someone else chipped in.
“Not today.”
“I left my calculator on the bus,” another tried.
“Buy another.”
“My cell buzzed. It’s my mom. Can I take it?”
“No.”
“What’s for homework?”
“It’s on the board.”
“Where’s the pencil sharpener?”
“Michigan,” Mr. Marcus said.
“Here.” She had arrived at her seat, and she’d also pretty much solved the mystery of the little rebellion going on. The guy sitting in the chair next to hers had been absent yesterday, and he was clearly establishing himself as the class troublemaker—tall and wiry, knees and elbows everywhere, flannel shirt with a rip in the elbow. He had chin-zits slightly covered by a peach fuzz goatee, haphazard hair curling up a bit on the sides, and a big mole under his left cheekbone. And all through Becky’s awkward entry, he’d been rocking back and forth in his chair, hooting at each outburst, and adding a little “Ooooh-ahhh” at each of Mr. Marcus’s retorts. He wasn’t even the one misbehaving, at least not in any provable way. He was just the instigator, sitting back and prodding.
He also had his foot up on Becky’s chair. Black Converse high top. Dirty too.
To view our blog schedual and follow along with this tour visit our
No comments:
Post a Comment