Announcing the May First Five Pages Workshop with Mentor S.T. Underdahl

The April First Five Pages Workshop with guest mentor S.T. Underdahl will open for entries at noon Eastern time on Saturday, May 4th. Check the full workshop rules at the link below:

http://firstfivepagesworkshop.blogspot.com/p/workshop-rules.html?m=0



About the Mentor

Susan Thompson Underdahl is a North Dakota native who lives and writes in Grand Forks, ND. She has always been an avid reader who counts among her favorites writers Judy Blume, Sandra Dallas, Elizabeth Berg, Shirley Jackson, Steve Kluger, Dave Eggers, and Nancy Turner. The Other Sister (Flux, March 2007) was Susan's first published novel, followed by Remember This (Flux, 2008), and Summer On Lake Tulaby (Authorhouse, 2011). No Man's Land (Flux, 2012)is her most recent work. She is represented by Quinlan Lee of Adams Literary Agency.

Aside from writing, Susan's primary working life revolves around her job as a clinical neuropsychologist, a specialist who works in the evaluation and treatment of individuals suffering from brain injury or dementia. She is also a clinical supervisor of graduate students at the University of North Dakota in Grand Forks.

Besides work and writing, Susan enjoys spending time with her husband, two sons, one daughter, and three stepdaughters, ages 12-20. The family is rounded out by one unfriendly cat and four overly-friendly dogs.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Lynn Rev 2

Talynn Lynn
YA Dystopian
To Find A Way


My stomach knotted and my heart thumped with an irregular pattern. This is not the way I envisioned my first week, already summoned to the office. I should be happy my mom said. Instead, I gripped the gold plated chair arm, letting the cold ride up my arm inch by inch. One glance out the office window and I knew why I couldn’t shake the ominous feeling hanging in the air. The perfect storm dumped massive amounts of rain. Black clouds pushed the wispy white out of the way helping to illuminate the streak of lightning falling from the sky. The spiral-topped concrete buildings sprawled across the valley below, drenched and soaked with water. The bell tower sagged under the weight of the water accumulating on the roof.

The mirror image of prison camp.

Thunder boomed and the windows rattled but I kept telling myself that’s not why I jumped. The school pamphlets I held in my lap fell to the floor. I wanted to crawl under the chairs and disappear as magically as the lightening.

I picked up my papers and walked to the window, watching the rain splatter on the glass. I traced the droplets, guessing which way they’d slide and disappear into a puddle on the outside sill. Today, I wished I could be a raindrop and blend in with the droplets slipping into the pool of rain. I wiped the tear the tickled down my cheek and watched as the sprinkles outside slid away with my tears.

“Miss Jamison?” said a voice from behind. “Hello. I’m Mrs. Tolson.”

I jumped and dropped my papers again. So much for disappearing. Too late now.

“I don’t know why they send all those letters and pamphlets out to new students. We cover everything mentioned in them during orientation and then again during each personal welcome meeting. I’ve always thought it was a waste of money to keep printing them,” she said as she walked over to me and knelt down to pick up the papers. She stood, and handed them back.

“Why don’t we step into my office? I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions.”

Mrs. Tolson's gray hair was pulled back in a severe bun and her suit was frumpy and gray. She had a mole above her left eye. In spite of her looks, her blue eyes could be pretty. Maybe.

I followed her through a door with her name engraved in silver on a nameplate of gold. She motioned toward a red velvet cushioned chair and sat down in a red matching swiveled one. The room was all glass, except for the back wall with the door with just walked through. All the shades were drawn, but the one right behind Mrs. Tolson’s desk was raised. Good. I could still watch the rain splatters roll down the glass.

I wiped my eye with the back of my hand and concentrated on the vanishing drizzle.

For a moment, she examined me, her eyes moving from my head to my toes. She removed her glasses and let them hang loosely from the chain around her neck. The reflection from the swinging light above the desk caught in the glasses and bounced of the window. I concentrated my stare on her eyes to avoid the attraction of shimmer. She cleared her throat and I took that as a sign to say something. Anything to remove the awkward silence.

“Honestly, I don’t have much to say. My biggest question would be who paid for my schooling?”

Mrs. Tolson looked at me with knitted eyebrows. If her job as a school counselor was to be kind, and if this was an act, I’d be able to see right through her. I wanted to know right from the beginning if she could convince me she was on my side. I stretched my legs out in front of me and crossed my arms, never taking my eyes from her face.

“I can't tell you who your benefactor is. That is strictly confidential.”

I raised an eyebrow, but never moved my eyes.

“I’m sure it is. But can you at least tell me why?”

She looked directly in my eyes. “I wasn’t told why. And it's really none of your business. All I know is that you are here and now it’s my job to turn you into a proper socialite who can control her emotions.” Man, she's a prune face.

I dropped my jaw and rose up in the chair.

“What? Turn me into a proper socialite?”

“I’m aware of how difficult it is for a seventeen year old teen to move to a new school, start all over again, make new friends. It’s my job to help smooth the transition and teach you to fit in and be accepted.”

“Really? I’m trying to make sense all this, but this moves beyond my understanding. I am more than capable of making my own friends and fitting in where I need to fit in.” This is unbelievable. Where did she come off thinking I needed to change, be someone else? To fit in? I liked being unnoticed. I don't mind being invisible.

“Please hear me out, Miss Jamison.”

“My name is Prism. Miss Jamison is my mother.”

Mrs. Tolson offered a grim smile, but her eyes became narrow slits. “Very well, Prism. I hope you don’t prove to be a drama queen here at Stony Hill.”

She's so rude. I don't like her. At all.

I placed my hands on my knees and gulped in some fresh air. I couldn't help but look over her head, out the window. Anger boiled inside my chest and thunder boomed like crazy. This time, Mrs. Tolson jumped. She laid her palms flat on the desk and took a deep breath.

She picked up a pen and wrote something on her paper stacked in front of her, and then reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a brown colored envelope. I wasn’t going to let her get away with calling me a drama queen. I couldn’t be farther from her…that type of person. Glancing out the window again, the black opened like a faucet. Lightning flashed.

“Mrs. Tolson, I'm not a drama queen. I’m just surprised at what you are saying. I wasn’t aware this was a charm school of sorts and I certainly didn’t know I was going to have a metamorphosis during my stay here. Maybe I’ve made the wrong decision.”

Mrs. Tolson laid the packet down on her desk. She fumbled with the chain around her neck before placing her glasses back on her face as if they were a magnifying glass.

“Prism, this is the greatest opportunity you will ever have in your life. Someone, a very generous and caring someone, has paid, upfront, for you to obtain the highest education in the state. Not only that, but this person has demanded a complete turn around in your presentation and social standing. This means, you will attend charm classes, you will learn to behave like a socialite and you will learn to dress like one, as well. We have a lot of work to do, and very little time to get it done. I hope to have your complete cooperation. Do I make myself clear?” She finished by pulling her glasses of her face. This gesture was getting on my nerves.

"Sure. Clear as crystal."

Demanded? Well, I’ll show her.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Westbrook Rev 2

Pasha Westbrook
YA Dark Contemporary
Ragdoll



friday, october 31st
i’ve seen demons. i know what they can do. i’ve been possessed by them. i have been their possession. they cast you in an invisible spell. they blind the eyes of people around you so people don’t see them in the same unfiltered light as you. but you know their light well; their aged, over ripe, cheesecloth light filled with ancient screams. the minute it touches you, it shrouds you 4ever.

ouch.

Mother safety pinned a butterfly bookmark to this journal. it’s her way of saying she speaks my language - that she’s on my level (i wear safety pins in everything) - but i have a secret for you Mother dear. you’ll never speak my language. And i’ll never speak yours.

god. this blood’s getting everywhere.



ragdoll
i am her childhood doll. i crinkle to life when her blood spills. i move in red and breath. she doesn’t see me and she doesn’t know that i see. i have seen since we first found each other. she was four. that was twelve years ago. i’ve been around a lot longer. i don’t know how long. i only remember the smell of smoke and turpentine, the taste of oiled cinnamon, the feel of hard straw and needle pinch as it sewed on each stitch of mouth and coarse yarn hair. i didn’t have to see to know it flamed red. it was a long and painful process. creation always is. the nimble strength and rough tenderness in my creator’s hands taught me everything i needed to know about love. my button eyes were sewn on last. i saw my maker. old and weathered, battered by time, her skin dark chocolate and her eyes rheumatic. she saw me smile and smiled in return, patting my stuffed arms and legs. she’ll need you, she whispered in a voice i recognized as my own. i travelled great distances, through many hands and lives, none of them right for me, to find the girl who needs me most, the one my creator created me for.



it’s hallows eve. my birthday. how’s that 4 blessed, huh? you know you’re bound to a twisted life when you’re born on the day meant 4 celebrating death.

born 2 die.

this journal is a gift from Mother. 4 your poetry, she said with her sad voice and sadder smile. of course it’s the wrong color. pink (her favorite color) with some inspirational quote engraved on it that’s supposed to enlighten me. instead it sickens me. not the effect the unknown author was going 4 i’m sure. the moment i saw the journal i knew i wanted nothing to do with it. i almost tossed it when a queer idea struck me. i wrapped it in crushed black velvet and trimmed it with crimson ribbon, like a bloody vein. the pink has been vanquished.

never fear, diary dear, the hallowed eve’s girl is here!

i immediately took care of you. and now i claim you. you are not allowed to touch another’s hands or look into their eyes. if you do, i will wilt. like a poisoned flower, i shall die. and if the day comes that you look upon another, i know that i am no longer alive. just a haunt of a girl, haunting and haunted. we are bound now. promise me this, and i promise 2 tell you everything. we bond in blood, it’s just a pinprick, on the first page here, see? i’ve marked you with the only part of me i know how to freely give. my blood. so if another touches you, close your eyes, do not let them see. but if you must open them, please choose wisely. be my protector.

if you dare.

well isn’t this cute? trick-or-treaters are outside my bedroom window ringing the doorbell. i hear Mother’s faint voice complimenting them, smoothing them with her spawn honey. i hear their giggles and the wonder in their tones at her soft approach. she has a way of doing that to people, convincing them she’s warm as sun, sweet as sugar, harmless as a skittish deer. i marvel at it. her technique i didn’t inherit. why don’t they see? why don’t people ever see that’s she’s as vicious as a pack of hungry wolves, cold as frostbite on a century’s winter lawn, dark as death.

me? i don’t trick-or-treat anymore. i play with ouija boards and get buzzed off alcohol. cigarettes are my candy.


monday, november 3rd
lexi wants to do it 2nite. dye her hair. she doesn’t want to wait a minute longer. it’s 9pm now. Mother doesn’t know i’m going, and even if she did, she could care less. don’t worry, diary dearest, i’m bringing you with me. it’s a mile to the small apartment where lexi and her blob mother live. a mile of walking in a town stretched across dry lands peppered with chalky sidewalks and bitter oleanders. a mile past stucco fenced suburbs, lit-windowed houses and long people’s shadows on closed blinds. a different life happening inside each one - happy ones maybe - disturbed ones more likely. everyone’s hiding something. i don’t care how normal they seem.

lexi needs me as much as i need her. demonic-touched girls horde together. it’s up to us to rid ourselves of the evil’s heavy-laden, unasked 4 touch.

if we can.


1 a.m.
well, we did it diary dearest. lexi’s sunflower blonde hair is now abyss black, deep-dark as a well, like mine. i helped her dye it a few hours ago. she held onto the bathroom sink and cried about her demon, the brother in prison who did things to her a brother never should while the other brother turned away. i kissed her pale forehead, cool damp from water, and whispered in her ear, we have each other now. i moved her strands of hair (i’d move heaven and earth) from her line of sight, we’ll pull each other thru this hell and we won’t look back. aren’t we now bonded by our hair and eyes, black and blue? when she looked in the mirror she saw my words were true.

oh dearest diary, i took the silver dagger from my bag, the one i ordered thru wiccan stars, my ultimate fave catalog and told her 2 follow me. holding hands, we ran outside, our black hair flying under the deep canopy of night like witches brooms. the orange groves were dusky dark, every tree’s bark slathered in white paint. much like my tinted skin is painted white. we stopped in a clearing dusted by moonlight. black shadowed leaves, dipped in ink, moved on the soil beneath us.

it was decadent and dark. the way life should always be.

our feet were bare, hers the clear pale light of moon, mine the dim grey shadows of dirt. a perfect moment it seemed. but nothing is perfect. she stretched out her arm 2 me, so trusting, and i clasped her wrist, my fingernails glossy black against her snowy skin. with the dagger, i pierced the inside of her wrist, very near to the vein that runs very near to her heart. she cried out and bit her bottom lip. her teeth drew blood. i wiped it away with my fingertip and placed it in my mouth.

no one can say we don’t belong to each other now.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Levy Rev 2

Sheri Levy

MG- emotional-contemporary

Dog Days of Summer



Chapter 1

Sydney and I wrestled in my bedroom until I giggled so hard my insides ached and his barking made me deaf. I crossed my arms on my chest and said, “Freeze!” He stopped in motion, panting. His head tilted sideways, eyes glued on mine, waiting for the next command. I always made sure Sydney got to be a regular puppy. Even when he became someone’s service dog, he’d still have playtime.

Momma’s voice boomed through the door, “Trina, are you packed?”

“Sort of.” I gave Sydney the release word, “Okay,” and he pounced at me. I threw my arms around his neck, buried my face in his red, brown and white-freckled fur and breathed in his fresh vanilla scent. My stomach did cartwheels. Can I survive this next week? His trainer’s words echoed in my mind. ‘Trina, you’ve done a terrific job with your first dog. He’s ready to return to my kennel for his final months of training.’

This week at the beach would be my last with Sydney.

Ever.

Using the bottom of my pajama top, I wiped the wetness from my eyes. T-shirts, shorts, and socks lay scattered across the floor. I scooted my desk chair through the mess and into the closet to retrieve my duffel bag. Sydney followed with a smelly sock hanging from his mouth.

While separating last year’s summer clothes into two heaps, my dirty pile grew larger than the clean, minus one sock. “Syd, where’s my sock?”

He darted into the closet. Strutting out, his little stub of a tail wiggled as he dropped the wet sock on my lap. “You’re so smart Mr. Syd.” Everything he did was a game.

Staring at my small stack of clean clothes, I shrugged and looked into Syd’s golden eyes. “You won’t care if I wear these a few times, will you?” His tail jiggled.

I dressed in my regular jean shorts and concert t-shirt with the words PINK & PURPLE swirled across the front. It was something Sarah, my best friend, and I always wore on special outings. The front of my T was purple and the back pink. Hers was just the opposite. Three years ago our parents attended the band’s concert and surprised us with the shirts as souvenirs. As eight-year-olds, we wore them as nightgowns. This last year, Sarah had grown so much hers had gone from a nightgown to a t-shirt. Mine was a long T. But we still looked the same.

Minutes later I hollered, “Momma, Dad’s loading the car.” Inside the garage, Sydney’s floppy ears drooped. During his year with me, he’d learned the duffel bag signaled a trip somewhere and he wasn’t always invited. “Surprise, Sydney. You get to ‘Go.’” His mouth stretched over his teeth like a grin as he turned in circles. Skidding into his learned ‘Sit,’ he waited for the next command.

His eyes locked with mine. Pointing at his face, I counted one thousand-one, one thousand-two, one-thousand three in my head, and then said, “Okay!” He leaped to the backseat. I climbed in and nuzzled his forehead with mine. This year we’d explore a dog-friendly beach and I’d make Sydney an expert water dog.

Dad drove us down the street to Sarah’s to caravan. Going up her driveway, my eyes widened. There she stood; dribbling her soccer ball, wearing a baby-blue tank top layered over a green one with lace at the bottom. They matched the blue and green sea shells along the cuffs of her white shorts. I gasped. She must have outgrown her PINK & PURPLE shirt entirely.

She looked bizarre kicking her soccer ball in such a fancy outfit. Darby, her black and white Springer spaniel, chased the ball, barked and wagged her stub of a tail. Sydney and I wedged our heads out the window. “Wow. Where are your soccer clothes?”

“Gone.” She tittered, fluttered her eyelashes and twirled, flinging her blond French-braid. “Mom took me shopping.”

Her eyes matched her top, but I kept that to myself. No reason to add to her new coolness. Ready for the beach and not a fashion show, I didn’t let on my bathing suit was under my T-shirt and shorts. I doubted hers was under those new clothes. “Are you and Darby riding with us?”

“I will. Darby can go with my parents.”



“Won’t she be sad not to be with us?”


“Naw. It’ll be easier for me to relax.” She climbed in with her backpack. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ryan.”

“Hi, Sarah.” Momma turned around. “You look very pretty.”

Sydney wiggled onto Sarah’s lap, but she gently pushed him off. With her head bent she said, “Thanks,” and plucked dog hairs from her clothes.

The air conditioner gusted, the windows whirred going up and the radio blared. Dad backed down the driveway saying, “Let’s hit the road.”

“Yay! We’re off, Syd.” Excitement spiked through my arms and legs like electric currents. His front legs stretched across my lap, putting weight on my thighs. He sensed I needed calming and practiced his technique on me. “Sarah, remember last year? How we buried each other in the sand. That was so much fun.”

“Yeah. But this time, I just want to lie on the sand and work on my tan.”

“Well. That’ll be fun for a while,” I said, scratching behind Syd’s ears and squirming in the seat. “Then maybe we’ll learn to surf? Or boogie board? Even ride a wave runner?” My eyes pleaded with her.

“Hmm... First, I’ll have to feel how cold the water is and see how many jellyfish are on shore.”

“Okay. But you know I can’t go to the beach without swimming.” I sighed, stroking Sydney’s back. “The realtor said this house was kind of old, but right on the beach.”

“Oooo! Being on the beach will make it easier to walk up and down.” Sarah’s eyebrows rose and gave me a sideways smirk, “And we can meet guys.”

I choked. “So-we-can-do, WHAT?” I stared at her as if she spoke a foreign language. Before blurting out something crazy, I caught my breath and remembered back to the last day of school, only four days ago. Sarah and her class friend, Tyler, had huddled in a corner, talking and passing pieces of paper. “But Sarah, this week is supposed to be about you and me and our dogs.”

“Oh. Trina. It’ll be the perfect place to meet guys. No one will know us there so it won’t matter if we goof up and say the wrong things.”

I scrunched my nose.

Sarah unzipped her pink backpack and pulled out a pink cell phone. “Look. Here’s my fifth-grade graduation present. Or should I say my going-into-sixth grade present?”

“Wow. Let me see. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I just got it when we went shopping. You were busy with Sydney so I waited to show you. I could’ve texted you if you had one, too.”

Leaning closer, I whispered, “It’s almost my birthday. You never know.”

I tapped Momma’s shoulder. “Look at Sarah’s graduation present.”

Momma laid her book on the seat and turned around. “That’s very nice, Sarah.”

“Thanks Mrs. Ryan. Everyone has one in middle school.”

Momma gave me an apologetic smile and returned to her book. Sarah handed me her phone over Syd’s head. It chimed, so she jerked it back. “Just a minute.” She leaned over and started texting. She typed and giggled.

Pretending to read my book, Socializing Your Australian Shepherd, my eyes kept flitting back to Sarah. Sydney moved between us and slept on the seat. Then the realization hit the pit of my stomach, Sarah’s different.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Dover Rev 2

Jeanette Dover

Middle Grade Fantasy

The Lost City of Atlantis


Prologue

Above the city the sky turned an ominous leaden green. Enormous black clouds rolled across the dark background obliterating the sun. Although it was the middle of the day it became as dark as a moonless night. Large chunks of molten lava spewed from the mouth of the volcano raining fire upon the city of Atlantis. The ground underneath the outer rings of the city rolled and pitched, destroying all that sat upon its writhing surface. A tsunami sweeps towards Atlantis. The huge ocean wave surges, reaching over a hundred feet high; it would destroy anything in its path.

At the center of Atlantis in the Temple of Nethuns they sat very quietly holding hands. Thirteen of them gathered in a circle, seemingly oblivious to the horror unfolding around them. The city shimmers and then disappears as the huge wave crashes over the island.

More than eleven thousand years later, Noor stands on the steps of the Temple of Nethuns surveying the tranquil city of Atlantis. If help doesn’t come soon Noor wonders how long he will be able to protect his world.

Chapter One

The granular particles squish between his toes as Adam’s feet sink into the beach. The warmth from the white Caribbean sand ripples up his legs, into his body and arms. The wave of energy reaches his brain and he sighs; it feels so right.

Bending down Adam picks up a sea shell. He puts the shell to his ear. Adam not only hears the ocean, he feels the ocean waves wrap around him; the smell of the sea water engulfs him as an intense surge of energy races through his entire body. What he experiences is beyond his ability to describe. The beach calls to him, draws him like a magnet attracts a piece of iron; it’s a pull he can’t resist.

Adam knows it’s not normal for a twelve year old boy to feel like this; he hates being different. Sometimes he wishes these feelings would go away, but as he gets older they just happen more often. Adam shakes his head as he drops the shell in his pocket.

He looks down the beach at the contrast between the white sand and the beautiful turquoise water. Thoughts meander through Adam’s mind as he wanders down the beach. What could be better than walking on the beach? Swimming in the water would be better. I could look at the fish and the world beneath the waves.

The sounds of the waves lapping on the shore whisper his name. His mothers’ words replay in his head “… don’t go into the water by yourself.” There was no one else on the beach so who could tell his mom. Besides, she always said he swam like a fish. As the waves get closer his mother’s sensible voice is drowned out by the swish of the waves calling to him.

Slipping his feet into the fins Adam adjusts the mask on his face. He takes exaggerated steps allowing him to walk with his fins and heads for the water. When the ocean is up to his waist he begins to float face down in the water kicking his legs to propel himself forward. He moves away from shore and sees the coral reef begin below him. Adam likes to watch the fish as they play in the coral searching for food. As he swims in the clear Caribbean water he spots many of the fish he knows so well: angel fish, butterfly fish, black and yellow rock beauties, and striped damsel fish. While watching the natural aquarium below him Adam sees a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. An orange fish with bright blue stripes darts away from him. He’s never seen a fish like that before. He loses sight of the brightly colored creature only to see it pop up further away as if it’s playing a game.

Racing through the water Adam tries to get a better look at the little fish; he has almost caught up to it when again it dives out of sight. He swims up to the point where he last saw it and pauses. Adam is deeper in the ocean than he’s ever been before. He notices he’s not running out of breath and briefly wonders how that’s possible.

Looking down Adam sees he’s at the edge of a small ridge. Below him are two large stone statues standing on either side of a massive iron gate. The statues are lions with wings on their backs, each lion has a front paw resting on a globe; they appear to be guarding the gate. The colorful fish swims through the gate. It turns and looks at Adam daring him to catch up. As Adam dives down and reaches towards the fish, his hand brushes against the gate. The water begins to swirl around him. I should have stayed on the beach, Adam thinks as everything goes dark.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Danek Rev 2

Christine Danek

Young Adult Paranormal

REALM 17



Chapter 1

Death is a strange beast. You hear so many theories on what it’s like on the other side. Then you hear about those people who died for like a minute, and came back from the dead claiming they’ve heard angels, saw a white light, or felt calm and peaceful.

It’s totally not true.

Realm 17 has been nothing but one big disappointment. Seriously, a boarding school for seventeen year old spirits is not where I thought dead people went.

For the past five and a half months, I’ve repeated this routine--wake up, get dressed, meet Kat, my best friend, and go to class. Yes, dull, but there’s one part that puts a teeny smile on my face--this one moment sends tingles to areas that make me blush.

Realm 17 is one big high rise, and in a way, reminds of New York, but squeaky clean. Although, I haven’t been outside, I only know what I can see from windows. For the most part, it’s blue sky, white puffy clouds and sunshine. From this window seat, I can see everything. It’s on the main stairway from the dorms to the classrooms. There are ten levels. The classrooms and anything school related is on level six and seven. My dorm is on level three. Anything above seven is for all those who pretty much “followed the rules” on Earth or were at least as close to pure as you can get. Those with no impure thoughts go straight to heaven.

Scooting back on the seat, I take in the quiet before the rush. On Earth, I wasn’t an early riser, but here, I am--mainly because of this everyday thrill.

The bell rings and students pass by all wearing the same thing--white shirt, black skirt or pants, and black shoes. They walk up the steps to class in one heaping mass of spirits. Some are in pairs chatting about assignments. Some of them are alone and avoid looking at me.

Then I see him.

Asher Cane.

He comes up from the bottom floor, taking each step just like the others, but slows on the landing, glancing at me. A black curl falls over his left eye as a slow smile indents up his cheek. He’s your typical hot boy in sea of monotony, and I like it. He turns and follows the others to class. I’m not supposed to have these feelings, but I do, and since we’ve been secretly flirting since I got here, I plan to talk to him . . . today.

“Hey, Becca.” Kat waves her fingers in front of my view. She arrived in the Realm a few weeks after I did. Her death was from an allergic reaction to shellfish. Who knew? We clicked since we had a similar life on Earth—the life of luxury.

I glance at her, hoping that my narrowed eyes give a hint of disappointment. “Seriously? You’re totally ruining my day.”

Kat peeks over at Asher. “Sorry.”

Asher disappears down the hall.

“Ready for class?” Kat’s blonde hair is pulled back just like mine into a simple ponytail. She’d be gorgeous if she could wear it down, and some light blue eye shadow would make her pale turquoise eyes pop. But here? Nothing. We can’t enhance anything that may be tempting.

God! What I would do for some OPI nail polish.

“Not really.” I follow her out to the hall, blending in with every other student and glance back towards the window seat. Sunlight stretches across the floor of the landing, seeping through the stained glass window of an angel with her arms spread, her yellow hair flowing, and rainbow colored glass surrounding her form. I know I’m dead, but really, do they have to remind me at every turn with the overexposed images like this one? Give me a freakin’ break. “Did you get any yellow slips?”

Kat yawns. “Nope. Nothing. You?”

“Nada. I swear I’m not going to make the deadline. No chance at a trial.” We’re expected to earn a final test in six months. The instructors slide you into a body on Earth and you’re supposed to help influence that person to make better choices in their life, basically, taking everything we learn here and apply it there. If you don’t you’re punished. It’s pretty much bull if you ask me.

Kat stops and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t say that. We’ll get one soon. Maybe they’re just waiting for the coolest person to put us into. Maybe someone famous.”

“One can only dream,” I murmur. “But, we have to get one or its isolation time for a whole month.”

Kat pops her lips. “Be positive.”

“How? I’ve failed every written test—“

“Have you even studied?”

A bunch of students scoot around us. The “goodies” as we like to call them. They live on the top floor. The ones who were basically angels on Earth. The only reason they’re here is because they may have had one or two impure thoughts like jealousy. Most of them smile and laugh, which makes me want to gag. The new guy, Jackson, looks at me with his hazel eyes. It’s almost creepy and stalkerish. I squint back and am tempted to give him the finger, but an instructor is standing on the landing.

I take each step like I have weights on my feet, distancing myself from the crowd and continue my conversation with Kat. “That’s beside the point.”

“They may just give it to us. There are millions of spirits that need some good influence,” Kat says with too much of perky.

“And probably 99% of them, I don’t want to inhabit for a month even if it means getting on the reincarnation list.” Last thing I need is to be in someone else who needs help just to get reincarnated, which wouldn’t help my situation either.

I stop short. “The whole idea is frustrating. I like who I am, was, and never wanted to die. What’s wrong with that? I just want to go back to the way it was.”

“Hey, it could be worse; you could be in Asher’s position. If he doesn’t get a slip soon, he’s facing the upper realm of hell. Speaking of Asher, have you talked to him yet?”

“No, but I plan to. I need to satisfy our flirtatious desires and find out if he knows anything about sliding illegal—“

Heavy footsteps come up behind us as we turn on the landing, ready to head up the other set of stairs. Panic spreads across my chest. Kat and I flatten against the wall as two armed elite soldiers march past. Their gold armor chest plates reflect the lights, giving off a disco ball effect on the walls. No one knows who they are other than spirits working under the winged warriors who protect heaven. These guys protect the Realms.

In their hands are long black stun swords. The long sleek cylinder resembles a blade and the handle is a square box with four pea sized green lights, flickering on the side. At least the lights aren’t red. That’s when they’ve contained someone. If the guards feel the need to use their swords, your spirit is trapped in darkness, punished, and only God will decide if you get another chance. Whenever that would be. That thought gives me the chills and fear clenches my stomach.

Students hop out of their way as they turn down the opposite hall.

“There seems to be a lot more guards lately.” Kat pulls her ponytail from under her backpack strap.

“I heard something evil was disguising itself in another Realm. It’s all a crock if you ask me.” I bite my lip to cover my fright. “I wonder what the boys look like under those helmets.”

Kat giggles. “Becca you’re always thinking of one thing.”

“Oh, like you’re not.”

“Um. Not as much as you do.” Her cheeks flood with pink.

The crowd ahead of us slows and we stop on the stairs. I lean on the railing. The guards are scanning us. New security stuff they started a few days back.

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, a button pops on my white oxford shirt, and I hastily re-button it. The cuff of my sleeve inches up a little and I catch a peek of my black Mickey Mouse head silhouette tattoo. It reminds me of my younger brother, Tyler. He’s another reason why I want to get back to Earth. Before I died, he was arrested for drug possession, which is totally not like him. He’s the good one and I wasn’t. And I want him to stay that way, but after his fifteenth birthday his need to impress is sending him down the path I took.

“I spoke to Zac about his trial and Tyler.” When I found out Zac, a fellow student, was going into a body that was in the same circle as my brother, I convinced him to check up on him. It didn’t take much. For some reason, I can be threatening without really saying anything.

“You’re lucky that the body he was in made it easy to spy. What did say?”

“He said Tyler was hanging with Roman Franks.”

Kat sighs. “THE Roman Franks! I wish I could’ve hung out with him.”

“I did, and as fun as it was,” I reply, “he’s a scum bag and a drug addict.”

Roman Franks is the hottest pop star around and my dad’s number one client. Since my dad is his agent, Roman performed at my sweet sixteen then he did a private show for me in the back of his limo.

The 1st 5 Pages April Workshop Revisions are Posted!

The first round of revisions are posted in our April workshop with guest mentor Lauren Bjorkman. What do you think? Check out Lauren's suggestions and the other notes on the last round along with the original entries, and then read the revision. Tell us what you think? Is the new revision more intriguing, more readable, more compelling? What else needs work?

This is a great opportunity to peek over the shoulder of a published author and see how she approaches the writing and reading of a novel. Don't miss out. Jump in and help these writers out!

Happy writing! :)

Martina and Lisa

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Lynn Rev 1

Name: Talynn Lynn
Genre: YA Contemporary (with Inspirational elements)
Title: To Find A Way


My stomach knotted with a thousand butterflies. This is not the way I envisioned my first week, already summoned to the office. I should be happy my mom said. I should appreciate the school and their willingness to teach me to keep my emotions hidden, as was the law. Instead, I gripped the gold plated chair arm, letting the cold ride up my arm inch by inch. One glance out the office window and I knew why I couldn’t shake the ominous feeling hanging in the air. The perfect storm threatened to dump massive amounts of rain. Black clouds pushed the wispy white out of the way helping to illuminate the streak of lightening falling from the sky. The spiral-topped concrete buildings sprawled across the valley below, drenched and soaked with rain. The bell tower sagged under the weight of the water accumulating on the roof.

Thunder boomed and the windows rattled but I kept telling myself that’s not why I jumped. The school pamphlets, with my name typed across the top fell to the floor. I wanted to crawl under the chairs and disappear as magically as the lightening.

I picked up my papers and walked to the window, watching the rain splatter on the glass. I traced the droplets, guessing which way they’d slide and disappear into a puddle on the outside sill. Today, I wished I could be a raindrop and blend in with the droplets slipping into the pool of rain.

“Miss Jamison?” said a voice from behind. “Hello. I’m Mrs. Tolson.”

I jumped and dropped my papers again. So much for disappearing. Too late now.

“I don’t know why they send all those letters and pamphlets out to new students. We cover everything mentioned in them during orientation and then again during each personal welcome meeting. I’ve always thought it was a waste of money to keep printing them,” she said as she walked over to me and knelt down to pick up the papers. She stood, and handed them back.

“Why don’t we step into my office? I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions.”

Mrs. Tolson's gray hair was pulled back in a severe bun and her suit was frumpy and gray. She had a mole above her left eye. In spite of her looks, her blue eyes could be pretty. Maybe.

I followed her through a door with her name engraved in silver on a nameplate of gold. She motioned toward a red velvet cushioned chair and she walked around behind her desk and sat down in a red matching swiveled chair. The room was all glass, except for the back wall with the door with just walked through. All the shades were drawn, but the one right behind Mrs. Tolson’s desk was raised. Good. I could still watch the rain splatters roll down the glass.

For a moment, she examined me, her eyes moving from my head to my toes. She removed her glasses and let them hang loosely from the chain around her neck. She cleared her throat and I took that as a sign to say something. Anything to remove the awkward silence.

“Honestly, I don’t have much to say. My biggest question would be who paid for my schooling? Why did they do that for me?”

Mrs. Tolson looked at me with knitted eyebrows. I’m sure her job as a school counselor was to be kind, and if this was an act, I’d be able to see right through her. I wanted to know right from the beginning if she could convince me she was on my side. I stretched my legs out in front of me and crossed my arms, never taking my eyes from her face.

“This must all be so confusing to you. But I can't tell you who your benefactor is. That is strictly confidential.”

I raised an eyebrow, but never moved my eyes.

“I’m sure it is. But can you at least tell me why?”

She looked directly in my eyes. “I wasn’t told why. All I know is that you are here and now it’s my job to turn you into a proper socialite who can control her emotions.” Man, she's a prune face.

I dropped my jaw and rose up in the chair.

“What? Turn me into a proper socialite? What do you mean?”

“I’m aware of how difficult it is for a seventeen year old teen to move to a new school, start all over again, make new friends. It’s my job to help smooth the transition and teach you to fit in and be accepted.”

“Really? I’m trying to make sense all this, but this moves beyond my understanding. I am more than capable of making my own friends and fitting in where I need to fit in.” This is unbelievable. Where did she come off thinking I needed to change, be someone else? To fit in? I liked being unnoticed. I don't mind being invisible.

“Please hear me out, Miss Jamison.”

“My name is Prism. Miss Jamison is my mother.”

“Very well, Prism. I hope you don’t prove to be a drama queen hear at Stony Hill.”

How dare her!

I placed my hands on my knees and gulped in some fresh air. Calm down, Prism. Remember. You can disappear any time you want.

Mrs. Tolson wrote something on her paper stacked in front of her, and then reached into her desk draw and pulled out a brown colored envelope. I wasn’t going to let her get away with calling me a drama queen. I couldn’t be farther from her…that type of person.

“Mrs. Tolson, I'm not a drama queen. I’m just surprised at what you are saying. I wasn’t aware this was a charm school of sorts and I certainly didn’t know I was going to have a metamorphosis during my stay here. Maybe I’ve made the wrong decision.”

Mrs. Tolson laid the packet down on her desk. She fumbled with the chain around her neck before placing her glasses back on her face as if they were a magnifying glass.

“Prism, this is the greatest opportunity you will ever have in your life. Someone, a very generous and caring someone, has paid, upfront, for you to obtain the highest education in the state. Not only that, but this person has demanded a complete turn around in your presentation and social standing. This means, you will attend charm classes, you will learn to behave like a socialite and you will learn to dress like one, as well. We have a lot of work to do, and very little time to get it done. I hope to have your complete cooperation. Do I make myself clear?” She finished by pulling her glasses of her face. This gesture was getting on my nerves.

"Sure. Clear as crystal."

Demanded? Well, I’ll show her.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Levy Rev 1

Sheri Levy
Middle Grade
DOG DAYS OF SUMMER


Chapter 1

Sydney and I wrestled in my bedroom until I giggled so hard my insides ached and his barking made me deaf. I crisscrossed my arms on my chest and said, “Freeze!” He stopped in motion, panting. His head tilted sideways, eyes glued on mine, waiting for the next command. I always made sure Sydney got to be a regular puppy. Even when he became someone’s service dog, he’d still have playtime.

Momma’s voice boomed through the door, “Trina, are you packed?”

“Sort of.” I gave Sydney the release word, “Okay,” and he pounced at me. I threw my arms around his neck, buried my face in his red, brown and white-freckled fur and breathed in his fresh vanilla scent. My stomach did cartwheels. Can I survive this next week? His trainer’s words echoed in my mind. ‘Trina, you’ve done a terrific job with your first dog. He’s ready to return to my kennel for his final months of training.’

This week at the beach would be my last with Sydney.

Ever.

Using the bottom of my pajama top, I wiped the wetness from my eyes. T-shirts, shorts, and socks lay scattered across the floor. I scooted my desk chair through the mess and into the closet to retrieve my duffel bag. Sydney followed with a smelly sock hanging from his mouth.

While separating last year’s summer clothes into two heaps, my dirty pile grew larger than the clean, minus one sock. “Syd, where’s my sock?”

He darted into the closet. Strutting out, his little stub of a tail wiggled as he dropped the wet sock on my lap. “You’re so smart, Mr. Syd.” Everything he did was a game.

Staring at my small stack of clean clothes, I shrugged and looked into Syd’s golden eyes. “You won’t care if I wear these a few times, will you?” His tail jiggled.

I dressed in my regular jean shorts and concert t-shirt with the words PINK & PURPLE swirled across the front. It was something Sarah, my best friend, and I always wore on special outings. The front of my T was purple and the back pink. Hers was just the opposite. Three years ago our parents surprised us with the shirts after attending the concert. As eight-year-olds, we wore them as nightgowns. This last year, Sarah had grown so much hers had gone from a nightgown to a t-shirt. Mine was a long T. But we still looked the same.

Minutes later I hollered, “Momma, Dad’s loading the car.” Inside the garage, Sydney’s floppy ears drooped. During his one year with me, he’d learned the duffel bag signaled a trip somewhere and he wasn’t always invited. “Surprise, Sydney. You get to ‘Go.’” His mouth stretched over his teeth like a grin as he turned in circles. Skidding into his learned ‘Sit,’ he waited for the next command.

His eyes locked with mine. Pointing at his face, I counted one thousand-one, one thousand-two, one-thousand three in my head, and then said, “Okay!” He leaped to the backseat. I climbed in and nuzzled his forehead with mine.

Dad drove us down the street to Sarah’s to caravan. This year we’d explore a dog-friendly beach and I’d make Sydney an expert water dog. Going up her driveway, my eyes widened. There she stood; dribbling her soccer ball, wearing a baby-blue tank top layered over a green one with lace at the bottom. They matched the blue and green sea shells along the cuffs of her white shorts. I gasped. She must have outgrown her PINK & PURPLE shirt entirely.

She looked bizarre kicking her soccer ball in such a fancy outfit. Darby, her black and white Springer spaniel, chased the ball, barked and wagged her stub of a tail. Sydney and I wedged our heads out the window. “Wow. Where are your soccer clothes?”

“Gone.” She tittered, fluttered her eyelashes and twirled, flinging her blond French-braid. “Mom took me shopping.”

Her eyes matched her top, but I kept that to myself. No reason to add to her new coolness. Ready for the beach and not a fashion show, I didn’t let on that my bathing suit was under my T-shirt and shorts. I doubted hers under her new clothes. “Are you and Darby riding with us?”

“I will. Darby can go with my parents.”

“Won’t she be sad not to be with us?”

“Naw. It’ll be easier for me to relax.” She climbed in with her backpack. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ryan.”

“Hi, Sarah.” Momma turned around. “You look very pretty.”

Sydney wiggled onto Sarah’s lap, but she gently pushed him off. With her head bent she said, “Thanks,” and plucked dog hairs from her clothes.

The air conditioner gusted, the windows whirred going up and the radio blared. Dad backed down the driveway saying, “Let’s hit the road.”

“Yay! We’re off, Syd.” Excitement spiked through my arms and legs like electric currents. His front legs stretched across my lap, putting weight on my thighs. He sensed I needed calming and practiced his technique on me. “Sarah, remember last year? How we buried each other in the sand. That was so much fun.”

“Yeah. But this time, I just want to lie on the sand and work on my tan.”

“Well. That’ll be fun for a while,” I said, scratching behind Syd’s ears and squirming in the seat. “Then maybe we’ll learn to surf? Or boogie board? Even ride a wave runner?” My eyes pleaded with her.

“Hmm... First, I’ll have to feel how cold the water is and see how many jellyfish are on shore.”

“Okay. But you know I can’t go to the beach without swimming.” I sighed, stroking Sydney’s back. “The realtor said this house was kind of old, but right on the beach.”

“Oooo! Being on the beach will make it easier to walk up and down.” Sarah’s eyebrows rose and gave me a sideways smirk, “And we can meet guys.”

I choked. “So-we-can-do, WHAT?” I stared at her as if she spoke a foreign language. Before blurting out something crazy, I caught my breath and remembered back to the last day of school, only four days ago. Sarah and her class friend, Tyler, had huddled in a corner, talking and exchanging pieces of paper. “But Sarah, this week is supposed to be about you and me and our dogs.”

“Oh. Trina. It’ll be the perfect place to meet guys. No one will know us there so it won’t matter if we goof up and say the wrong things.”

I scrunched my nose.

Sarah unzipped her pink backpack and pulled out a pink cell phone. “Look. Here’s my fifth-grade graduation present. Or should I say my going-into-sixth grade present?”

“Wow. Let me see. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I just got it when we went shopping. You were busy with Sydney so I waited to show you. I could’ve texted you if you had one, too.”

Leaning closer, I whispered, “It’s almost my birthday. You never know.”

I tapped Momma’s shoulder. “Look at Sarah’s graduation present.”

Momma laid her book on the seat and turned around. “That’s very nice, Sarah.”

“Thanks Mrs. Ryan. Everyone has one in middle school.”

Momma gave me an apologetic smile and returned to her book. Sarah handed me her phone over Syd’s head. It chimed, so she jerked it back. “Just a minute.” She leaned over and started texting. She typed and giggled.

Pretending to read my book, Socializing Your Australian Shepherd, my eyes kept flitting back to Sarah. Sydney moved between us and slept on the seat. Then the realization hit the pit of my stomach, Sarah’s different.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Westbrook Rev 1

Pasha Westbrook
YA Dark Contemporary
Ragdoll



friday, october 31st
arizona is more than a desert. it is hell. just like my life.

i’ve seen demons. i know what they can do. i’ve been possessed by them. i have been their possession. they cast you in an invisible spell. they blind the eyes of people around you so people don’t see them in the same unfiltered light as you. but you know their light well; their aged, over ripe, cheesecloth light filled with ancient screams. the minute it touches you, it shrouds you 4ever.

ouch.

Mother safety pinned a butterfly bookmark to this journal. it’s her way of saying she speaks my language - that she’s on my level (i wear safety pins in everything) - but i have a secret for you Mother dear. you’ll never speak my language. and i’ll never speak yours.

god. this blood’s getting everywhere.



ragdoll

i am her childhood doll. i crinkle to life when her blood spills. i move in red and breath.she doesn’t see me and she doesn’t know that i see. i have seen since we first found each other. she was four. that was twelve years ago. i’ve been around a lot longer. i don’t know how long. i only remember the smell of smoke and turpentine, the taste of oiled cinnamon, the feel of hard straw and needle pinch as it sewed on each stitch of mouth and coarse yarn hair. i didn’t have to see to know it flamed red. it was a long and painful process. creation always is. the nimble strength and rough tenderness in my creator’s hands taught me everything i needed to know about love.my button eyes were sewn on last. i saw my maker. old and weathered, battered by time, her skin dark chocolate and her eyes rheumatic. she saw me smile and smiled in return, patting my stuffed arms and legs. she’ll need you, she whispered in a voice i recognized as my own. i travelled great distances, through many hands and lives, none of them right for me, to find the girl who needs me most, the one my creator created me for.



it’s hallows eve. my birthday. how’s that 4 blessed, huh? you know you’re bound to a twisted life when you’re born on the day meant 4 celebrating death.

born 2 die.

this journal is a gift from Mother. 4 your poetry, she said with her sad voice and sadder smile. of course it’s the wrong color. pink (her favorite color) with some inspirational quote engraved on it that’s supposed to enlighten me. instead it sickens me. not the effect the unknown author was going 4 i’m sure. the moment i saw the journal i knew i wanted nothing to do with it. i almost tossed it when a queer idea struck me. i wrapped it in crushed black velvet and trimmed it with crimson ribbon, like a bloody vein. the pink has been vanquished.

never fear, diary dear, the hallowed eve’s girl is here!

i immediately took care of you. and now i claim you. you are not allowed to touch another’s hands or look into their eyes. if you do, i will wilt. like a poisoned flower, i shall die. and if the day comes that you look upon another, i know that i am no longer alive. just a haunt of a girl, haunting and haunted. we are bound now. promise me this, and i promise 2 tell you everything. we bond in blood, it’s just a pinprick, on the first page here, see? i’ve marked you with the only part of me i know how to freely give. my blood. so if another touches you, close your eyes, do not let them see. but if you must open them, please choose wisely. be my protector.

if you dare.

well isn’t this cute? trick-or-treaters are outside my bedroom window ringing the doorbell. i hear Mother’s faint voice complimenting them, smoothing them with her spawn honey. i hear their giggles and the wonder in their tones at her soft approach. she has a way of doing that to people, convincing them she’s warm as sun, sweet as sugar, harmless as a skittish deer. i marvel at it. her technique i didn’t inherit. why don’t they see? why don’t people ever see that’s she’s as vicious as a pack of hungry wolves, cold as frostbite on a century’s winter lawn, dark as death.

me? i don’t trick-or-treat anymore. i play with ouija boards and get buzzed off alcohol. cigarettes are my candy.


monday, november 3rd
lexi wants to do it 2nite. dye her hair. she doesn’t want to wait a minute longer. it’s 9pm now. Mother doesn’t know i’m going, and even if she did, she could care less. don’t worry, diary dearest, i’m bringing you with me. it’s a mile to the small apartment where lexi and her blob mother live. a mile of walking in a town stretched across dry lands peppered with chalky sidewalks and bitter oleanders. a mile past stucco fenced suburbs, lit-windowed houses and long people’s shadows on closed blinds. a different life happening inside each one - happy ones maybe - disturbed ones more likely. everyone’s hiding something. i don’t care how normal they seem.

lexi needs me as much as i need her.demonic-touched girls horde together. it’s up to us to rid ourselves of the evil’s heavy-laden, unasked 4 touch.

if we can.


1 a.m.
well, we did it diary dearest. lexi’s sunflower blonde hair is now abyss black, deep-dark as a well, like mine. i helped her dye it a few hours ago. she held onto the bathroom sink and cried about her demon, the brother in prison who did things to her a brother never should while the other brother turned away. i kissed her pale forehead, cool damp from water, and whispered in her ear, we have each other now. i moved her strands of hair (i’d move heaven and earth) from her line of sight, we’ll pull each other thru this hell and we won’t look back. aren’t we now bonded by our hair and eyes, black and blue? when she looked in the mirror she saw my words were true.

oh dearest diary, i took the silver dagger from my bag, the one i ordered thru wiccan stars, my ultimate fave catalog and told her 2 follow me. holding hands, we ran outside, our black hair flying under the deep canopy of night like witches brooms. the orange groves were dusky dark, every tree’s bark slathered in white paint. much like my tinted skin is painted white. we stopped in a clearing dusted by moonlight. black shadowed leaves, dipped in ink, moved on the soil beneath us.

it was decadent and dark. the way life should always be.

our feet were bare, hers the clear pale light of moon, mine the dim grey shadows of dirt. a perfect moment it seemed. but nothing is perfect. she stretched out her arm 2 me, so trusting, and i clasped her wrist, my fingernails glossy black against her snowy skin. with the dagger, i pierced the inside of her wrist, very near to the vein that runs very near to her heart. she cried out and bit her bottom lip. her teeth drew blood. i wiped it away with my fingertip and placed it in my mouth.

no one can say we don’t belong to each other now.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Danek Rev 1

Christine Danek
Young Adult Paranormal
REALM 17


Chapter 1

Death is a strange beast. You hear so many theories on what it’s like on the other side. Then you hear about those people who died for like a minute, and came back from the dead claiming they’ve heard angels, saw a white light, or felt calm and peaceful.

It’s totally not true.

Realm 17 has been nothing but one big disappointment. Seriously, a boarding school for seventeen year old spirits is not where I thought dead people went.

For the past five and a half months, I’ve repeated this routine. Wake up, get dressed, meet Kat, my best friend, and go to class. Yes, dull, but there’s one part that puts a teeny smile on my face. This one moment sends tingles to areas that make me blush.

Scooting back on the window seat, I take in the quiet before the rush. On Earth, I wasn’t an early riser, but here, I am--mainly because of this everyday thrill. From this window seat, I can see everything. It’s on the main stairway from the dorms to the classrooms. There are ten levels. The classrooms and anything school related is on level six and seven. My dorm is on level three. Anything above seven is for all those who pretty much “followed the rules” on Earth or were at least as close to pure as you can get.

The bell rings and students pass by all wearing the same thing--white shirt, black skirt or pants, and black shoes. They walk up the steps to class in one heaping mass of spirits. Some are in pairs chatting about assignments. Some of them are alone and avoid looking at me.

Then I see him.

Asher Cane.

He comes up from the bottom floor, taking each step just like the others, but slows on the landing, glancing at me. A black curl falls over his left eye as a slow smile indents up his cheek. He’s your typical hot boy in sea of monotony, and I like it. He turns and follows the others to class. I’m not supposed to have these feelings, but I do, and since we’ve been secretly flirting since I got here, I plan to talk to him . . . today.

“Hey, Becca.” Kat waves her fingers in front of my view. She arrived in the Realm a few weeks after I did. Her death was from an allergic reaction to shellfish. Who knew? We clicked since we had a similar life on Earth—the life of luxury.

I glance at her, hoping that my narrowed eyes give a hint of disappointment. “Seriously? You’re totally ruining my day.”

Kat peeks over at Asher. “Sorry.”

Asher disappears down the hall.

“Ready for class?” Kat’s blonde hair is pulled back just like mine into a simple ponytail. She’d be gorgeous if she could wear it down, and some light blue eye shadow would make her pale turquoise eyes pop. But here? Nothing. We can’t enhance anything that may be tempting.

God! What I would do for some OPI nail polish.

“Not really.” I follow her out to the hall, blending in with every other student and glance back towards the window seat. Sunlight stretches across the floor of the landing, seeping through the stained glass window of an angel with her arms spread, her yellow hair flowing, and rainbow colored glass surrounding her form. I know I’m dead, but really, do they have to remind me at every turn with the overexposed images like this one? Give me a freakin’ break. “Did you get any yellow slips?”

Kat yawns. “Nope. Nothing. You?”

“Nada. I swear I’m not going to make the deadline. No chance at a final test.” It’s expected to earn a final test in six months. The instructors slide you into a body on Earth and you’re supposed to help influence that person to make better choices in their life--taking everything we learn here and apply it there. If you don’t you’re punished. It’s pretty much bull if you ask me.

Kat stops and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t say that. We’ll get one soon. Maybe they’re just waiting for the coolest person to put us into. Maybe someone famous.”

“One can only dream,” I murmur. “But, we have to get one or its isolation time for a whole month.”

Kat pops her lips. “Be positive.”

“How? I’ve failed every written test—“

“Have you even studied?”

A bunch of students scoot around us. The “goodies” as we like to call them. They live on the top floor. The ones who were basically angels on Earth. The only reason they’re here is because they may have had one or two impure thoughts like jealousy. Most of them smile and laugh, which makes me want to gag. The new guy, Jackson, looks at me with his hazel eyes. It almost creepy and stalkerish. I squint back and am tempted to give him the finger, but an instructor is standing on the landing.

I take each step like I have weights on my feet, distancing myself from the crowd and continue my conversation with Kat. “That’s beside the point.”

“They may just give it to us. There are millions of spirits that need some good influence.”

“And probably 99% of them, I don’t want to inhabit for a month even if it means getting on the reincarnation list.”

“You’re doing a good deed, that’s all a test is, then you get back to Earth to live—“

“As someone else. Plus, I have to forget my old life.” I stop short. “The whole idea is frustrating. I like who I am, was, and never wanted to die. What’s wrong with that? I just want to go back to the way it was.”

“Hey, it could be worse; you could be in Asher’s position. If he doesn’t get a slip soon, he’s facing the upper realm of hell. Speaking of Asher, have you talked to him yet?”

“No, but I plan to. I need to satisfy our flirtatious desires and find out if he knows anything about sliding illegal—“

Heavy footsteps come up behind us as we turn on the landing, ready to head up the other set of stairs. Panic spreads across my chest. Kat and I flatten against the wall as two armed elite soldiers march past. Their gold armor chest plates reflect the lights, giving off a disco ball effect on the walls. No one knows who they are other than spirits working under the winged warriors who protect heaven. These guys protect the Realms.

In their hands are long black stun swords. The long sleek cylinder resembles a blade and the handle is a square box with four pea sized green lights, flickering on the side. At least the lights aren’t red. That’s when they’ve contained someone. If the guards feel the need to use their swords, your spirit is trapped in darkness, punished, and only God will decide if you get another chance. Whenever that would be. That thought gives me the chills and fear clenches my stomach.

Students hop out of their way as they turn down the opposite hall.

“There seems to be a lot more guards lately.” Kat pulls her ponytail from under her backpack strap.

“I heard something evil was disguising itself in another Realm. It’s all a crock if you ask me.” I bite my lip to cover my fright. “I wonder what the boys look like under those helmets.”

Kat giggles. “Becca you’re always thinking of one thing.”

“Oh, like you’re not.”

“Um. Not as much as you do.” Her cheeks flood with pink.

The crowd ahead of us slows and we stop on the stairs. I lean on the railing. The guards are scanning us. New security stuff they started a few days back.

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, a button pops on my white oxford shirt, and I hastily re-button it. The cuff of my sleeve inches up a little and I catch a peek of my black Mickey Mouse head silhouette tattoo. It reminds me of my younger brother, Tyler.

He is another reason why I want to back to Earth. Before I died, he was arrested for drug possession, which is totally not like him. He’s the good one and I wasn’t. And I want him to stay that way, but after his fifteenth birthday his need to impress is sending him down the path I took.

“I spoke to Zac about his test and Tyler,” I say to Kat.

“You’re lucky that the body he was in made it easy to spy. What he did say?”

“He said Tyler was hanging with Roman Franks.”

Kat sighs. “THE Roman Franks! I wish I could’ve hung out with him.”

“I did, and as fun as it was, he’s a scum bag and a drug addict.”

Roman Franks is the hottest pop star around and my dad’s number one client. Since my dad is his agent, Roman performed at my sweet sixteen then he did a private show for me in the back of his limo.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Dover Rev 1

Jeanette Dover
Middle Grade Fantasy
The Lost City of Atlantis


Adam wakes up on the first day of his vacation in the Caribbean. He bounds out of bed excited that he will be going to the beach with his family. Every year the Smith family spends a month at their home in the Caribbean. It’s a time everyone in the family enjoys; they spend many hours at the beach near their house. For Adam, it’s a magical time.

Adam throws on his swimming trunks. He stops for a moment to pick up the sea shell sitting on his dresser; he puts the shell to his ear. Adam not only hears the ocean, he feels the ocean waves wrap around him; the smell of the sea water engulfs him as an intense surge of energy races through his entire body. What he experiences is beyond his ability to describe. The beach calls to him, draws him like a magnet attracts a piece of iron; it’s a pull he can’t resist. Adam smiles as he drops the shell into his pocket. He rushes to the kitchen eager to get to the beach.

“Eat your breakfast, we’re going shopping in the village this morning,” his mother announces as Adam sits down at the table.

“Oh No!” Adam exclaims. “Can’t we go to the beach first?”

“It won’t take long. We’ll go swimming after,” assures his mother as she passes behind him and ruffles his light brown hair.

Adam’s shoulders slump. I don’t want to go shopping. I need to go to the beach. Why can’t I go to the beach?

“Mom?” Adam pauses as his mother turns and looks at him with one eyebrow raised. “Can I go for a walk on the beach while you go into the village?”

“By yourself?”

“Just for a walk on the beach,” Adam looks at his mom with wide eyes. “When you get back then we can go swimming.”

She looks back at him with an expression that suggests she is not sure what he is up to; Adam smiles. With a stern glare she says, “All right. But don’t go in the water.”

Adam jumps up and races out of the kitchen. “Thanks Mom!” He yells as rushes through the back door.

Adam wanders down the path heading to the beach. He looks down and sees his fins and mask in his hand. When did I grab those? Maybe I should take them back to the house. Nah, I wouldn’t want Mom to change her mind I’ll just keep them with me.

As Adam steps onto the beach his feet sink into the sand; the warm, granular particles squish between his toes. The energy flows in warm waves up his legs, into his body and arms; the wave reaches his brain and he sighs. He has come home; it feels so right.

Adam knows these thoughts are different from anything his family and friends experience. When he was younger Adam tried to talk to his dad about the strong feelings he has at the beach. His dad just laughed and said he enjoys the beach too. Adam knew that his dad just didn’t understand what he was trying to explain. If his dad couldn’t understand Adam knew his friends wouldn’t either. They would probably just think he was being really weird. Because Adam knows the way he feels is not normal at all he hides it from everyone.

Does any twelve year old boy believe he’s normal? They think some pretty strange things and do some weird things too. Their families often wonder why they think and act the way they do. The people in Adam’s life don’t seem to notice that he’s different than any other boy his age. Adam recognizes he is very different and it’s not something he wants to feel.

Adam looks down the beach at the contrast between the white sand and the beautiful turquoise water. What could be better than walking on the beach? Swimming in the water would be better. I can look at the fish and the world beneath the waves.

The sounds of the waves lapping on the shore whisper his name. His mothers’ words replay in his head “… but don’t go in the water.” If I just swam for a couple of minutes who would know?

There was no one else on the beach so who could tell his mom. Besides she always said he swam like a fish. It wouldn’t hurt anything and it would feel so good.

Adam continues this argument with himself as he walks down the beach. As the waves get closer his mother’s sensible voice is drowned out by the sound of the waves calling to him.

Adam thrusts his feet into the fins and adjusts the mask on his face. He takes exaggerated steps allowing him to walk with his fins and heads for the water. When the ocean is up to his waist he begins to float face down in the water kicking his legs to propel himself forward. As he moves away from shore he can see the coral reef begin below him. Adam likes to watch the fish as they play in the coral searching for food. As he swims in the clear Caribbean water he spots many of the fish he knows so well; there are angel fish, butterfly fish, black and yellow rock beauties, and striped damsel fish.

As he watches the natural aquarium below him Adam sees a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. An orange fish with bright blue stripes darts away from him. I’ve never seen anything like this before.

Adam loses sight of the brightly colored creature only to see him pop up further away. He’s playing a game of hide and seek with me.

Adam races through the water trying to get a better look at the little fish; he has almost caught up to it when again it dives out of sight. Adam swims up to the point where he last saw it and pauses. I’m deeper in the ocean than I’ve ever been before. I’m not running out of breath. How is that possible?

Looking down Adam sees he is at the edge of a small ridge. Below him are two large stone statues standing on either side of a massive iron gate. The statues are lions with wings on their backs, each lion has a front paw resting on a globe; they seem to be guarding the gate. Adam notices the colorful fish swimming through the gate. It turns and looks at Adam daring him to catch up. Adam dives down and reaches towards the fish. His hand brushes against the gate. The water begins to swirl around him. Everything goes dark. I should have stayed on the beach.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Lynn

Talynn Lynn
YA Contemporary (with Inspirational elements)
To Find A Way

I flipped through last year’s copy of Dance on Stage in the dreary waiting area of Stony Hill Priory. The monthly journal pictured a performance by Jeanne de le Pierre, the cover pristine and glossy, free from smudges and crinkled pages. I tossed it back to the table, not wanting to mess up the pretty pages, untouched for so many months now.

My stomach knotted with a thousand butterflies. This is not the way I envisioned my first week, already summoned to the office. I should be happy my mom said. I should appreciate the school and their willingness to teach me to keep my emotions hidden, as was the law. Instead, I gripped the gold plated chair arm, letting the cold ride up my arm inch by inch. One glance out the office window and I knew why I couldn’t shake the ominous feeling hanging in the air. The perfect storm threatened to dump massive amounts of rain. Black clouds pushed the wispy white out of the way helping to illuminate the streak of lightening falling from the sky.

Thunder boomed and the windows rattled but I kept telling myself that’s not why I jumped. The school pamphlets, with my name typed across the top, Prism Jamison, fell to the floor. I wanted to crawl under the chairs and disappear as magically as the lightening.

I picked up my papers and walked to the window, watching the rain splatter on the glass. I traced the droplets, guessing which way they’d slide and disappear into a puddle on the outside sill. Today, I wished I could be a raindrop and blend in with the droplets slipping into the pool of rain.

“Miss Jamison?” said a voice from behind. “Hello. I’m Mrs. Tolson.”

I jumped and dropped my papers again. So much for disappearing. Too late now.

“I don’t know why they send all those letters and pamphlets out to new students. We cover everything mentioned in them during orientation and then again during each personal welcome meeting. I’ve always thought it was a waste of money to keep printing them,” she said as she walked over to me and knelt down to pick up the papers. She stood, and handed them back.

“Why don’t we step into my office and get started? I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions for me, don’t you.”

I followed her through a door with her name engraved in silver on a nameplate of gold. She motioned toward a red velvet cushioned chair and she walked around behind her desk and sat down in a red matching swiveled chair. The room was all glass, except for the back wall with the door with just walked through. All the shades were drawn, but the one right behind Mrs. Tolson’s desk was raised. Good. I could still watch the rain splatters roll down the glass.

For a moment, she examined me, her eyes moving from my head to my toes. She removed her glasses and let them hang loosely from the chain around her neck. She cleared her throat and I took that as a sign to say something. Anything to remove the awkward silence.

“Honestly, I don’t have much to say. My biggest question would be who paid for my schooling? Why did they do that for me?”

Mrs. Tolson looked at me with knitted eyebrows. I’m sure her job as a school counselor was to be kind, and if this was an act, I’d be able to see right through her. I wanted to know right from the beginning if she could convince me she was on my side. I stretched my legs out in front of me and crossed my arms, never taking my eyes from her face.

“This must all be so confusing to you. I hope it doesn’t make you feel lousy when I tell you I can’t say who your benefactor is. That, my dear, it strictly confidential.”

I raised an eyebrow, but never moved my eyes. “I’m sure it is. But can you at least tell me why?”

She smiled warmly. “I wasn’t told why. All I know is that you are here and now it’s my job to turn you into a proper socialite who can control her emotions.”

I dropped my jaw and rose up in the chair.

“What? Turn me into a proper socialite? What do you mean?”

There was a disturbing look of sympathy on Mrs. Tolson’s face.

“I’m aware of how difficult it is for a teen your age to move to a new school, start all over again, make new friends. It’s my job to help smooth the transition and teach you to fit in and be accepted.”

“Really? I’m trying to make sense all this, but this moves beyond my understanding. I am more than capable of making my own friends and fitting in where I need to fit in.” This is unbelievable. Where did she come off thinking I needed to change, be someone else? To fit in?

“Please hear me out, Miss Jamison.”

“My name is Prism. Miss Jamison is my mother.”

“Very well, Prism. I hope you don’t prove to be a drama queen hear at Stony Hill.”

How dare her!

I placed my hands on my knees and gulped in some fresh air. Calm down, Prism. Remember. You can disappear any time you want.

Mrs. Tolson wrote something on her paper stacked in front of her, and then reached into her desk draw and pulled out a brown colored envelope. I wasn’t going to let her get away with calling me a drama queen. I couldn’t be farther from her…that type of person.

“Mrs. Tolson, I'm not a drama queen. I’m just surprised at what you are saying. I wasn’t aware this was a charm school of sorts and I certainly didn’t know I was going to have a metamorphosis during my stay here. Maybe I’ve made the wrong decision.”

Mrs. Tolson laid the packet down on her desk. She fumbled with the chain around her neck before placing her glasses back on her face as if they were a magnifying glass.

“Prism, this is the greatest opportunity you will ever have in your life. Someone, a very generous and caring someone, has paid, upfront, for you to obtain the highest education in the state. Not only that, but this person has demanded a complete turn around in your presentation and social standing. This means, you will attend charm classes, you will learn to behave like a socialite and you will learn to dress like one, as well. And you will learn to control your emotions, which is the only reason you are here in the first place. We have a lot of work to do, and very little time to get it done. I hope to have your complete cooperation. Do I make myself clear?” She finished by pulling her glasses of her face. This gesture was getting on my nerves.

"Sure. Clear as crystal."

Demanded? Well, I’ll show her.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Westbrook

Pasha Westbrook
Young Adult Contemporary w/ paranormal elements
Ragdoll

friday, october 31st
i’ve seen demons. i know what they can do. i’ve been possessed by them. i have been their possession. they cast u in an invisible spell. they blind the eyes of people around u so people don’t see them in the same unfiltered light as u. but u know their light well; their aged, over ripe, cheesecloth light filled with ancient screams. the minute it touches u, it shrouds u 4ever.

ouch. i just poked myself.

Mother attached a butterfly bookmark to this journal with a safety pin. it’s her way of saying she speaks my language - that she’s on my level (i wear safety pins in everything) - but i have a secret for u Mother dear. you’ll never speak my language. and i’ll never speak yours.

god. this blood’s getting everywhere.

ragdoll
i come to life when her blood spills. i move in red and breath. she doesn’t see me and she doesn’t know that i see. i have seen since we first found each other. she was four. that was twelve years ago. i’ve been around a lot longer. i don’t know how long. i only remember the smell of smoke and turpentine, the taste of oiled cinnamon, the feel of hard straw and needle pinch as it sewed on each stitch of mouth and coarse yarn hair. i didn’t have to see to know it flamed red. it was a long and painful process. creation always is. the nimble strength and rough tenderness in my creator’s hands taught me everything i needed to know about love.

it’s hallows eve. my birthday. how’s that 4 blessed, huh? u know you’re bound to a twisted life when you’re born on the day meant 4 celebrating death.

born 2 die.

this journal is a gift from Mother. 4 your poetry, she said with her sad voice and sadder smile. of course it’s the wrong color. pink (her favorite color) with some inspirational quote engraved on it that’s supposed to enlighten me. instead it sickens me. not the effect the unknown author was going 4 i’m sure. the moment i saw the journal i knew i wanted nothing to do with it. i almost tossed it when a queer idea struck me. i wrapped it in crushed black velvet and trimmed it with crimson ribbon, like a bloody vein. the pink has been vanquished.

never fear, diary dear, the hallowed eve’s girl is here!

i immediately took care of u. and now i claim u. u are not allowed to touch another’s hands or look into their eyes. if u do, i will wilt. like a poisoned flower, i shall die. and if the day comes that u look upon another, i know that i am no longer alive. just a haunt of a girl, haunting and haunted. we are bound now. promise me this, and i promise 2 tell u everything. we bond in blood, it’s just a pinprick, on the first page here, see? i’ve marked u with the only part of me i know how to freely give. my blood. so if another touches u, close your eyes, do not let them see. but if u must open them, please choose wisely. be my protector.

if u dare.

well isn’t this cute? trick-or-treaters are outside my bedroom window ringing the doorbell. i hear Mother’s faint voice complimenting them, smoothing them with her spawn honey. i hear their giggles and the wonder in their tones at her soft approach. she has a way of doing that to people, convincing them she’s warm as sun, sweet as sugar, harmless as a skittish deer. i marvel at it. her technique i didn’t inherit. why don’t they see? why don’t people ever see that’s she’s as vicious as a pack of hungry wolves, cold as frostbite on a century’s winter lawn, dark as death.

me? i don’t trick-or-treat anymore. i play with ouija boards and get buzzed off alcohol. cigarettes are my candy.

monday, november 3rd
this scorching arizona desert just might be hell with its cavernous sands and wicked whirlwinds. my skin is dry. my throat parched. i’m dying of thirst over here! save me, will ya?

i’ve taken ice cubes from Mother’s freezer. they’re in my left hand. i’m holding onto them tight as tight can be. i like the freeze against my skin. the pricking, needling pain that begs me to let go but i never do. frozen spike-filled numbness. i hold the ice til it melts and drips onto the page.

porcelain doll
the cold brings me to life but of course the girl doesn’t notice. she’s as dumb as they come and unlike that rag of a doll, i refuse to speak of my creator. i don’t remember anyways. is there really a need for such frivolousness as trying to remember one’s fashioner? obviously i’ve been fashioned. the details are trite and unnecessary.

thursday, november 6th
i’m writing in the high school bathroom. it was quiet 10 minutes ago. now there are girls in here, 2 of them, giggling about nothing. i can’t stand that type of sound. empty sounds, unburdened by life. carefree, i guess. u and i are leaving now. they’ve stopped giggling. their mouths are open. they’re staring at me. yeah i know what i look like. a walking tombstone.

do u think it strange, i wonder, that i carry a needle to prick my skin and anoint u? the pain is sweet and the drops not too many.

ragdoll
my button eyes were sewn on last. i saw my maker. old and weathered, battered by time, her skin dark chocolate and her eyes rheumatic and blind. she saw me smile and smiled in return, patting my stuffed arms and legs. she’ll need you, she whispered in a voice i recognized as my own. i travelled great distances, through many hands and lives, none of them right for me, to find the girl who needs me most, the one my creator created me for.

saturday, november 8th
lexi wants to do it 2nite. dye her hair. she doesn’t want to wait a minute longer. it’s 9pm now. Mother doesn’t know i’m going, and even if she did, she could care less. don’t worry, diary dearest, i’m bringing u with me. it’s a mile to the small apartment where lexi and her blob mother live. lexi needs me as much as i need her.

demonic-touched girls horde together. it’s up to us to rid ourselves of the evil’s heavy-laden, unasked 4 touch.

if we can.

1 a.m.
well, we did it. lexi’s sunflower blonde hair is now abyss black, deep-dark as a well, like mine. i helped her dye it a few hours ago. she held onto the bathroom sink and cried about her demon, the brother in prison who did things to her a brother never should while the other brother turned away. i kissed her pale forehead, cool damp from water, and whispered in her ear, we have each other now, i moved her strands of hair (i’d move heaven and earth) from her line of sight, we’ll pull each other thru this hell and we won’t look back. aren’t we now bonded by our hair and eyes, black and blue? when she looked in the mirror she saw my words were true.

i took the silver dagger from my bag, the one i ordered thru wiccan stars, my ultimate fave catalog and told her 2 follow me.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Danek

Christine Danek
Young Adult Paranormal
REALM 17

Chapter 1

Death is a strange beast. You hear so many theories on what it’s like on the other side. Then you hear about those people who died for like a minute, and came back from the dead claiming they’ve heard angels, saw a white light, or felt calm and peaceful.

It’s totally not true.

Realm 17 has been nothing but one big disappointment. Seriously, a boarding school for spirits is not where I thought dead people went.

For the past five and a half months, I’ve repeated this routine. Wake up, get dressed, meet Kat, my best friend, and go to class. Yes, dull, but there’s one part that puts a teeny smile on my face. This one moment sends tingles to areas that make me blush.

Sunlight stretches across the floor of the landing, seeping through the stained glass window of an angel with her arms spread, her yellow hair flowing, and rainbow colored glass surrounding her form. I know I’m dead, but really, do they have to remind me at every turn with the overexposed images like this one? Give me a freakin’ break.

Scooting back on the window seat, I take in the quiet before the rush. On Earth, I wasn’t an early riser, but here, I am--mainly because of this everyday thrill. From this window seat, I can see everything. It’s on the main stairway from the dorms to the classrooms.

The bell rings and students pass by all wearing the same thing--white shirt, black skirt or pants, and black shoes. They walk up the steps to class in one heaping mass of spirits. Some are in pairs chatting about assignments. Some of them are alone and avoid looking at me.

Then I see him.

Asher Cane.

He comes up from the bottom floor, taking each step just like the others, but slows on the landing, glancing at me. A black curl falls over his left eye as a slow smile indents up his cheek. He’s your typical hot boy in sea of monotony, and I like it. He turns and follows the others to class. I’m not supposed to have these feelings, but I do, and since we’ve been secretly flirting since I got here, I plan to talk to him . . . today.

“Hey, Becca.” Kat waves her fingers in front of my view.

I glance at her, hoping that my narrowed eyes give a hint of disappointment. “Seriously? You’re totally ruining my day.”

Kat peeks over at Asher. “Sorry.”

Asher disappears down the hall.

“Ready for class?” Kat’s blonde hair is pulled back just like mine into a simple ponytail. She’d be gorgeous if she could wear it down, and some light blue eye shadow would make her pale turquoise eyes pop. But here? Nothing. We can’t enhance anything that may be tempting.

God! What I would do for some OPI nail polish.

“Not really.” I follow her out to the hall, blending in with every other student. “Did you get any yellow slips?”

“Nope. Nothing. You?”

“Nada. I swear I’m not going to make the deadline. No chance at a final test.”

Kat stops and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t say that. We’ll get one soon. Maybe they’re just waiting for the coolest person to put us into. Maybe someone famous.”

“One can only dream,” I murmur. “But, we have to get one or its isolation time for a whole month.”

Kat pops her gum. “Be positive.”

“How? I’ve failed every written test—“

“Have you even studied?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“They may just give it to us. There are millions of spirits that need some good influence.”

“And probably 99% of them, I don’t want to inhabit for a month even if it means getting on the reincarnation list.”

“You’re doing a good deed, that’s all a test is, then you get back to Earth to live—“

“As someone else. Plus, I have to forget my old life.” I stop short. “The whole idea is frustrating. I like who I am, was, and never wanted to die. What’s wrong with that? I just want to go back to the way it was.”

“Hey, it could be worse; you could be in Asher’s position. If he doesn’t get a slip soon, he’s facing the upper realm of hell. Speaking of Asher, have you talked to him yet?”

“No, but I plan to. I need to satisfy our flirtatious desires and find out if he knows anything about sliding illegal—“

Heavy footsteps come up behind us. Panic spreads across my chest. Kat and I flatten against the wall as two armed elite soldiers march past. Their gold armor chest plates reflect the lights, giving off a disco ball effect on the walls. No one knows who they are other than spirits working under the winged warriors who protect heaven. These guys protect the Realms.

In their hands are long black stun swords. The long sleek cylinder resembles a blade and the handle is a square box with four pea sized green lights, flickering on the side. At least the lights aren’t red. That’s when they’ve contained someone. If the guards feel the need to use their swords, your spirit is trapped in darkness, punished, and only God will decide if you get another chance. Whenever that would be. That thought gives me the chills and fear clenches my stomach.

Students hop out of their way as they turn down the opposite hall.

“There seems to be a lot more guards lately.” Kat pulls her ponytail from under her backpack strap.

“I heard something evil was disguising itself in another Realm. It’s all a crock if you ask me.” I bite my lip to cover my fright. “I wonder what the boys look like under those helmets.”

Kat giggles. “Becca you’re always thinking of one thing.”

“Oh, like you’re not.”

“Um. Not as much as you do.” Her cheeks flood with pink.

The crowd ahead of us slows and we stop on the stairs. I lean on the railing. The guards are scanning us. New security stuff they started a few days back.

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, a button pops on my white oxford shirt, and I hastily re-button it. The cuff of my sleeve inches up a little and I catch a peek of my black Mickey Mouse head silhouette tattoo. It reminds me of my younger brother, Tyler.

He is another reason why I want to back to Earth. Before I died, he was arrested for drug possession, which is totally not like him. He’s the good one and I wasn’t. And I want him to stay that way, but after his fifteenth birthday his need to impress is sending him down the path I took.

“I spoke to Zac about his test and Tyler.”

“You’re lucky that the body he was in made it easy to spy.What did say?”

“He said Tyler was hanging with Roman Franks.”

Kat sighs. “I wish I could’ve hung out with him.”

“I did, and as fun as it was, he’s a scum bag and a drug addict.”

Roman Franks is the hottest pop star around and my dad’s number one client. Since my dad is his agent, Roman performed at my sweet sixteen then he did a private show for me in the back of his limo.

1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Levy

Sheri Levy
Middle grade
Dog Days of Summer

Chapter 1

Sydney and I wrestled in my bedroom until I giggled so hard my insides ached and his barking made me deaf. I crisscrossed my arms on my chest and said, “Freeze!” He stopped in motion, panting. His head tilted sideways, eyes glued on mine, waiting for the next command. I always made sure Sydney got to be a regular puppy. Even when he became someone’s service dog, he’d still have playtime.

Momma’s voice boomed through the door, “Trina, are you packed?”

“Sort of.” I gave Sydney the release word, “Okay,” and he pounced at me. I threw my arms around his neck, buried my face in his red, brown and white-freckled fur and breathed in his fresh vanilla scent. My stomach did cartwheels. Can I survive this next week? His trainer’s words echoed in my mind. ‘Trina, you’ve done a terrific job with your first dog. He’s ready to return to my kennel for his final months of training.’

This week at the beach would be my last with Sydney.

Ever.

Using the bottom of my pajama top, I wiped the wetness from my eyes. T-shirts, shorts, and socks lay scattered across the floor. I scooted my desk chair through the mess and into the closet to retrieve my duffel bag. Sydney followed with a smelly sock hanging from his mouth.

While separating last year’s summer clothes into two heaps, my dirty pile grew larger than the clean, minus one sock. “Syd, where’s my sock?”

He darted into the closet. Strutting out, his little stub of a tail wiggled as he dropped the wet sock on my lap. Everything he did was a game.

Staring at my small stack of clean clothes, I shrugged and looked into Syd’s golden eyes. “You won’t care if I wear these a few times, will you?” His tail jiggled.

I dressed in my regular jean shorts and concert t-shirt with the words PINK & PURPLE swirled across the front. Sarah and I always wore them on special outings. The front of my T was purple and the back pink. Hers was just the opposite. Our parents had given them to us when we were eight after they attended the band’s concert. Last year Sarah had grown so much, hers had gone from a nightgown to a t-shirt. Mine was a long T. But we still looked the same.

Minutes later I hollered, “Momma, Dad’s loading the car.” Inside the garage, Sydney’s floppy ears drooped. During his one year with me, he’d learned the duffel bag signaled a trip somewhere and he wasn’t always invited. “Surprise, Sydney. You get to ‘Go.’” His mouth stretched over his teeth like a grin as he turned in circles. Skidding into his learned ‘Sit,’ he waited for the next command.

His eyes locked with mine. Pointing at his face, I counted one thousand-one, one thousand-two, one-thousand three in my head, and then said, “Okay!” He leaped to the backseat. I climbed in and nuzzled his forehead with mine.

Dad drove us down the street to Sarah’s to caravan. This year we’d explore a dog-friendly beach and make Sydney an expert water dog. Going up Sarah’s driveway, my eyes widened. There stood my best friend dribbling her soccer ball, wearing a baby-blue tank top layered over a green one with lace at the bottom. They matched the blue and green sea shells along the cuffs of her white shorts. I gasped. She must have outgrown her PINK & PURPLE shirt entirely.

She looked bizarre kicking her soccer ball in such a fancy outfit. Darby, her black and white Springer spaniel, chased the ball, barked and wagged her stub of a tail. Sydney and I wedged our heads out the window. “Wow. Where are your soccer clothes?”

“Gone.” She tittered, fluttered her eyelashes and twirled, flinging her blond French-braid. “Mom took me shopping.”

Her eyes matched her top, but I kept that to myself. No reason to add to her new coolness. Ready for the beach and not a fashion show, I didn’t let on that my bathing suit was under my T-shirt and shorts. I doubted hers under her new clothes. “Are you and Darby riding with us?”

“I will. Darby can go with my parents.” She climbed in with her backpack. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ryan.”

“Hi, Sarah.” Momma turned around. “You look very pretty.”

Sydney wiggled onto Sarah’s lap, but she gently pushed him off. With her head bent she said, “Thanks,” and plucked dog hairs from her clothes.

The air conditioner gusted, the windows whirred going up and the radio blared. Dad backed down the driveway saying, “Let’s hit the road.”

“Yay! We’re off, Syd.” Excitement spiked through my arms and legs like electric currents. His front legs stretched across my lap, putting weight on my thighs. He sensed I needed calming and practiced his technique on me. “Sarah, remember last year? How we buried each other in the sand. That was so much fun.”

“Yeah. But this time, I just want to lie on the sand and work on my tan.”

“Well. That’ll be fun for a while,” I said, scratching behind Syd’s ears and squirming in the seat. “Then maybe we’ll learn to surf? Or bogey board? Even ride a wave runner?” My eyes pleaded with her.

“Hmm... First, I’ll have to feel how cold the water is and see how many jellyfish are on shore.”

“Okay. But you know I can’t go to the beach without swimming.” I sighed, stroking Sydney’s back. “The realtor said this house was kind of old, but right on the beach.”

“Oooo! Being on the beach will make it easier to walk up and down.” Sarah’s eyebrows rose and gave me a sideways smirk, “And we can meet guys.”

I choked. “So-we-can-do, WHAT?” I stared at her as if she spoke a foreign language. Before blurting out something crazy, I caught my breath and remembered back to the last day of school, only four days ago. Sarah and her class friend, Tyler, had huddled in a corner, talking and exchanging pieces of paper. “But Sarah, this week is supposed to be about you and me and our dogs.”

“Oh. Trina. It’ll be the perfect place to meet guys. No one will know us there so it won’t matter if we goof up and say the wrong things.”

I scrunched my nose.

Sarah unzipped her pink backpack and pulled out a pink cell phone. “Look. Here’s my fifth-grade graduation present. Or should I say my going-into-sixth grade present?”

“Wow. Let me see. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I just got it yesterday when we went shopping. You were busy with Sydney so I waited to show you. I could’ve txtd you if you had one, too.”

Leaning closer, I whispered, “It’s almost by birthday. You never know.”

I tapped Momma’s shoulder. “Look at Sarah’s graduation present.”

Momma laid her book on the seat and turned around. “That’s very nice, Sarah.”

“Thanks Mrs. Ryan. Everyone has one in middle school.”

Momma gave me an apologetic smile and returned to her book. Sarah handed me her phone over Syd’s head. It chimed, so she jerked it back. “Just a minute.” She leaned over and started txtng. She typed and giggled.

Pretending to read my book, Socializing Your Australian Shepherd, my eyes kept flitting back to Sarah. Sydney moved between us and slept on the seat. Then the realization hit the pit of my stomach, Sarah’s different.