Genre: YA Contemporary
Title: PUNISHMENT SUMMER
Word Count: 67,000
Hero: Nicki best relates to Bonita Juarez -- aka Firebird. Though Nicki didn't escape totally unscathed, she survived the house fire that killed her sister.
Pitch: Stuck at Grandpa’s cabin in the Mendocino Forest, 16-year-old Nicki stumbles across a kidnapping. When Grandpa takes off, Nicki scrambles to get the girl to safety, away from the cartel enforcers and rogue deputies who will kill to stop her.
250: Maybe if I hadn’t downed that last shot of tequila, I would’ve noticed Dad sitting at the desk as I climbed through my bedroom window. Instead, I tumbled over the sill and thumped to the floor with all the grace of a 118-pound bowling ball, my nose landing inches from a brown loafer. Dad’s brown loafer. Uh-oh.
I rose to my knees and swayed. My brain scrambled. How could I talk my way out of this one? The frown twisting Dad’s mouth didn’t help in the inspiration department. My stomach lurched. I stumbled to my feet and ran for the bathroom, managing to lift the toilet lid just as my insides volcanoed out.
When my Mount St. Helens impersonation wound down to dry heaves, Dad spoke from the doorway. “Clean yourself up then get packed.” His voice sounded as cold as the tile beneath my knees.
I grabbed the rim of the toilet bowl and looked up at him. “What?”
Dad’s face loomed pale in the hall light. “I said you need to pack your stuff. Now.”
“But, it’s the middle of the night.”
“I know. Why do you think we’re having this conversation?” He took a noisy breath. “Listen up. You’re going to your grandfather’s for the summer and I don’t want to hear any argument. Pack your boots, wool socks and that heavy jacket of yours. It’s cold there.”
Caught somewhere between the tequila fog and reality, I rubbed my face. It sure felt real. “Why am I going to Grandpa’s?”
I rose to my knees and swayed. My brain scrambled. How could I talk my way out of this one? The frown twisting Dad’s mouth didn’t help in the inspiration department. My stomach lurched. I stumbled to my feet and ran for the bathroom, managing to lift the toilet lid just as my insides volcanoed out.
When my Mount St. Helens impersonation wound down to dry heaves, Dad spoke from the doorway. “Clean yourself up then get packed.” His voice sounded as cold as the tile beneath my knees.
I grabbed the rim of the toilet bowl and looked up at him. “What?”
Dad’s face loomed pale in the hall light. “I said you need to pack your stuff. Now.”
“But, it’s the middle of the night.”
“I know. Why do you think we’re having this conversation?” He took a noisy breath. “Listen up. You’re going to your grandfather’s for the summer and I don’t want to hear any argument. Pack your boots, wool socks and that heavy jacket of yours. It’s cold there.”
Caught somewhere between the tequila fog and reality, I rubbed my face. It sure felt real. “Why am I going to Grandpa’s?”
Trio please!
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