Excerpt -- YA Fantasy, 3rd rev
Posted: September 30th, 2010, 2:46 am
Hello! I recently tried to thoroughly edit my first chapter but I'm not quite sure if it starts out where it needs to, if it's engaging enough, or if it's too expository. So, other than whatever catches your nitpicky eye, let me know if you'd want to read more if you picked it up from the shelf at a bookstore. Tell me if it seems like an actual beginning to you, or if I should take a serious look at it and try to come up with a better place to start :)
I also put up a nice chunk because right now I don't care a whole lot about line edits. If you'd like to tackle it for that, be my guest! I'd appreciate it. But right now I'm mainly focusing on it as the beginning of a story and whatever insight you have on that is like gold to me right now.
Thank you!
Edit: See here for recent version!
The high school bus was a moving social hierarchy. The bus driver was mean and ugly. He made it clear being a bus driver was the last thing he wanted to do with his life. School work defined the kids who sat in the front. The kids who sat in the back thought too highly of themselves as teenagers, supreme beings of universal knowledge. In the very back were the kids who wanted to learn life’s lessons through substance abuse. Ayla Elias sat in the middle.
The bus stopped just before her street. Ayla swung her bag over her shoulder and stood up. She patted her best friend on the shoulder. “See you later, Oliver. Visit me. Please.”
“Yeah. I’ll try to rescue you from the sisters as much as I can, okay?” He smiled lightly at her and moved his long, black bangs out of his eyes.
“You can try.” She waved at him with a laugh and shuffled after her so-called sister, Rachel. She was like a parade float as she waved her final goodbyes to all of her friends at the back of the bus. She threw promises at them like cheap greeting cards.
The bus pulled away from the curb as they headed up the street. Rachel walked two steps ahead of Ayla as they passed entirely too narrow houses with pastel paints and perfectly trimmed hedges. Ayla didn’t bother catching up to her because Rachel wore Guess perfume as if it was smog and she was Los Angeles.
They got to the house and Rachel opened the screen door. She marched right in and shouted she was home. Ayla followed her in and took off her sandals at the door. The house was twenty degrees cooler than it was outside for once, but Ayla didn’t care—she’d rather be anywhere but inside.
Michelle, Rachel’s homemaker mom, said from the kitchen, “Want a snack, sweetie?”
“Yeah, sure.” Rachel walked through the red living room to their open kitchen. Eliza, Rachel’s older sister, sat at the kitchen island in her pajamas. Ayla moved to the living room as Rachel took a seat next to Eliza. The sisters shared the same crisp tan and dark brown hair. “Can I have, like… do we still have pizza from last night? Or like some cookies. Did you make any today?”
Michelle tossed blonde hair over her shoulder. “I think we still have some pizza…I made cookies, too, but that should wait for after dinner.” She waddled to the fridge and opened it up to search its depths for the pizza.
Ayla stopped behind the couch and looked at the television as Michelle heated up the leftovers. As always, Michelle left the Northwest Cable News channel on. They were covering another story about the reoccurring therian attacks in the area. Ayla watched the footage from a family’s surveillance system as the anchor talked about the recent attacks in Bellingham and Tacoma.
The attacks started ten years ago in the Middle East. No one in the U.S. cared until a girl in a study abroad program disappeared. Foreign authorities blamed therians—animals that transformed into humans or any other animal they wanted. The attacks spread to Europe, and then to the United States. The news called them modern werewolves, but they weren’t werewolves at all.
Ayla knew therians were more intelligent than the mythical creatures of Hollywood. She’d seen them in action when they had killed her parents. She didn’t remember much, but her uncle promised to tell her everything when she turned sixteen. That’d be next Saturday, and she couldn’t wait.
“Ayla, can you get over here and take out the trash? It stinks,” Michelle said.
Ayla turned from the television to the kitchen. Michelle was standing by the microwave, leaning against the counter. Her apron was a bit too narrow for her chest and a bit too tight around her waist. She stared at Ayla with cold blue eyes and bright red lips.
Of course, they expected her to do everything because she wasn’t family. She wasn’t their maid, but she might as well have been. They probably would treat a maid better than they treat her, though.
I also put up a nice chunk because right now I don't care a whole lot about line edits. If you'd like to tackle it for that, be my guest! I'd appreciate it. But right now I'm mainly focusing on it as the beginning of a story and whatever insight you have on that is like gold to me right now.
Thank you!
Edit: See here for recent version!
The high school bus was a moving social hierarchy. The bus driver was mean and ugly. He made it clear being a bus driver was the last thing he wanted to do with his life. School work defined the kids who sat in the front. The kids who sat in the back thought too highly of themselves as teenagers, supreme beings of universal knowledge. In the very back were the kids who wanted to learn life’s lessons through substance abuse. Ayla Elias sat in the middle.
The bus stopped just before her street. Ayla swung her bag over her shoulder and stood up. She patted her best friend on the shoulder. “See you later, Oliver. Visit me. Please.”
“Yeah. I’ll try to rescue you from the sisters as much as I can, okay?” He smiled lightly at her and moved his long, black bangs out of his eyes.
“You can try.” She waved at him with a laugh and shuffled after her so-called sister, Rachel. She was like a parade float as she waved her final goodbyes to all of her friends at the back of the bus. She threw promises at them like cheap greeting cards.
The bus pulled away from the curb as they headed up the street. Rachel walked two steps ahead of Ayla as they passed entirely too narrow houses with pastel paints and perfectly trimmed hedges. Ayla didn’t bother catching up to her because Rachel wore Guess perfume as if it was smog and she was Los Angeles.
They got to the house and Rachel opened the screen door. She marched right in and shouted she was home. Ayla followed her in and took off her sandals at the door. The house was twenty degrees cooler than it was outside for once, but Ayla didn’t care—she’d rather be anywhere but inside.
Michelle, Rachel’s homemaker mom, said from the kitchen, “Want a snack, sweetie?”
“Yeah, sure.” Rachel walked through the red living room to their open kitchen. Eliza, Rachel’s older sister, sat at the kitchen island in her pajamas. Ayla moved to the living room as Rachel took a seat next to Eliza. The sisters shared the same crisp tan and dark brown hair. “Can I have, like… do we still have pizza from last night? Or like some cookies. Did you make any today?”
Michelle tossed blonde hair over her shoulder. “I think we still have some pizza…I made cookies, too, but that should wait for after dinner.” She waddled to the fridge and opened it up to search its depths for the pizza.
Ayla stopped behind the couch and looked at the television as Michelle heated up the leftovers. As always, Michelle left the Northwest Cable News channel on. They were covering another story about the reoccurring therian attacks in the area. Ayla watched the footage from a family’s surveillance system as the anchor talked about the recent attacks in Bellingham and Tacoma.
The attacks started ten years ago in the Middle East. No one in the U.S. cared until a girl in a study abroad program disappeared. Foreign authorities blamed therians—animals that transformed into humans or any other animal they wanted. The attacks spread to Europe, and then to the United States. The news called them modern werewolves, but they weren’t werewolves at all.
Ayla knew therians were more intelligent than the mythical creatures of Hollywood. She’d seen them in action when they had killed her parents. She didn’t remember much, but her uncle promised to tell her everything when she turned sixteen. That’d be next Saturday, and she couldn’t wait.
“Ayla, can you get over here and take out the trash? It stinks,” Michelle said.
Ayla turned from the television to the kitchen. Michelle was standing by the microwave, leaning against the counter. Her apron was a bit too narrow for her chest and a bit too tight around her waist. She stared at Ayla with cold blue eyes and bright red lips.
Of course, they expected her to do everything because she wasn’t family. She wasn’t their maid, but she might as well have been. They probably would treat a maid better than they treat her, though.