Junk Miles (43 page)

I shook my head. “Stop that! My level? Come on, this is stupid! You don’t have to sell out to your scumbag father to be good enough for me! You’re perfect the way you are. And you’re a hard worker. Whatever you want, you can get it on your own.”

This time, when he laughed, it was bitter-sounding. “Babe, it’s just not that easy.”

“
Why not?” I challenged. “I believe in you. I know you can do whatever you want.”

“
Damn it!” He ran his hands through his hair. He stood up and paced Saxon’s enormous room. “Yeah, I could do it! I guess. If I work my ass off and never catch a break and eat everyone’s shit! I can take twice as long as I have to to get what I want. Christ, I’m tired of busting my ass for every damn thing, and I‘ve hardly started doing it yet! I’m seventeen years old, and I’m fucking tired! I don’t want to look at my whole life doing the same damn thing. I want something to come fucking easy for once. Can’t you understand that?”

“
Nothing comes easy,” I countered.

He looked at me and bit his tongue. Because he was a gentleman. But I knew exactly what he was thinking; I had never had to face real hardship. I had never had to make the choice to bust my ass just to keep myself in clothes and food and a couple of luxuries. I had never once shown up anywhere and had anyone look down their nose at me. I had never had to think,
I’m not good enough to sit with this person. I’m not smart enough for this person.
I had lived a charmed life in so many ways. He hadn’t.

“
Everything comes easy to some people.” He didn’t meet my eyes. He wasn’t going to say it, wasn’t going to call me out. “I’ve never been one of those people, but I might be ready to be there.”

“
You’ll change,” I said weakly, feeling like a coward. If Jake felt like this was some kind of golden opportunity, I should be happy for him. Right?

“
I need to do that anyway.” He grabbed my hand and rubbed it soothingly. “I’ll still be me. I’ll still be Jake.”

I shook my head. “How can you say that? How do I know that for sure? It’s a big gamble, right?”

“
Maybe.” He leaned over and kissed me softly. “I have nothing to lose. I feel like I might have to take it.”

We sat in the cold quiet of Saxon’s room.

“
If this isn’t happening until next year, why did you bring it up?” I knew I was fishing for some more news I didn’t want.

He leaned his head back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling.

“
You’re going to get that spot at the workshop in Ireland this summer.”

“
Maybe. There are probably a lot of applicants.” But I had a good feeling that I would get it. Was that just another aspect of my charmed life? That I could just surely expect good things to land in my lap?

“
You’re going to get it,” he repeated, looking up at Saxon’s ceiling. “And I’m going to pick fucking fruit at Zinga’s like some damn migrant worker.”

“
You work hard, Jake. It’s honest work,” I argued.

“
My dad invited me to go see him. At his family’s place.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “They’re in New York. I was thinking of going.”

“
How’s your…step-dad going to take this?” I asked.

Jake shrugged. “I know you have a hard time believing this, Bren, but he’ll probably be relieved not to have to worry about me all of the time.”

“
He cares about you,” I countered.

He shook his head. “He feels responsible for me. If he knew my father was around, I think he’d want me to go with him. At least for a while.”

“
I think you’re wrong.” I felt petulant and uneasy.

He shrugged again. “I might be.” But his tone of voice said that he didn’t think he was.

“
This sucks.” I twisted my hands in my lap.

“
It’s not perfect,” Jake said, then sat up. “But I’ve never had a chance like this before.”

“
I know.” I hung my head. “I’m being a bitch not telling you to just go for it.”

“
You’re not.” He grabbed my hands and kissed them. “I know you want to protect me. But my father isn’t going to change what we have. I know you probably even think I’m crazy, but what I feel for you is real. It isn’t going away, no matter what happens with my dad. I love you so much, Brenna. I love you more than anything.”

“
I love you, too, Jake. I love you no matter what.”

And, right there, I knew that if I was going to lose Jake, he was already gone. There was nothing I could do but let this all play out and trust that fate would bring the best. In the bright moonlight, with Saxon snoring lightly behind us, while I was wearing this red silk dress that had made Jake’s eyes widen with want, I pulled Jake’s mouth onto mine and tried to imprint the taste and smell and feel of him. Just in case fate really did the unfathomable and tore him away. I wanted a solid memory of Jake Kelly,
my
Jake Kelly, uncorrupted, full of love for me, pining, wanting, just about to burst out of his shell, but not quite there. Yet.

Acknowledgements:

First and foremost, I want to thank my strong, smart, fierce mother. Her maniacal faith in my ability to do absolutely anything is sometimes overwhelming and always encouraging, especially when I start I get the urge to curl into fetal position and eat massive amounts of comfort pudding. I give her all the love and respect in the world.

And thanks to my baby sister, Katie, who never pulled a single punch in her young, mean life. Especially the day she ripped that “Do you want to be a writer?” leaflet from an Avon novel back when we were in high school, raised her perfect eyebrow, and stuffed the page in my hand with a single, fateful remark; “You could write a better book than this, so you should.”

I want to thank my brothers Jack and Zachary for supporting me even if they act like books will burn them if they hold them for too long. Thank you to my “baby” sisters Jessica, Jillian, and Jamie, who make me laugh and remind me of what it was like to grow up in NJ. Thanks to my dad, who constantly calls and updates me on any book/writing/publishing news he hears on NPR. I’d like to thank my grandparents for calling me and nagging me to get my work out there or just generally encouraging me so I could make some money and stop mooching off of them. But also, of course, because they love me and think I’m a decent writer. Thank you to all my family who have cheered me on and believed in me, no matter how obnoxiously lost in my own fictional world I’ve been. I want to thank those friends who inspired the friendships in this book and still warm my cockles (Ronan, Jessie, Kimmy, Liz, Jesse, Aaron, Ellen, Lou, Fran, Frank, Chloe, Elisa, Lauren, Biffy, Holly, Jen K…)

An unimaginably huge debt of thanks goes out to the long line of teachers who loved and nourished my voracious little reader-mind; Mr. Post, Mrs. Schroth, Mr. Flynn, Mrs. White, Ms. Mattil, Ms. Hassenplug, Mr. Bauer. Every single one of you swept me up in reading and inspired me to write more. Or less, if I was being too longwinded. Thank you for your red pens, your passion for words, and your patience with my sometimes irritating exuberance.

I could not have done this without my best friend and amazing editor, Alexa Offenhauer, who runs a fantastic editing business, Loose Leaf Editing. She untangled my crazy sentences, updated my 90’s era fashion nightmares, and rooted for the book with her entire, brilliant heart from day one. A huge thanks also goes out to the hugely talented YA authors Caryn Caldwell and Angie Stanton for being so sweet but firm as critiquers, and lovely and inspiring as writers, loooong email exchangers, and friends. We need one on one drinks together pronto, ladies! Tamar Goetke for reluctantly embracing her inner teen and being my meanest beta, and who shames me by reading and proofing my work while managing to be the most amazing mommy/wife/daughter/friend and make delicious treats to fortify me. Thank you to Brittany Hansen for her uncontrolled squeals of girlish delight. I tucked them in my head for ear cleanings and to give me happy courage when I just wanted to sink into a bottomless pit and stop this writing madness. I want to thank Courtney Kelsch for understanding more than anyone this particular romance in this particular place and reminding me of why it’s an important story to tell (while also reminding me not to mix my verb tenses). Thank you to Elisa Keller for being my woman-to-go-to when I need to know where apostrophes go or do not go in area landmarks, and for diving headfirst into the quirky romance of my bungling teens-in-love. Thank you to my fantastic, amazing, blow-me-away cover designer, Steven Peterson. He made Brenna, Jake, and Saxon come alive right before my eyes, and I will never forget the moment he made them jump out of my head and onto the page.

I want to thank the friends I’ve met or connected with in a new way since my books came out. So many people popped up to help me, support me, offer me a good laugh, and make me feel generally amazing, and I appreciate every comment, encouraging word, and hilarious video link! Thank you to Dr. Holly Kuzmiak-Ngiam for always having a sweetie-pie comment at the ready and kindly offering to help me make spreadsheets to organize my insanity. I can’t thank the online book blogging community enough! So many people said so many nice things and helped spread the word just because they love books and reading. Their passion is incredible! Missy P. Watkins jumped in and devised an amazing blog tour, you know, just because she’s amazing and kind and sweet. Fred LeBaron, thank you for your kind, encouraging emails and your willingness to read and then recommend my book! Thank you to the other YA indie writers who are busy and brilliant and hard-working, but still took time to email me, befriend me, and assure me that I’m part of one of the most amazing groups of creative people out there!

Last, but never least, thank you to my girl, Amelia, who I hope grows up crazier and more amazing than any girl I could imagine in any book…but not too fast. And a big, wet, sloppy thank you to my husband, Frank, my love, my best friend, and the coolest guy I’ve ever known. His awesomeness has inspired some great fictional romance.

And a huge thank you to my readers! I love hearing from you! I love knowing you have songs that go along with my books and that you’ve already cast the Brenna Blixen movies! I hope Brenna, Jake, and Saxon meant as much to you as they do to me. Anytime you want to drop a line, send me an email at [email protected]. Love to you all!

Biography

Liz Reinhardt, author of
Double Clutch: A Brenna Blixen Novel
, was born and raised in the idyllic beauty of northwest NJ. A move to the subtropics of coastal Georgia with her daughter and husband left her with a newly realized taste for the beach and a bloated sunscreen budget. Right alongside these new loves is her old, steadfast affection for bagels and the fast-talking, foul mouths of her youth. She loves Raisinettes, even if they aren’t really candy, the Oxford comma, movies that are hilarious or feature zombies, any and all books, but especially romance (the smarter and hotter, the better), the sound of her daughter’s incessantly wise and entertaining chatter, and watching her husband work on cars in the driveway. You can read her blog at www.elizabethreinhardt.blogspot.com, like her on Facebook, or email her at
[email protected]
.

ARC Excerpt

Slow Twitch: A Brenna Blixen Novel

Book 3

By

Liz Reinhardt

Coming Spring 2012

Saxon

I’m fairly hard to shock. In fact, I’m good at being the shocking one, and I like that. It keeps everyone guessing, and that’s always the best way with me. Once in a while, I get soft and let my heart leak out on my sleeve, but I’ve always regretted it. Every single time, it’s bit me in the ass. Once in a while, once in a really rare while, I manage to shock myself.

That’s where I was just after the end of my unimpressive junior year at Frankford High. I had missed almost as much school as I had attended. I had hit on my brother’s foxy girlfriend and practically convinced her not to completely hate me, then fucked it all up and lost my one chance to be with a girl whose brain interested me more than her tits. I boozed a little more than I should have and blacked out one too many Saturday nights. And Wednesday afternoons. And Monday mid-mornings. Then I needed some money, so I started dealing. I’m not remotely interested in sad-sack stories about innocent fucking school kids buying a bag of crack and hurtling themselves off of tall buildings. I deal; I should know who buys. It’s other assholes like me. Losers who need to forget just how shitty life is.

‘
Cause mine is. I live in a big piece of shit house that’s been featured in twelve different architecture magazines and still manages to creep my ass out and make me feel like I live in a really shitty modern art museum. I’ve slept with every delicious piece of ass in a hundred-mile radius, but the only chick I really dig is with my brother, Jake, and they’re so in love it even makes my icy heart thaw a little. I have a hot car, a bitching Charger, but it’s pretty hard to drive it when it’s locked in my piece of shit father’s garage. I’m captain of the soccer team, an honors student, a badass and a little bit of a rebel. So how the fuck did I end up in the back of my Aunt Jackie’s shitty Mazda, zipping down the highway towards a tiny piece of south Jersey hell? Why is my life so shitty?