YA Romance
Date Published: April 27, 2012
Synopsis: He loves magic. She loves romance. But the biggest illusion is the one Shantel and Christopher perform together. Sixteen year-old Christopher fights to stay sober, while fifteen year-old Shantel struggles in the aftermath of her mother's death and seeks refuge in a fantasy world. But the unacknowledged roots of their problems refuse to stay buried and soon, the two are headed toward a deadly magic trick. Can Shantel and Christopher move beyond magical allusions to find love?
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Mindy is included on the Washington State Arts Commission Teaching Artist Roster, and holds an MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults from Vermont College. She is a member of SCBWI. Currently, Mindy is hard at work on her next romance for teens, which is a spin-off Holiday story from Stained Glass Summer.
Excerpt:
Everything would be okay, I told myself. Christopher was my
boyfriend. I trusted him. I crunched inside the wicker basket and curled my
legs underneath me. I wiped my sweating palms onto my black slacks. The
audience stopped calling for an encore. They were so silent I wasn’t sure
anyone was still out there.
I’d barely gotten my balance before the first sword barreled into the basket with a lot more force than we’d practiced. Startled, I realized Christopher was keyed up from the magic show performance. He was overestimating the force he was putting behind the swords.
I tried to figure out how to tell him to slow down. I couldn’t very well call out to him or the audience would hear.
Before I could it figure out, the second sword zoomed past me and into the basket. The two swords crossed over my head, and I rearranged myself so I could crouch lower. As I shifted, a third sword whizzed by my left arm and peeled off a small layer of my skin. I saw the blood before I felt the searing pain.
I’d barely gotten my balance before the first sword barreled into the basket with a lot more force than we’d practiced. Startled, I realized Christopher was keyed up from the magic show performance. He was overestimating the force he was putting behind the swords.
I tried to figure out how to tell him to slow down. I couldn’t very well call out to him or the audience would hear.
Before I could it figure out, the second sword zoomed past me and into the basket. The two swords crossed over my head, and I rearranged myself so I could crouch lower. As I shifted, a third sword whizzed by my left arm and peeled off a small layer of my skin. I saw the blood before I felt the searing pain.
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