RELEASE DAY: Clay Cormany "Fast-Pitch Love"

Blurb:

For most people, softball is a way to have fun, get exercise, make friends, and develop teamwork. But for 17-year-old Jace Waldron, softball is something more – a pathway to maturity. It is through that game that Jace learns what is important in romance and why physical beauty alone is not enough to make it work. Join Jace and his team, the Valkyries, as they come to the plate to take on all challengers, while gaining valuable lessons about life along the way.

 

 

Author:

Before writing Fast-Pitch Love, Clay Cormany spent over 20 years as a writer and editor for the Ohio Department of Education. His creative work has appeared in the Columbus Dispatch and Spring Street, Columbus State Community College's literary magazine. He has also edited numerous books, including a three-volume biography of Christopher Columbus and A Death Prolonged by Dr. Jeff Gordon, which received coverage in the New York Times and on PBS.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

The skinny student recoiled from the push, his back thumping into the wall behind him. His books fell to the floor as he raised his hands to block the punch that seemed imminent.

"Don't hit me, Carson," the student pleaded. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Carson Ealy, all two hundred thirty pounds of him, loomed over the frightened student like a hungry bear. "How can you say you 'didn't mean anything by it'?" he snarled. "You asked her out, didn't you?"

"Not … not really. I just thought Stephanie might like to stop by my house to … to see my tropical fish. She … she … she lives just around the corner from me, and now that school's out –"

"Shut up!" Carson yelled. He grabbed the quivering boy under the armpits and lifted him until his shoes dangled at least a foot off the floor. "Stephanie doesn't want to see your stupid fish or your teddy bear or your doll collection. She doesn't even want to give you the time of day. And you know something else?"

The student, his face white with fear, shook his head.

"I don't want to either, and if you bug her again, I'm going to twist your head off. Capisce?”

The student nodded frantically. "Yeah, yeah, sure, I cap –"

Carson dropped the kid like an unwanted toy and watched him slink away. The handful of students who witnessed the encounter also began to walk on. Some might not have known what it was all about, but Jace Waldron did. He knew the skinny student made the near-fatal mistake of putting a move on Stephanie Thornapple. Jace had never made that mistake — but he sure thought about it.

A new student at Ridgeview High, Stephanie joined Jace's American history class right after Christmas break. She sat a little ahead of him, one row to the right, giving him a near-perfect position to admire her near-perfect beauty. Only minutes before watching Carson bully the skinny student, Jace had gazed at Stephanie while working on his history final. In the midst of answering questions about the Great Depression and the Cold War, he imagined himself making out with her.

Jace went to his locker and began cleaning it out. There wasn't much there. Just a few loose papers, a copy of Little Women, and the latest issue of the Ram Courier, Ridgeview High's student newspaper. As he put these things into his backpack, students around him checked pagers or made plans for parties and sleepovers. Some exchanged hugs with friends they might not see again until the end of August.

With his locker emptied, Jace headed toward the metal doors on the north side of the school, his gateway to summer vacation, and thought again about the confrontation he just witnessed. The skinny student apparently missed the news that Carson Ealy, starting nose tackle on the Ridgeview Rams football team, was Stephanie's boyfriend. The big guy corralled her almost from the moment she arrived, hanging out by her locker, eating lunch with her, and walking with her between classes. Carson wasn't smart or handsome. Jace thought that with a little extra hair, he could pass for Bigfoot. Still, he found the right words to discourage other guys who were interested in Stephanie: "Leave Steph alone, or I'll break your neck." Potential rivals knew he meant business and backed off.

Jace pushed through the school doors and out into the pleasing warmth of the June afternoon. While he headed to the parking lot, he took in the scent of lilacs and watched the gentle swaying of the crab apple trees that stood in a line between the lot and the tennis courts beyond. After a moment of searching, Jace spotted the blue and silver sedan that belonged to Stick Macklin, his long-time friend and cross-country teammate. Most days, he would be driving his own car, but that set of wheels wasn’t going anywhere without a new battery. He rode to school with his neighbor Mrs. Havener, who supervised the school cafeteria, and with any luck he could ride home with Stick.

 

RELEASE DAY: Monica Goulet "Follow Me Home"

Blurb:

16-year-old Kelsey thinks her new house far away from Tulsa is the perfect place to escape her past—until she meets Jay, the boy who used to live there.

After a series of mysterious break-ins at the house, Kelsey discovers the culprit is Jay, but before she can confront him, Jay inadvertently sets in motion a series of events that leave Kelsey and her family devastated and wind Jay up in juvie.

Desperate to fix things, Kelsey confronts him only to discover Jay’s not the delinquent she expects, but a boy with a past more messed up than hers. Against her better judgment, the two of them form an unlikely friendship she keeps secret from everyone.

Then Jay asks for a favor she didn’t see coming – one that leaves Kelsey torn between her growing loyalty to Jay and throwing away the new future she worked so hard to build.

 

 

Author:

Monica Goulet writes and lives in Oshawa, Ontario with her husband. She graduated from Brock University with a Bachelor's degree in English and Professional Writing. In her other life, she’s an instructional designer and a mother-to-be who likes ice cream, running, and losing herself in a good story.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

For the first time in almost a year, I feel safe. My sandals slap against the uneven sidewalk, and I wave back at the old man driving by in a green pick-up truck. His toothless grin should scare the crap out of me, but something about this place makes it okay. I’ll even forgive its lack of a real downtown. I went in search of one of those quaint main streets with specialty coffee shops and expensive clothing stores, and all I found were a bunch of empty buildings for lease and a no-name pizza place. So much for small town charm.

I turn the corner to my house and skid to a halt. The edge of my sandal catches in a crack, and I lurch forward, scraping my palms against the cement. There’s a leg dangling out my bedroom window as if it’s not attached to a body. It reminds me of a cricket I caught when I was eight. I’d accidentally ripped its leg off trying to make it dance. I shudder and pick myself up, my palms burning.

I glance at the driveway. Mom and Dad’s cars aren’t there.

The person in the window struggles to squeeze his way out. Blue jeans and a ratty running shoe. Painter, maybe? Repair person? But there’s no work van in sight.

The rest of the body lowers from the window. I suck in a breath and duck behind a parked car just as he jumps.

 Five, four, three, two, one. I pop my head up just enough to see over the hood.

He’s crouched on the ground, so I creep up a little higher and let out a breath. He’s tying his shoe? What kind of thief would stop to tie his shoe, let alone come out empty handed?

Anger rises in my chest and I clench my fists. What does this guy think he’s doing? I pop up from behind the car without thinking. “You could have used the door, you know!”

My mouth snaps shut as soon as the words are out. What am I doing? For all I know this guy could have a gun or something. I almost duck behind the car again when he looks up, but he turns away again just as quickly as if I never said a thing. He just finishes tying his shoe and shakes his head to get the hair out of his eyes.

I finally catch a glimpse of his face. He’s young – my age maybe. Too young to be someone my parents hired. He heads toward the street, and I glance up at the open window again.

Something doesn’t seem right.

“Hey!” I yell. “Wait!” Against my better judgment, I start after him, but he still doesn’t turn around. My hand closes around the cell phone in my pocket. The police. I should call the police. I fumble with my phone, and it clatters onto the sidewalk.

The guy looks back.

His eyes lock onto mine, and I freeze. I stare back, expecting to see fear or guilt – anything other than what I see.

Sadness. It pours into me from his eyes and touches every nerve in my body. Still, he doesn’t run. He just stares at me until I can’t take it anymore, and I dive behind a tree. My breathing slows. I count to ten before poking my head around the tree again. He’s already a block away. I stare at his back, frozen in place. From here, he looks harmless. Blue hoodie, jeans, running shoes. He’s not even running away.

My curtain blows against the open window in the second story. In and out. In and out. The screen had been missing when we moved in last week. When I spin around again, I catch the last blur of a blue hoodie disappearing around a corner.

My cell phone is in pieces. I scoop them up and shove the battery back in. Still works. My fingers hover over nine-one-one. But I keep seeing the way he looked at me. The sadness. I shove the phone back into my pocket.

The front door is locked like I left it. I expect to find chairs overturned, vases broken, something, but everything is normal. The boxes we haven’t unpacked yet are still piled in the living room. The spare set of keys for my dad’s car still hangs on one of the pegs by the front door proclaiming “Home Sweet Home” above them – a gift from the previous owners who’d screwed it so far into the wall my dad couldn’t get it off without taking a chunk of the drywall with it. He hung it back up until he could get around to fixing it. Which, for my dad, could be a while. I kind of like it anyway.