AP Author Spotlight: Seth Z. Herman

 

Seth Z. Herman

 

Website: sethzherman.blogspot.com

Blog: sethzherman.blogspot.com

Twitter ID: @SethZHerman

Facebook: facebook.com/sethzherman

 

Describe yourself in three words:

Oozing self esteem.

 

Tell us a little about your latest release:

The Guardian Lineage, coming in November '14.

Fifteen-year-old Mike Prior is about to become a Guardian, a protector of the gargoyle clans. With all the promise of sorcery, kinetic powers, and magical-dueling, the new gig sounds awesome, for sure.

Except for the threats on his life, the likelihood that his new crush is a double agent, and the impeding war over Mike's currently-unlocked powers.

It’s Harry Potter meets Underworld, with a pinch of Mortal Kombat sprinkled in. Oh, and a weird love triangle between an assassin, a spy, and our protagonist hero.

How's that sound?

 

What is your earliest memory?

Getting the award for best student in 2nd grade, but distinctly recognizing that the teacher was unhappy, as if she was forced to give the award to me. I asked my parents about it, and apparently I was a very bossy and annoying seven-year-old. (Sorry Mrs. Levin!)

 

What would you consider the greatest moment in your life?

For anyone who has kids, it's hard not to put the birth of your children as #1 (with your wedding day as a close #1a).

If you're talking professionally? Probably getting my graduate degree in education and rabbinics (yup, I'm officially a rabbi).

Personally? I've released two self-published books (not this one - they're non-fiction) and two music albums, so that's fun.

I guess if I could be fluffy and inspiring for a second, I'd say that the greatest moment in my life is this moment right now. Because living in the past and waiting for the future are both too darn boring.

 

What’s the hardest thing in in life you’ve done?

Get back together with my wife. We had a broken engagement, followed by months and months of therapy, finally getting re-engaged about a year later. Our marriage is much stronger for it.

 

What have you learned in life so far?

Good things come to those who work for them.

 

Everyone’s favourite question: if you could invite five people for dinner, who would it be?

Well, I'd probably take the easy way out and say my immediate family - I live six thousand miles away from them, so I don't get to see them very often.

If you mean five random people, I'd probably invite a bunch of world leaders, as long as they agreed to speak candidly without fear of political or public backlash. Obviously that doesn't work, but hey, it's my fantasy and I'll let it play out as I want :) I wouldn't care which ones, to be honest. I just think the conversation at the table would be fascinating.

 

 

Chance for our readers - what else would you like to know about Seth Z. Herman?

Our Authors have hobbies - E.A. West

As an author, I spend a lot of time at my computer, working with words. Sometimes it’s nice to take a break from all that work and relax with yarn. This week, I took a break from working on edits to crochet a gift for my nephew’s first birthday.

Now, sometimes I’ll get creative and make up a pattern as I go. This time, however, I used a turtle pattern I found on the Lion Brand Yarn website. Of course, I had to insert my own special touch. Instead of using the yarn called for in the pattern, I used camouflage and buff Red Heart Yarn, mainly because I had it on hand. Gotta use up that yarn stash somehow!

I think the turtle turned out well, and I’m tempted to make another to decorate my writing area. He’s just so darned cute! Don’t you think?

 

I can’t wait to see my nephew’s face when he opens his gift. :)

It only took me about two hours to make all the pieces and another twenty minutes or so to put it together. The time it takes you to make this turtle will vary, depending on your level of experience with crocheting. But it’s a simple pattern that even a beginner could make. If you want to give it a try, you can find the pattern here:

http://www.lionbrand.com/patterns/70591AD.html

 

(you will have to register to see it, but it's free).

 

Have fun with your little turtle friend!

 

 

E.A. West, award-winning author of sweet and inspirational romance, is a lifelong lover of books and storytelling. In high school, she discovered the wonders of sharing her stories with others through writing. She picked up her pen in a creative writing class and hasn't laid it down yet. Her love of writing encompasses not only the romance genre but also a variety fiction and non-fiction styles.

Born and raised in Indiana, she still resides there today with her family and a small zoo of pets that includes the typical dogs and cats, and the more unusual African water frogs and a ribbon snake. Her interests are as varied as her critters. She has been known to carry on conversations about everything from politics and current events to gardening and theology. When she's not writing, you can usually find her working on her latest knitting or crochet project.

Providing journeys of hope, one story at a time.
http://eawest.mcphitty.com
http://thewestcorner.wordpress.com

Wounds Of The Heart:  Meet Danny, Alex, Josh, and Lacey from Battlefield of the Heart and see how the close friendships begin.

Danny Flynn is struggling to find a reason to live as the Afghanistan and Iraq wars continue to rage in his mind. Alex Dugan served with Danny in Iraq and is determined to help his former sergeant overcome his severe PTSD. When the Whitcomb University student veterans’ group gets together for an early spring picnic, Alex sees the perfect opportunity to get Danny out of the house and living again. But will Danny participate, or will his problems interfere?

RELEASE DAY: "Secondhand Shadows" by Elizabeth Belyeu

  

Blurb:
It's supposed to be a symbiotic relationship: the Shadow serves and protects the human Lumi, the Lumi feeds and cares for the Shadow. But when Damon’s Lumi died young and severed the bond between them, he declined to go with her like a good little Shadow. Yes, it hurts. Yes, he's cold and hungry all the time. And yes, his own people call him an abomination. But for the first time, Damon's life is his own, and he’s never going back.

Or so he thinks, until he meets Naomi, a pregnant college student… and bonds to her as his new Lumi. Which has never happened to a Shadow before.

Naomi has enough problems on her plate, juggling college and a crappy survival job, preparing for a baby, and getting over her cheating ex-husband. The last thing she needs is a dark, brooding fellow like Damon depending on her physically and emotionally, and hating her for it. But a vigilante among Damon's people has his sights set on Naomi – and they both know Damon is her only chance for survival.

 

About the Author:

Elizabeth Belyeu is 29 years old and lives in Alabama, where she supports herself, her cat, and her steadily growing TBR pile as a library assistant. She graduated from Troy University in 2008 with a bachelor's in English (Creative Writing minor). This is her first novel, but she has been writing since she could hold a pencil, and plans to continue until she is too senile to type.

 

 

Now available on

 ღ Amazon ღ Barnes & Nobel ღ Smashwords ღ

 

 

Excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

Elevator Ghosts

NAOMI

 

“…hardly the Dread Pirate Roberts, Dad. Can you really see him ripping someone’s throat out with his teeth?”

I froze outside my English professor’s office door, and decided I did not want to interrupt that conversation. My hand didn’t get the memo and knocked anyway. I snatched it back and bit it, but it was too late.

From inside came silence, then Dr. DiNovi’s voice. “Come in.”

I debated running away instead. Or waddling away, since the U.S.S. Third Trimester wasn’t achieving warp speed anytime soon. But I opened the door.

We all do dumb things.

Dr. DiNovi was sitting at his desk in a perfectly normal way, which was all wrong. Dr. DiNovi was a feet-on-the-desk, head-in-the-clouds kind of guy, not a feet-on-the-floor, head-in-his-hands kind of guy. I’d never seen his bald spot before, peeking out of dark hair like a moon on a cloudy night. Maybe he grew the beard to compensate for the bald spot. He looks good with the beard, in a professorial kind of way.

The other guy in the room did not look professorial. He looked grim and dark and scruffy and altogether Strider-like. All he needed was a cloak. The leather jacket, I decided, was a satisfactory modernization.

Of course, if he was Strider, I was apparently a Ringwraith, because he was looking at me like he couldn’t decide whether to run away or run me through. I fully expected him to snarl.

“Ah, Naomi,” Dr. DiNovi said. “Come to throw your term paper on my tender mercies?” His voice was casual and cheerful and did not match the way he kept glancing from me to Strider.

“Yes, sir.” It was hard to look away from Strider, but easier than continuing to look at him. He reminded me of a firework my grandfather lit once, that sizzled and smoked and then went quiet — just before blowing up in his face and burning his beard off. So talk quick and get out of here before he explodes. “I need an extension, sir. Please.” Dr. DiNovi was not famous for cutting anyone a break on deadlines. I had marshalled all kinds of arguments to cover the fact that I flat forgot about my term paper. I could not remember any of them now. Please, sir, I’m very pregnant. I cry easily, and if you make pregnant women cry you go to hell. I’d hate to see that happen to you, sir.

Dr. DiNovi gestured at Strider. “I don’t know if you’ve met my son, Ga—”

“Damon.” His voice was rough, as if he’d been screaming. Without meaning to, I looked back toward him, and he flinched. So did I. He seemed to burn my retinas.

“Damon,” Dr. DiNovi continued, “this is one of my Brit Lit students, Naomi Winters.”

“Naomi,” he repeated, his voice even more choked, as if my name were razors in his mouth. He glanced at his father. “I have to go.”

I was still standing more or less in the doorway. I tried to dodge him, and he tried to dodge me, and my shoulder bounced off his. He hissed — seriously, hissed, a sort of gasp between clenched teeth — and was out the door and gone.

I bit my lip and glanced at Dr. DiNovi, my cheeks going hot even though I hadn’t done anything. That’s why I always got in trouble when my little brother broke something. “Guilty” is my default expression.

 

RELEASE DAY: "Heart on a String" by Susan Soares

  

Blurb:
Marissa tells lies.
To herself, about the fact that her brother abandoned her.
To her grandmother, when she says “everything’s fine.”
To the world when she pretends her mother is at home or working late. When she doesn’t tell them her mother is dead.

She doesn’t even question the wisdom of living in a world built on lies anymore—until she meets Brandon. Unlike Marissa, Brandon faces his grief head-on. As their relationship sweetens, Marissa realizes the value of letting someone in and not letting her grief destroy her. But when her past filled with denial catches up with her, Marissa is forced to tell Brandon her darkest secrets, or risk losing him.

The only thing harder than lying about her life? Facing it.

 

About the Author:

Susan Soares lives in a small town in Massachusetts where she balances writing fiction with raising her three daughters. When she’s not writing she can be found reading, experimenting with photography and planning her next Disney World trip.

Susan recently received her master’s degree in Creative Writing and English from Southern New Hampshire University, and will be pursuing teaching soon. You can follow her on twitter: @susansoares1 and on YouTube: shewritesbooks, and on Facebook: Author Susan Soares.

 

 

Now available on

 ღ Amazon ღ Barnes & Nobel ღ Smashwords ღ

 

 

Excerpt:

Chapter One

 

I held my breath as I ran past the cemetery. Stupid, I know. Regardless, it’s one of those idiotic things that stick with you from your childhood. Like fragments of your being that imprint themselves on your chemical makeup. It was my older brother, Marc, who had told me that once when we were in the backseat of Mom’s old hatchback and were driving past the Sacred Path Cemetery.

Marc poked me in my side. “Quick, hold your breath,” he said before taking in a puff of air and holding it in.

“What? Why?” I looked around from side to side.

He didn’t answer me. Instead he just kept motioning with his hands, pointing out the window, putting his hands around his neck like he was choking or something. Finally, when we turned left onto Harper Street he let out a big exhale.

“Oh man, now you’re toast.” He pointed at me and laughed. That maniacal laugh only older brothers know how to do. I was seven at the time, and Marc was ten. “You probably have a ghost inside you now.” He grinned like a devious villain.

“A ghost?” I said.

“You didn’t hold your breath while we drove past the cemetery. Again I state — you’re toast.” He began drumming on his lap with his hands.

I didn’t comprehend what he was telling me, but I knew I didn’t like it. Tears started forming in my eyes, and I knew I had to rely on my failsafe. “Mooommm,” I cried out, and immediately I felt Marc’s sweaty hand over my mouth.

“Yes, Marissa?” Mom’s sweet voice carried from the front of the car to the backseat.

“She’s fine, Mom. I got it.” Marc’s tone was of the dutiful son. He unclamped his hand from my face. “Listen,” he began, talking kind of slow. “You’ve got to remember this. I’m going to give you a life lesson here. Are you ready?”

His green eyes were sparkling, and I nodded my head in agreement.

“Okay.” He crouched down a bit so he was eye-level with me. “You must always, and I mean always, hold your breath when you drive past a cemetery. And if you’re walking past one, you must run — run and hold your breath until you’re clear. Otherwise, the spirits of the undead could invade your body. And you don’t want that to happen. Do you?” I almost couldn’t tell if the last part was a question or a statement.

“But I didn’t hold my breath back there, and all the times before. What if one’s in me right now?” I began pawing at my body.

Marc threw his head back and laughed. “Nah, you’re fine. Just be careful. Now that you know you have to do it, always do it. Understand?”

Again I shook my head. Marc gave me a thumbs-up, and I begged Mom to take Chester Street instead of Maple because I knew there was a big cemetery on Maple. Luckily she agreed.

So now, here I was ten years later, holding my breath as I ran past Sacred Path Cemetery. While I ran, my new sneakers — the ones I had to work double shifts on Saturdays for three weeks to get — started rubbing the back of my left heel, and I knew I’d have a blister the size of a quarter later on. It’s hard to keep your pace when you’re holding your breath. Luckily Sacred Path Cemetery isn’t that big. Just big enough. It’s just big enough. That’s what my grandmother said anyway. I was almost halfway through when I heard the clicking of the tips of my shoelace on the ground. My thoughts concentrated on what those tip things were called, anything to get my mind off the cemetery. Aglets, I remembered! My aglets were hitting the pavement, and I knew if I didn’t stop and retie that lace, then I would land flat on my face. Grace has never been a character trait of mine. My mother, yes, but not me. Marissa No-Grace McDonald should have been my legal name. How my mother came up with Scranton for my middle name I’ll never know.

The last thing I wanted to happen was to fall face first in front of the cemetery. Complete body invasion for sure then. I couldn’t hold my breath that long. So I did what I had to do. I stopped, turned my face the opposite direction of the cemetery, and took one big breath in and held it. Next, I bent down and furiously retied that lace. Why is it that whenever you try doing something in a rush it never comes out right? Somehow I tied my finger into the knot. Then, I couldn’t get the loops to line up right. Just as I was finally conquering the over-under shoelace tying technique that Marc had taught me when I was five, I heard muffled sounds coming from inside the cemetery. I searched for the source of the sounds. As I looked near the line of big oak trees that lined the right-hand side of the cemetery, I saw the profiles of a family. What I assumed was a family, anyway. There was a woman, about my mom’s age, a guy about my age, and a younger boy, maybe six or seven. The little boy was holding a metallic balloon, which was red and in the shape of a heart. Bright sun caught the corner of it, creating a glare that momentarily impaired my vision. When my eyes refocused, I was suddenly aware of my body and extremely aware of the fact that I was watching this family’s private moment, in the cemetery, in this cemetery. My heart beat frantically, and I became aware that my forehead was covered in perspiration. I stood up, held my breath again, and ran the next half a block without stopping, my aglets clicking against the pavement all the way.

 

 

RELEASE DAY: "Celeste" by Ann Evans

 

Blurb:

Megan Miller doesn't believe in ghosts or in reincarnation. But that soon changes after moving to a new city and a new school. It starts with feelings of déjà vu. Vague feelings at first that remain annoyingly just out of reach. Then the flashbacks start – memories of ancient times and fragmented dreams of when she had been called Celeste.

Then comes the haunting. After visiting the old bombed out cathedral, Megan believes some dark ominous presence is haunting her, following her, whispering in her ear. And always the same question, where did you hide it?

Megan becomes entwined in a frightening and heartbreaking world as she slips uncontrollable between her present life and her medieval past. But the links are fiercely strong and she fears that a new friend is actually a past enemy – and evil has followed her through the centuries.

 

About the Author:

Ann Evans is an English writer with almost 20 books to her name. Most are books for young people but there have been a few romance novels too.  Ann also writes non-fiction and was a feature writer for her local newspaper the Coventry Telegraph for 13 years. She also regularly writes magazine articles on all kinds of topics from animals to antiques. It was while researching an ancient church for an article that the idea for this book began to germinate in her head!

 Ann began writing as a hobby when her three children were little. They are now all grown up with children of their own.  Two of her five grandchildren are avid readers of her books – the other three are still too young.

 

 

Now available on

 ღ Amazon ღ Barnes & Nobel ღ Smashwords ღ

 

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Déjà Vu

 

MESSAGE > Create

Me again. Thnk goin mad. Mum wants me 2 c doc. (sad smiley) > Send

 

Megan Miller clutched her mobile phone like it was a lifeline to sanity. Texting Katie, wishing she were back with her mates, where life was normal. Where she wasn't hearing things and seeing things.

Where she wasn't being haunted.

She lay on the sofa staring blindly at the TV, insane thoughts running through her head. Trying to make sense of what had happened to her over this last week.

Was it only a week? It seemed a lifetime.

Her mobile tinkled out its familiar little tune and the line 1 new message appeared on the screen. She pressed View.

 

Mayb u shud. Poss u r stressed coz of movin hse & sch.

Miss u Katie xxxx (big smiley)

 

Megan closed her eyes. That wasn't what she wanted to hear. She wanted someone to understand and believe her. Now even Katie, who had been her best friend, thought she was crazy — and she didn't even know the half of it.

Looking back to the day she and her parents arrived here in the city should have warned her. She'd been positive she had been here before, despite her mum saying she hadn't. Of course then, those feelings of déjà vu hadn't seemed particularly important — odd yes, but not important. Everybody experienced déjà vu at some time or other. It didn't necessarily mean they had lived before, did it?

 She'd never believed in reincarnation — only now she wasn't sure. Everything was confusing and frightening.

****

 A week earlier, M6 southbound.

 

Megan's mobile buzzed and the words 1 new message appeared across the little screen.

"You're very popular today, Megan," her mum remarked, glancing back over her shoulder. Dad was at the wheel, humming along to some rock song on the car's CD player.

Megan took one earplug out of her MP3 player where she'd been listening to some real music. "I can't help it if my friends are missing me already."

"Who's this one from?" asked her mum.

Megan pressed View. "It's from Katie. She says she's looked on the Internet at my new school and it looks a dump." She groaned at her mum's horrified expression. "Chill! I'm only joking. She says it looks like my old school…" Her voice trailed away as the horrible homesick feeling came back into her throat.

Yesterday had been awful, saying goodbye to all her mates, making promises to text and email each other every single day, but it wasn't going to be the same now. How could it be?

Her mum smiled sympathetically. "It'll be alright, Megan. You'll soon make new friends. If it's any consolation, it's the same for your dad and me. He's starting his new job and I won't know a soul. And it's a lot harder to make new friends when you're our age, believe me."

"Why?" asked Megan. "Don't friendships mean as much if you're only fourteen?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

Sighing, Megan tucked her corn-coloured hair behind her ear as she plugged her music back in, missing her friends more than she ever thought possible.

She closed her eyes as her music ran through her head — it was a song about lost love. That was something to be grateful for, she supposed. Leaving a boyfriend behind would have been a killer, bad enough leaving all her mates.

As the car journeyed on she must have slept, because she awoke with a jolt as her mum tapped her knee. "What?" she asked, puzzled.

"I said, we're nearly there." Mrs. Miller looked anxious. "I do hope you're going to like the house we're renting for the time being. It's just until we get a feel of the city, then we can buy a place that we all like."

"It's not home, so it's going to feel weird whatever it's like," Megan murmured feeling utterly miserable, thinking how sad and empty their house had felt as they'd finally closed the front door for the last time.

She bit her lip, staring blindly through the car window, trying hard not to cry. Her dad had done all the house hunting, travelling up and down the motorway for weeks on end, sorting everything out for them to re-locate from the North East to the Midlands.

She pressed Create Message, her fingers tapping out her thoughts to Katie.

 

Feelin sooo homesck. Missin u. (crying smiley) > Send

 

 

 

Mercedes King "Plantation Nation"

Mercedes King

" Plantation Nation"

 

Blurb:

Sixteen year old Emma Cartwright runs away from her family’s South Carolina rice plantation after a slave is beaten to death. Determined to join the fight against slavery, Emma enlists in the Union Army disguised as a young man. Nothing could prepare her for the sacrifices needed—and for falling in love for the first time.

 

About the Author:

An Ohio native and founding member of Sisters in Crime Columbus, Ohio, Mercedes King has three passions: her family, her dogs, and all-things books and writing. When she isn’t reading or elbow-deep in research, you can find her on a bike path or at her kids’ ball games. A graduate of Capital University, she’s working on her next writing adventure.

 

Now available on

 ღ Amazon ღ Barnes & Nobel ღ Smashwords ღ

 

 

Excerpt:

April, 1861

 

Specks of blood stained the blooming white bracts of the nearby dogwood tree. It streaked the hitching post and dampened a patch of ground. Most of the blood belonged to Basil. Some came from Emma. No one recalled how many lashes had been promised, yet everyone knew this was no longer about punishment. The interminable sound of the thrashing continued. Muffled sobs broke the eerie rhythm. Clouds of dust rolled in and stung weeping eyes. Foul mutterings from George laced the breeze while pine warblers chirped and basked in the springtime glory.

Emma could no longer raise her head or open her eyes. She tasted her own blood and withered under the sun's brilliance. Her back and legs throbbed from the lashes with the leather belt. The scent of honeysuckle drifted to her nostrils, but Emma quivered with agony and trepidation. She fought the oblivion that threatened to engulf her—fearing it was death.

Her heart searched for a prayer or a plea but nothing came. She wanted to cry out for her father, forgetting he was long dead.

Someone snatched a fistful of Emma's hair and held up her head.

"Look!" Quinn said through gritted teeth. "Look at what you've done." He touched his mouth to her ear. "Ain't like he didn't deserve it, though. Worthless wretch."

Emma tried again to focus on the scene. At first, through the narrow slits of her swollen eyes, all she saw was a row of brown feet, naked and caked with mud past the ankles, a sure sign that rice planting was underway. She couldn't find or concentrate on their faces now, but she knew that among the clan of thirteen laborers, Basil's mother and brother were there watching. Fear reverberated from the mass. Children cried and stirred, but no one moved or averted their eyes. George had insisted.

Emma's eyes rolled back into her head, but she made herself concentrate on her surroundings. She saw Basil, prostrate and an arm's length from the hitching post planted near the back of the house. His hands were still bound. Twine had been strung through the cast-iron ring at the top and tied to Basil's hands, but the thin string had broken when Basil fell to the ground. Seeing Basil coated in blood, Emma knew he had to be dead. Tattered scraps from his shirt trembled in the breeze, but Basil, with his head facing away from Emma, didn't flinch. Basil's desperate pleas for mercy and ear-splitting wails had ceased. George had made sure.

 

Angie Kelly "Labyrinth Society: The Versailles Vendetta"

Angie Kelly

" Labyrinth Society: The Versailles Vendetta"

 

Blurb:

When 12 year-old Mia Cornell is sent to live at the Tarpley Estate, her ninth foster home, she has no idea what she's in for. Having a kind but mysterious foster mother and three quirky foster sisters is all well and good. Discovering that her new family is a secret society—they use a portal in their garden labyrinth to travel the globe seeking lost art, artifacts, and OSOs (objects of supernatural origin)—is something else entirely.
Mia barely has time to wrap her head around the truth when the Society's latest job, tracking down Marie Antoinette's necklace, goes sideways. Mia and her new siblings—Tomi, the historian; Devon, the hacker; and Lily, the muscle—must use their wits, plus a few cool OSOs filched from the Society's vault, to stay a step ahead of a sinister enemy from their foster mother's past. But just how far back does Mrs. Tarpley's past go? And will Mia stand by her new family or cut and run when they need her the most? 

About the Author:

Angie Kelly is the pseudonym of a former member of the Labyrinth Society. When she's not writing about her adventures, or reading about other people's adventures, she's busy traveling the world and indulging her inner twelve year-old. Although she was last sighted lurking around the British Museum after hours, her current whereabouts are unknown 

Now available on

 ღ Amazon ღ Barnes & Nobel ღ Smashwords ღ

 

 

Excerpt:

"I'm Mia Cornell, and until a month ago, I didn't believe in supernatural stuff. I mean, seriously, how could any sane person believe in ghosts? I'd lived my entire life blissfully ignorant about this whole unseen world out there I knew nothing about. And, honestly, I'm still trying to decide if I'm happy to know the truth, even though the truth is pretty awesome. Well, mostly awesome. It can also be kinda scary sometimes. Anyway, I bet you're wondering what happened to change my mind. It all started after I'd been bounced around in foster care for a year and then got sent to live here at the Tarpley Estate with Madeline Tarpley and her three other foster daughters: Tomi, Devon, and Lily. Three of the craziest girls I've ever met."

"What did you just call us?" interrupts Devon, rolling her eyes.

"You're one to talk, Mia," says Tomi, laughing.

"And you're one of us now," Lily says. "So you're crazy, too." We all laugh.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the first week I was here I tried to run away because of all the total weirdness going on around me. Plus, I knew they were keeping a secret from me. And I won't even mention how mean Devon was." I stick my tongue out at Devon and she throws a pillow at me.

"But instead of running away, I ran straight into an adventure and it completely changed my life forever. Oh, and I'll never look at the Mona Lisa the same way again, or nuns, or Vespa scooters!"

"Okay, it's my turn," Tomi says, plunking herself down on the coffee table. "I can't believe Mia just called us crazy. Adventurous? Yes. Gutsy? Totally! Nerdy? Just a little. And, yep, I guess we're crazy, too, but in a good way. Oops! I bet you're wondering who I am? I'm Tomi Sato and I actually hate labels, especially the not so great one ones. They're so bad for your self-esteem. But I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I wanted to tell Mia the truth about us. It was killing me not to. Keeping secrets suck! Or is it sucks? Either way, it was no fun having to lie to her when she knew something was going on.