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Book Excerpts
From Chapter 6
55 days.
What
if Colson isn’t the answer?
I ignored the thought and continued to face the
liquor cabinet, the bottles shifting into pairs as my vision glazed over.
A tiny frisson of cold moved from my heel and up my
spine to prickle at my scalp. I pictured
my newly short hair standing on end, like hundreds of tiny spikes framing a
carrot-orange cartoon sun.
I froze, avoiding my reflection in the mirror-backed
wall of the cabinet. The tingling
returned. Was someone behind me?
I dropped my head.
My heart pounded under my chin.
My bangs curtained my face, but I took in my shoes, the floor, the craft
store bag, fur . . . wait, fur?
I turned around and sighed. “Bug.”
She stared at me, still, as if she too saw a
ghost. Her fur stood up in tufts and
shocks around her head, but that was just Bug.
Imperfect breed, imperfect hair.
Not that Bug knew that. According
to her, she was a purebred. She didn’t
seem to know that the pretty auburn and dark brown coat around her head faded
to an almost dirty white on her back and legs, or that her slim build didn’t
match her squashed up face, or that she had a funny name, or that she was the
result of a full pedigree/mutt hook up.
She’d never believe any of it.
I shook my head, pushing my fingertips into my
eyebrows.
“What are you doing, Bug?” My mom wasn’t home. I
couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her without my mom.
Bug walked to the craft bag and sniffed. She sat down in front of it.
“There’s nothing for you in there.” I picked up the bag and headed for the
stairs. Bug’s tiny but imperious steps
followed.
I turned around.
“Do you need to go outside?”
If a dog could roll her eyes, she would’ve. I swore she looked insulted, as if she didn’t
have a paper-lined crate in the laundry room.
“Are you hungry?”
Bug ignored me, pushing her nose into my bag. She wouldn’t come to me for food anyway. My mom’s culinary skills were what turned her
from my shelter rescue into my mom’s sidekick.
Whatever. Glitter was the only
thing on my agenda right now.
The air conditioning turned on, and I jumped,
catching my reflection in the mirror again. I frowned and moved to close the
liquor cabinet doors.
A crazy but funny idea popped into my head—me
covering all the bottles with glue and glitter.
I looked at Bug. As if she could
read my mind, she cocked her head. “I’m just
saying it would be hilarious to see their reaction.”
I imagined my dad pouring himself a drink out of a
sparkly, fuchsia Jameson bottle—right into a matching bejeweled highball
glass. Except the enjoyment would only
last for a split second, just like the first hit of alcohol. Yes, I wanted that initial sense of relief,
the momentary lapse in emptiness.
Until tomorrow, when I’d have to start all over
again.
I swallowed.
Glitter. I shifted all my focus
to glitter.
Giveaway:
Each blog participating may host a giveaway for one (1) ebook copy of Come Back to Me. Open internationally. Your prize will be sent out the week of May 20th.
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