Excerpt:
Chapter 1
Munich,
Germany
The human shell that bears my name wears
jeans, a little makeup, and a St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap. She feels
hollow. Like her guts have been scooped out. The guts that made her take risks.
The jittery stomach that made her puke before a race. The pulsing heart that
made her fall in love. The delicate tissues that made her human. Made her real.
It’s all been sucked out of her.
Shutting my eyes, I listen to the sounds
around me in the first-class departure lounge. A man speaks to his wife in
German. He’s flying to Toronto on business and must be on the phone since he’s
telling her when his plane is scheduled to leave. A woman in a strong Jersey
accent scolds her child for making a fuss over her drink. Yeah, she’ll be
sitting right next to us on our flight, I bet.
I tune out the voices and stretch on this
comfy leather couch I found.
The silk scarf covering my face lifts as my
sister leans in to destroy my moment of nirvana.
“Are you gonna be moody on the plane too?”
Paige asks.
“Yes.” I grab the scarf and place it back
over my face.
Paige lifts the scarf again. “Do you want a
cookie? The walnut chocolate-chips are wicked.”
“No.” I take it from her again. I don’t
wanna talk. Eat. Or experience life. I want life to leave me alone for a while.
Or better yet, forget that Samantha Sutton ever existed.
Doesn’t Paige get the message? Do I have to
spell everything—
Paige lifts the scarf. “Please stop feeling
sorry for yourself. You’ll get through this. Everything will be mucho better.
You’ll see.”
A spark of rage throws me off the couch and
into my sister’s face. “Shut up. You don’t know anything. My future is gone. I
screwed up my entire life and I don’t need my baby sister acting like she knows
what’s best for me because you don’t know crap. You’re useless to me right now.
Do you understand? Useless. Go bother someone else with your condescending
wisdom.”
Paige wants to cry, but she somehow chokes
off the tears. She stands and grabs her purse before shuffling out of the
lounge.
Good. Now I’ll have some freaking peace.
I lie down on the leather couch. Voices
murmur around me. Fingers point. That loud argument with Paige draws the room’s
attention to that eighteen-year-old girl on the couch. That girl who looks
oddly familiar because she took off her stylish Italian scarf and her large
designer sunglasses that disguised her identity.
Crap.
Please leave me alone. I don’t want to be her. I want to be a nameless traveler. A
plain, uninteresting girl you would pass in the hallway without a second peek.
I throw on my sunglasses, hoping it will
make me invisible again.
Wrong.
Their hushed voices start it off.
“Is that the girl who…?”
“Samantha Sutton. Yes, that’s her!”
“How could she do that to her team?”
“What a spoiled brat. Did you hear what she
did?”
“What an embarrassment to the sport.”
“She’s a teen girl. What do you expect?”
The first-class lounge becomes my court
room. All the passengers self-appointed judges. I can’t look at them. But I
can’t stare at the ceiling for another hour. Maybe if I sit here and be quiet,
they’ll leave me alone.
The voices go on and on as if I can’t hear
all the awful things they’re saying about me.
People take pictures. I ignore them and
play a game on my phone.
They stand up and approach me.
I don’t look up or acknowledge them.
Those people snap pictures anyway. Like I’m
this inanimate object. Not a person with feelings. Or a girl who craves her
privacy.
A few ask questions. Normally I would
answer and be that professional sports celebrity I’ve been in the past. But I’m
too fragile now. If I talk about what’s happened this week, dig up all those horrible
moments again, I’ll totally lose it. So I walk out of the first-class lounge…
…and into a sea of media. They circle me
like a pack of wolves and I’m trapped. They just won’t let the story die. Guess
my location isn’t a secret now. Microphones and cameras aim for my head. It’s
the quickest way to take me out. Their questions fly like spears…
“What’s the real reason you skipped the
German Grand Prix? Was it to get back at the team for not supporting you?”
“Will Porsche sack you for embarrassing
them?”
“Did Ralf Wolert’s nephew break up with you
because he found out you were pregnant?”
“Was the pressure too much for you? Are you
seeking professional counseling?”
“Is this the end of your career in Europe?
Will you try to race in America?”
I can’t answer them. The mountain of crap
that I’ve created is suffocating and I have no energy left to fight it.
My cheeks become moist.
Crap. I can’t start bawling. Not here. Not
in front of the cameras.
They
want to break you. Reduce you to nothing. Don’t let them do it.
The cameras move in to capture my face. The
tears flow and I can’t stop. These reporters will get what they want. A
pathetic little girl crying over the boy she loves.
I wedge myself in between two reporters and
push through them. I dash across the terminal in this frantic state. Searching
for an escape. Searching for anything that will keep them away.
And they’re chasing me. Seriously. Chasing
me across the freaking airport.
I spot a women’s restroom and dash inside.
Finding an empty stall, I slam the door
shut and sit on the cold toilet seat. I relax for a second and rest my head
against the wall. Then it rolls out like a tidal wave. I sob and the tears drip
off my jaw. I drift forward. My wet cheek slides against the wall. The friction
it makes is the only thing preventing me from collapsing on to the bathroom
tiles.
There’s a commotion as the restroom door
opens. Things being moved around. It must be the mob. They won’t give up.
They’re stuffing themselves into this bathroom. Excited that I’ve trapped
myself inside this stall. They don’t care about decency. Or empathizing with
the pain of a human being. All they care about is their story. Catching
pictures of me in this helpless position would be the perfect image for their
news feeds.
The stall door opens.
It’s Paige.
She kneels down and wraps her arms around
this hollow and broken girl who’s totally lost it. Paige rocks me back and
forth like a child. But it does the job. It helps me find my voice.
“I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know
what to say,” I blubber through the tears. “I’m losing my mind.”
“Don’t worry,” Paige says in this upbeat
tone that I hated a few minutes ago…but I so need to hear now. “I blocked the
door. No one’s coming in here.”
“But they’re still out there. Waiting to
pounce. I can’t—I can’t get on a plane now.” I sniff and my nose is clogged
from crying. “Look at me. I’m a disaster. And everyone’s gonna stare at me on
the plane for what…? Nine hours?”
“We’ll charter a private jet home, okay?
Megan will have a cow, but this is an emergency and we’re spending the money.”
I manage a nod.
Paige dives into her purse for a moist
towelette and cleans my face. I sneeze and snot comes out my nose. Paige gives
me a tissue and I blow into it. Paige gets rid of the tissues and my ball cap.
She brushes my hair to make me look like a girl again.
I breathe in and relax.
Paige searches her purse and takes out a
big cookie. “Here, I saved you one.”
I take the cookie and examine its rocky
surface of walnuts and serious chunks of chocolate. My mouth waters. “Are they
really wicked?”
“Dude! You won’t regret it. Now do the
Cookie Monster on that bad boy while I call NetJets.”
Book
& Author Details:
Legends by Doug
Solter
(Skid #3)
Publication date: September 2nd 2015
Genres: Contemporary, Young Adult
(Skid #3)
Publication date: September 2nd 2015
Genres: Contemporary, Young Adult
Synopsis:
Looking
for an exciting young adult read about a kick-butt girl that doesn’t revolve
around high school?
Meet
Samantha. She drove the car that killed her dad. Now racked with guilt, the
18-year-old-girl racer dedicates her life to becoming what her dad always
planned her to be…a racing champion. Now demoted to number three driver,
Samantha feels alienated from her friends on the crew and Manny. And the worst
part of it is…she knows it was all her fault.
Determined
to make amends and save her Formula One career, Samantha re-commits herself to
winning the championship. But how? How can she convince her boss to give back
her car? How can she convince the crew that she’s changed? And how can she win
eight consecutive races against the best drivers in the world? That’s what it
will take for her to have a shot at the world championship.
Manny
doesn’t like to create waves. His uncle owns the racing team, but the crew
teases the boy like one of their own. But that’s okay. Manny dreams of
designing his own race cars and he thought his girlfriend Samantha would race
them. But she tossed him to the side when the self-absorbed racing star took
over from the small-town girl from Oklahoma that he fell in love with.
Samantha
needs an edge. She needs that revolutionary new transmission Manny designed
that made her car so nimble and fast. But Manny hates her. She neglected him so
bad that he broke up with her. Why would the boy help her? Especially when
Manny’s ex-girlfriend is making her move to take Samantha’s place.
The
world now thinks Samantha Sutton is a joke. Solid proof that girls don’t belong
in a race car.
She
doesn’t have a choice. Samantha must prove the world wrong.
Purchase:
(Skid
(book 1) is free and Rivals (book 2) is only 0.99 this month so readers can get
caught up with the series!)
AUTHOR BIO:
Growing up in
Oklahoma, Doug Solter began writing screenplays in 1998 and became a 2001
semi-finalist in the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences'
Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting. He made the switch to writing young
adult novels in 2008. His first novel, the Formula One racing romance
SKID, was honored as a young adult semi-finalist in the 2013 Best Kindle
Book Awards.
His paranormal werewolf romance MY GIRLFRIEND BITES was
honored in the same category in 2014. Doug is also a member of the Society
of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators. He respects cats, loves
the mountains, and one time walked the streets of Barcelona with a smile
on his face.
Author links:
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