ALL IS FAIR IN LOVERS' WAR or How I Got Schooled In Love by Eric Price

Through the window of the taxi, I could see a tear in her eye. She still had feelings for me. When she rolled down the window, I knew I would take her back the second she said, “I love you.”

Thunder cracked, and the downpour of rain splattered her face. She looked ready to burst with emotion, and she said, “If I ever see you again, you will regret ever meeting me!”

She rolled up the window and the taxi sped away. I thought it was a tear in her eye–I guess I was mistaken.

****

From the moment I met Mariana, I knew she was “The One.” She had everything I was looking for in a woman: intelligence, a sense of humor, light-brown hair flowing halfway down her back, perky breasts, a Russian accent–I didn’t even know I was looking for a Russian accent until I met Mariana.

I got a job right out of college designing set pieces for plays. Skip ahead a few years to when I landed a job to create the set for MACBETH. I delivered it to the theater the day of the first dress rehearsal. Enter Mariana.

Mariana had gotten her first acting role as the Third Witch. I should have guessed I would fall in love with a witch.

I wasn’t supposed to be at the theater when the cast arrived, but I had gotten a late start that morning. Nelly, a girl I had been seeing for a few weeks, got suspicious that I was cheating on her. Her suspicion aroused when my phone rang. I had gone to take a shower. The caller’s name was Tiffany, and she introduced herself to Nelly as my girlfriend.

In my defense, Tiffany was not my girlfriend. Nelly was. Tiffany was just a girl I had met at a bar a few nights before. I had drunk too much to drive, and she lived within walking distance. I don’t even remember giving her my phone number.

Nelly didn’t give me a chance to explain. I’m finishing my shower when her hand reaches in and turns off the hot water. I scream and turn off the cold. I can hear her yelling about “some slut on the phone,” not wanting to be “the other girl,” and “we’re through!”

I grab my towel and follow her into my kitchen. As she slams the door and leaves, I finally figure out what has happened. I step onto my second story balcony and waited for her to appear outside.

“Nelly, come up here so I can explain,” I say. But she grabs a flowerpot from the patio below and throws it at my head. I duck and the pot shatters against the wall behind me–covering me with soil.

Nelly climbs into her car and peels away, and I have to take another shower. This in turn makes me late setting the stage, and gives me the chance to meet Mariana. To quote MACBETH, “So foul and fair a day I have not seen.” If I had known how bad showering would soon become for me, methinks I may have quit bathing.

Exeunt Nelly and Tiffany–so to speak. I had never intended on talking to Tiffany after the night we had met anyway. Now I was free to see other people.

I took Mariana out for drinks. We had an amazing connection, and the next thing I know, I’m at the theater every day.

Enter Francesca. About a week after the play opened, Mariana’s sister, Francesca, came from Russia to see the play. The three of us went out to dinner, and Francesca made eyes, brushed against me, and tried to get my attention every way she could.

Mariana was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, until I met her sister. But I didn’t care; I loved Mariana.

The third day after Francesca arrived, I had worked myself to the point of exhaustion on a new set. Mariana had the night off, but I had forgotten she had a cast-only party. I went to her place to find Francesca home alone.

I hesitated when she invited me in, but she insisted, “A friend of my sister’s is a friend of mine.”

She opened a bottle of wine and we sat and talked. After two bottles of wine, I said, “Francesca, were you coming on to me the other night?”

She didn’t answer with words. She leaned across the table and kissed me. For the record she kissed me! When she pulled away, any thoughts I had of Mariana left with her. I leaned over for a second kiss.

When Mariana walked in, I can only imagine what it must have looked like. Francesca and I had made a bed out of cushions from the couch and chairs. We lay naked and wrapped in each other’s arms.

She shouted at us in Russian. I stumbled around trying to find my cloths–I hate getting yelled at while I’m naked. Mariana rushed out the door, and I followed only half dressed.

It had started storming sometime after I had fallen asleep. The streetlights shining off the wet pavement made it hard for me to see Mariana. Then I spotted her climbing into a parked taxi–probably the one she had just taken home from the party. Not knowing what else to do, I shouted, “At least we didn’t use your bed!”

The taxi didn’t leave right away. That’s why I thought she had had a change of heart. When she rolled down the window and said I would regret meeting her if she ever saw me again, I took the comment as an empty threat, nothing more than a rage of anger. I realize now she was making a prophesy—like her character in MACBETH.

****

My actions over the next few days eclipsed all the other foolish things I had done to that point. But I was in love. I had never been in love before. You’ve heard the cliché blinded by love. I disagree with it completely. Blind and stupid are not one-in-the-same.

I waited three days to call, and when I did, I got no answer. I left three messages every day for three days. I should have realized all these threes would come back to haunt me. She played the third of three witches, after all. She finally returned my call after the ninth message. I pleaded and begged until she agreed to give me a second chance.

Mariana came to my apartment. She said she wasn’t ready to see me at hers again. I had been working night and day on my sets. I had intended to cook a romantic meal for her, but I ran out of time. When she arrived, I hadn’t even showered. I stunk from sweat, sawdust, and paint.

I opened the door for Mariana and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled and came in. I explained that I had been working all day. I told her I would like to take a shower, and then take her out to dinner at the restaurant of her choice. She agreed and sat down in front of the television. I was hoping she would take a shower with me, but I thought it may be too much to ask presently. So I went to shower alone.

Do you remember when I mentioned I should have quit bathing? Here’s why.

I stood in the shower for about five minutes, letting the hot water sooth my sore muscles before I started shampooing my hair. With my eyes closed, I heard the shower curtain pull aside. Mariana had decided to join me without me having to ask.

I said, “Did you come to get in? The water’s hot, so watch yourself.”

She didn’t reply.

I said, “Mariana?” and opened my eyes a sliver, expecting to see her standing naked.

What I saw, made my eyelids snap open like window blinds in a cartoon. Mariana stood fully clothed holding a huge dagger. She stabbed at me and I instinctively reached for her arm. My hands must have been slippery from the shampoo. Her arm slid through and the dagger dug into my shoulder.

She pulled it out and stabbed at me again. I shouted, “Mariana!” but she was in a trance. I noticed a gleam on her arm as it raced toward me. In what seemed like an eternity, my mind thought, Vaseline? She’s covered her arms in Vaseline? And then the dagger bored into my other shoulder.

The shampoo dripped, stinging my eyes, blinding me. I felt the dagger dig into my stomach before my world went black.

I awoke in the hospital the next day. I’m told that she dialed 911 before leaving my apartment. She never wanted to kill me. She wanted me to suffer.

My lawyer told me I should get my story on paper while it’s still fresh in my memory. So that’s what I’ve done.

****

Eric Price lives with his wife and two sons in northwest Iowa. He began publishing in 2008 when he started writing a quarterly column for a local newspaper. Later that same year he published his first work of fiction, a spooky children’s story called Ghost Bed and Ghoul Breakfast. Since then, he has written stories for children, young adults, and adults. Three of his science fiction stories have won honorable mention from the CrossTime Annual Science Fiction Contest. His first YA fantasy novel, Unveiling the Wizards’ Shroud, received the Children’s Literary Classics Seal of Approval and the Literary Classics Award for Best First Novel. His second novel, The Squire and the Slave Master, continues the Saga of the Wizards. It is scheduled for a September 2015 release. Find him online at authorericprice.com, Twitter, Facebook, and Goodreads.

The Outfit

Sometimes the best outfit isn’t the one you planned.

***

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my head cocked to the left as I critically analyzed another outfit.

My favorite worn pair of black Sketchers and dark green knee socks. A little throwback to my Catholic school days. Nothing wrong there.

Green and gold plaid skirt. I held my hands at my sides, fingertips grazing the edge of the hem. Short, but still within the rules.

White oxford with sleeves rolled below the elbow. The rolling was perfect, but the collar was a different story. I couldn’t get it to stand the way I wanted—high in the back, edges flipped up and out just right. I’d tried buttoning and unbuttoning buttons, but it was useless. It didn’t look the way I wanted.

“Should have had a back-up plan,” I muttered as I undid the buttons and tossed the top onto the growing mountain of clothes piled on my bed.

Three weeks ago I’d picked out the perfect outfit to wear to for the first day at my new school: a cute sundress and strappy sandals. Then yesterday we got the notice from school concerning “appropriate clothing”. No spaghetti straps. No foul language or inappropriate comments on shirts. Skirts must touch your fingertips. No displaying of undergarments.

Goodbye sundress. It failed two of the requirements: spaghetti straps and too short by a fingernail.

If mom and I hadn’t gone back to our old home for a final goodbye, I would have known in enough time to plan something else out, but no such luck. Even though we’d left early in the morning, traffic was a nightmare, and we pulled into the driveway an hour after the stores closed. Mom had convinced me I’d find something in my closet, but so far nothing worked. They either failed the new rules, didn’t fit, or would make me look like a total dork. Not a good way to start a new year in a new school.

I opened my dresser and rooted through my T-shirts, halting on the forest green practice jersey I’d worn last year for soccer. A large, goldenrod-yellow number five filled the back and three matching stripes ran down each sleeve. I pulled it on and looked in the mirror.

Not bad.

A glance at the clock revealed I had five minutes to get down to the bus stop, or I’d be walking to school. This outfit would have to do as I had no time to change again.

I ran a brush through my golden blond hair and pulled it up into a high ponytail. A swipe of gloss, a spritz of body spray, and I was ready. I scooped up my messenger bag and ran out to the bus stop.

Twenty long minutes later I pushed through the doors of my new school, schedule gripped in my hand like a lifeline. Unlike my former school, Pine Valley was small enough that there was only one bus run for everyone in kindergarten through twelfth grade. And, based on what I saw this morning, high schoolers didn’t ride the bus. I’d definitely need to talk to my mom about driving. Or make friends with someone who could pick me up.

Students congregated in clumps in the lobby, and I sidestepped my way through, looking for the hallway with the lockers. I’d had a tour of all my classrooms two weeks ago, but the lockers hadn’t been assigned yet, so I had no idea where mine was.

A handful of students were already at their lockers, most still socializing in the lobby. I stopped in front of the first locker and checked the number. 102.

“Guess this is the even side.” I shifted my bag on my shoulder and peered down the hallway, calculating that my locker would be about halfway down.

When I reached the middle of the hall, I stopped and checked the numbers. 604. Shrugging, I backed up a few steps. 502.

“What the…” I looked at my schedule and then back at the lockers. 496, 498, 500, 502, 604, 606, 608. “Where’s 548?”

A group of guys in green and gold soccer jerseys walked by, nudging each other and chuckling as they passed. A red haired guy glanced at me, turned away, then did a double take.

“Geez, Eggleston,” Red smacked the guy beside him in the arm, “the season hasn’t even started and you already have a fan in the new girl.”

Eggleston turned, revealing a yellow five, inside a large ‘C’ on the left side of his shirt. Great. My outfit would have the entire school thinking I had a thing for the captain of the soccer team.

The captain stepped forward, brown shaggy bangs dipping into his eyes, and held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Ben Eggleston. Welcome to Pine Valley High.”

I hesitated, trying to read his body language to see if he was sincere in his greeting or getting ready to prank me. He didn’t give off any odd vibes, so I set my hand in his, surprised at the tingle that raced up my arm with the contact.

“Hi, I’m Rachel Brown, and I’m totally lost.” Heat burnt in my cheeks as I realized what I’d just said.

“Well, Rachel, it’s your lucky day. Seeing you seem to be my biggest fan,” he smiled, revealing a deep dimple in his cheek, “it would be rude of me not to help you. So, senior?”

“What? Oh, no. I’m a junior. You?”

“Senior.”

“I should have guessed, given your captain status.”

He shrugged. “Coach decides who wears the ‘C’. Last year it was a sophomore. This year it’s me. Who knows, next year it could be a freshman, although that’s unlikely. But…it could happen.” He pointed at my schedule. “You mentioned you’re lost. Not sure where your first classroom is?”

I grinned, charmed by his modesty and kindness. “No, I can’t seem to find my locker. Number 548. The numbers jump from 502 to 604.”

“Ah, yeah.” His cheeks pinkened and his lips twitched. I raised a brow, waiting to see what he was so amused and embarrassed about. “Over the summer a few of the seniors removed the number plates from some of the lockers and swapped them around hoping to confuse a few freshmen.”

“I see.” I bit back a chuckle. “And were you one of the pranksters?”

“No,” he shoved a hand through his hair, “but I was here when it happened.”

“And you just let it go?” Granted, I didn’t know Ben at all, but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to stand back and let kids get in trouble.

He shrugged. “It was a harmless prank. If it was dangerous or mean, I’d have stepped in. Besides, the guys who did it will get the numbers swapped back around by the end of the day.”

“Great. So, how do I find my locker now?”

Ben grinned again, his dimple sending flutters to my heart. “That’s easy.” He led me over to locker 648. “It’s only fitting that my biggest fan be right beside me.” He pointed at his locker, 546.

I turned away, not sure how to respond to the knowledge I’d be locker mates with the hottest guy I’d ever seen. Hands steady, despite the edginess racing through me, I spun the dial and opened my locker. After dumping all my supplies inside, I grabbed what I’d need for first period. When I backed out, Ben was still there, leaning against his locker, waiting for me.

I closed my locker with a quiet click and faced Ben. “Guess this means I’ll need to come to your game, tonight. You know, to say thanks and all.”

“I’d like that. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

He brushed a finger over the stripes on my shoulder, following them down my sleeve. “Don’t change your outfit. It’s about time I had a fan in my jersey up in the stands.”

I arched a brow, ignoring the butterflies swarming in my stomach, and pretended I wasn’t the least bit affected by his touch. “I find it hard to believe no one has ever worn your number. And this isn’t your jersey. It’s mine.”

“You play?”

I nodded. “Since I was five.”

“Me too. What position?”

I grinned. “All of them, but I’m best at goalie. You?”

“Forward.” He wiggled his brows. “It must be fate. Maybe we can play sometime, see just how good you are.”

“I’d like that. Name the day and time and I’ll be there.”

“You got it.” A bell rang and the noise level in the hall doubled. “May I walk you to your first class?”

I arched a brow. “Did they change the room numbers, too?”

He laughed. “No, I was just hoping to spend a little more time with you.”

“Sure.” I did a little happy dance inside, thrilled that the hottest guy in the school wanted to spend more time with me.

As we fell in step, I breathed silent thanks to whoever updated the clothing policy and forced me to wear a different outfit. Sure, my sundress would have been cute and flirty, but it was my old jersey that caught the eye of the guy who made my first day in a new school one to remember.

***

This story is set in the same world as The Boyfriend Project. 

Twisting tales one story at a time. 

YA author Mary Waibel’s love for fairytales and happy-ever fill the pages of her works. Whether penning stories in a medieval setting or a modern day school, magic and romance weave their way inside every tale. Strong female characters use both brain and brawn to save the day and win the heart of their men. Mary enjoys connecting with her readers through her website: marywaibel.blogspot.com

***

Training Session

"Please—"

"No." Travis bit his tongue, hard, on the manic laughter trying to escape his throat. His glance swept the carnage, earth churned with blood and bones, lit by the red glow of the fire. Surreal. How was this happening?

"Shut up," he murmured pulling Max closer to his chest. Max sprawled against him, legs splayed, blood oozing between their fingers tight on his abdomen. He ducked instinctively at a sudden heavy thumping in the air. Sky patrol. But whose? Oh God, when had they begun to target civilians? They were the damned Peace Core, for heaven's sake! Searching for survivors in this idiotic war.

This was supposed to have been a training exercise, a week in the field. The war had caught them all by surprise and he was being schooled the old fashioned, hands on way. And now Max…

The man coughed, blood on his lips. "Please, Travis…"

"Hush baby." Travis let out a breath. He eased Max into a more comfortable position. Max's body warmed him, a familiar weight. He thought of their years together, days of laughter, nights twined in passionate joy.

He bent his head, nuzzled against Max's neck, heard his wet breathing. "I love you," he whispered, hoarse with grief.

"Afraid," Max panted.

"I'm here. I've got you. Go to sleep, baby. I won't leave."

He felt rather than heard Max's sob and tears stung his eyes. "Hurry," he urged the patrol, whoever they were. Heavy boots crunched the upturned soil, coming closer.

"Travis?" a voice hailed.

Relief left him weak. Theirs, then. "We're going home," he said fiercely to Max as the medic knelt beside them.

Dianne is the author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, m/m romance, and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer, which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

Blog: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/diannehartsock

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/diannehartsock

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4707011-dianne-hartsock

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Dianne-Hartsock/e/B005106SYQ/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1361897239&sr=8-1

Tales from the Field: Mac’s Ultimate Prank by Katie L. Carroll

Central High women’s soccer team: schooling the boys’ team on the field since 2012. Now it’s time to school them off the field.

I mute the music and kill the lights on my mom’s SUV, packed full of my teammates, as we approach our rival school, Valley High. The speedometer hovers below 20 mph. A block away from the school, I park behind a beat-up sedan, also packed full of soccer players.

Malcolm, the captain of the boys’ team (yes, I said boys, not men…because no high school guy is actually a man), leans against his car, his dreadlocks peeking out from under a black winter hat. We’re all dressed in black to blend in with the October night. Megan and I slip out of the SUV to talk strategy with him.

“Mac. Megan,” he whispers in greeting, his breath puffing in the cold air. We’re not close enough to the school to be heard by anyone there, but we’re not taking any chances of talking loudly and disturbing the neighborhood. “You ladies ready for this?”

“We were born ready,” I say before Megan can answer. She’s our captain and the boss on the soccer field, but I’m in charge tonight.

The thing is every year the Central High women’s soccer team has a better record than the boys’ team. And it goes without saying (though I’m going to say it) that we look a helluva lot better out on the field than they do.

But there is one thing the boys’ team is better at than us: they always pull the best Dog Day Eve prank. So this year (my senior—and final—year), I’m determined to one up them by stealing Benji the Bulldog, Valley’s mascot. And I’ve come up with a brilliant plan.

It’s a brilliant because there’s little fear of retaliation. Our mascot is also a dog (a husky), but unlike Valley’s bulldog, our husky isn’t real. The dog is a costume worn by the gym teacher. (It used to be worn by a student until two years ago when there was an unfortunate incident with a bare bottom underneath said costume. Both hilarious and gross!)

From my pocket, I pull out a drawing of the school and a flashlight. I point to the bus drop-off circle. “This is where we park. It’s easy in/easy out. They keep Benji in the janitor’s office until the night janitor takes him home around ten p.m. I’ve got dog treats to keep him quiet.” I add as an afterthought, “For the dog, not the janitor.”

Malcolm stifles a laugh. “How many are going in?”

“Four of us. Me, Megan, you, and whoever you want to take.”

“Jimmy’s my wingman.”

I make a snap decision. “Okay. The four of us will take your car up to the circle. Everyone else can wait here.” My mom will kill me if I get dog hair (or worse) all over her SUV.

Malcolm ducks his head into window and in true clown-car fashion an impossible number of boys file out of the tiny sedan. I tell them they’re not going to fit in my car and they can wait outside.

While Malcolm chats up Addison (who we all call Hunter) in my front seat, I flip my car keys to Denise (my best friend), who is squished into the very back with Sadie and Paloma. “You’re in charge until I get back. No boys allowed inside.”

She ducks low and makes her way to the front. “Got it.”

I let Malcolm drive up to the school (only because it’s a stick and I don’t know how to drive one) and we park at the end of the drop-off circle for a quick getaway.

I’m about to get out, when from the backseat Megan locks my shoulder in a death-grip. “Wait, MacKenzie. You never told me how we’re supposed to get in. It’s after hours, way after hours. All the doors are locked. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner.”

Before she can spiral further into panic (any sense of unpreparedness makes Megan slightly crazy), I pry her hand away. “I’ve got it under control. My cousin’s boyfriend goes to Valley. He spilled a bunch of chemicals in the photo lab and convinced the teacher to leave a window open to air it out.”

Next to Megan, Jimmy lets out a long whistle, clearly impressed by my prank skills. He has no idea how long I’ve been planning this.

“Let’s do this,” I say, and then we’re out of the car and creeping around the school to the photo lab’s, which is in fact cracked open (I barely refrain from shouting with joy that my boyfriend’s cousin has come through for me).

Between the hushed whispers and the squeak of the window being pushed farther open, we’re making way more noise than we should. I make another executive decision.

“Only two of us go in. The other two wait outside and stand watch.” I didn’t want the boys involved at all (so they can’t try and steal all the credit for the prank), but no one on my team could take Benji overnight and Malcolm agreed to do it.

“Me,” Megan says. “I’ll go with Mac.”

“No way,” Malcolm argues. “It should be me. I’m the one housing the dog tonight.”

Before a real argument breaks out and blows up my whole plan, I shush them. “Malcolm comes. Megan and Jimmy wait outside.” Maybe I should have been captain of the team (not really, too much responsibility).

Amazingly we sneak down several hallways to the janitor’s office and find it empty except for Benji. I slip a couple of dog treats to him and open the dog crate. I swear he smiles (though bulldogs always kind of look like they’re grinning) and attempts a leap with his stubby legs. But he’s quiet.

Malcolm grabs him around the middle and we take off in a jog back to the photo lab. That’s when all hell breaks loose! As Malcolm is passing Benji through the open window Jimmy, the dog starts barking, and barking, and barking. Benji squiggles in Jimmy’s arms, and Jimmy swears, loudly.

We sprint toward the car, but by the time we reach the front of the school, lights are turning on inside. Jimmy practically throws the still-barking Benji into the car and we all pile in. Malcolm guns it out of the driveway.

Megan screams, “Slow down! We’ll get caught. We’ve gotta look inconspicuous.”

Malcolm decelerates the car to a normal speed. I stuff the last remaining treats into Benji’s mouth, and he finally calms down.

A squad car rushes past, no lights or sirens (but definitely in a hurry). Malcolm puts his blinker on to turn down the street where we left everyone else, but I direct him to head to the mall. I’ve resigned myself to letting all those boys into my mom’s SUV and text Denise to meet us there. (No way am I staying so close to Valley High with the contraband.)

At the mall, the guys and Benji head off with Malcolm and I start the long process of taking all my teammates home. My hands are still shaking with adrenaline as I take the wheel.

Megan recounts what happened and the atmosphere in the car is giddy with the excitement that we pulled of such a great prank. Swallowing back the lump of nerves in my throat, I join the celebration by blasting loud, brain-cell killing music. 

At home, I crash hard and wake up late. All day I can’t shake the butterflies wrecking havoc on my system. I tell myself that I’m just excited about the final phase of the prank tonight at half-time of the football game.

I pick up Denise and Megan and we head to our school for the football game (the football players never come to our games so we make of point of not attending theirs, but we have a special reason for attending tonight).

We sit with a bunch of our teammates and players from the boys’ team. Megan has forbidden anyone from talking about what we did last night. Those of us who were part of the prank keep shooting glances at each other. The high-fiving and giggling are rampant. Malcolm gives me a nod and heads out of the stands. It's almost time!

The half-time whistle blows and the anticipation in our section of the stands is palpable. Before the cheerleaders can take the field for their annual mid-game exhibition, a tennis ball is thrown at the 50-yard line (I bribed a freshman to do this without knowing why she was doing it). Benji (strategically released by Malcolm from the cover of the trees on the far end of the field), dressed in Central’s red and white colors, trots to the ball.

A cry of fury breaks out in the Valley stands as they realize the dog is their mascot. Our fans whoop and holler with glee. One of Valley’s cheerleading coaches scoops up Benji and stands in the middle of the field as if waiting for instructions on what to do. I think my sides are going to split I’m laughing so hard.

I bask in the triumph of a well-executed prank for one full minute before a heavy hand falls on my shoulder. All those butterflies that have been hanging in my stomach threaten to come out of my mouth.

I look up to find the vice principle staring down at me, her mouth closed in a harsh line of anger. Her other hand is pressed firmly to Megan’s shoulder. Megan sends daggers my way (she might be angrier than the vice principle). The boys’ soccer coach is already escorting Jimmy down the stands.

“You two need to come with me,” the vice principle says.

Best prank of all-time: accomplished. Punishment for my crimes: to be determined (but all signs point to something severe). Maybe I should have left the pranking up to the boys’ team this year.

***

Check out the other Tales From the Field here! 

Katie L. Carroll is a mother, writer, editor, speaker, and soccer player. She began writing at a very sad time in her life after her 16-year-old sister, Kylene, unexpectedly passed away. Since then writing has taken her to many wonderful places, real and imagined. She wrote her YA fantasy ELIXIR BOUND so Kylene could live on in the pages of a book. Katie is also the author of the picture app THE BEDTIME KNIGHT and a contributor to THE GREAT CT CAPER, a serialized mystery for young readers. She lives not too far from the beach in a small Connecticut city with her husband and sons. For more about Katie, visit her website at www.katielcarroll.com.

Spotlight on Meg Gray

Meg Gray writes clean contemporary romance novels, featuring strong female characters. As a mom to two young girls, Meg is passionate about creating stories centered around female empowerment. She grew up in the Pacific Northwest where she still lives today with her husband, daughters, and crazy pets. She splits her time between homeschooling her girls and writing in the hours after she has put her husband and children to bed.

LQR: Tell our readers a little about you.

Meg: Well, let’s see…I like my coffee black and my mornings to myself, which is hard to do with children. Even just a few minutes of quiet help me start my day off right because once the little feet hit the floor, my days are non-stop with mommy duties. I homeschool our two daughters, so adhering to a schedule is crucial for getting everything done in a day. I used to be a kindergarten teacher and consider it an honor to be handling my children’s education. When we’re not “schooling” at home we are out and about enjoying the many wonders of Central Oregon, where we live. And once my husband is home from work, I sneak off to pen the latest stories of my characters.

LQR: If you had to pick only one moment that spurred you to write professionally, what moment is the most defining or inciting?

Meg: I can’t really think of any one moment. As much as it was just this “thing” I kept thinking about doing. With the self-publishing revolution in full-force when I was ready to publish my first novel I just went for it.

LQR: Does the majority of your work focus around or within a single theme? If so, what is it?

Meg: Yes, my writing tends to involve a love story and real life. I like to keep the people I write about very real and relatable while tying in a bit of a love story.

LQR: Tell us about your currently work in progress.

Meg: Oh, I’m so glad you asked that, because I have a novella coming out for the holidays. It’s the first Christmas-themed story I’ve written and it’s very light-hearted—think of a made-for-television holiday special, plus a lumberjack. It gives a nod to the small town where I grew up while hitting my favorite holiday of the year. I’m really excited for its release in November.

LQR: Sounds fun. I look forward to it. What’s one of your favorite authorial moments from your career so far?

Meg: Receiving letters and emails from readers is by far the best part of being a writer. It’s one thing for me to love my stories and my characters but it is an entirely different thing to hear how someone else was touched by your words too.

LQR: Share with us a five year and ten year goal for your writing career.

Meg: Wow…five and ten years away, huh? That seems like a long ways off, but I know the years will pass quickly. So, give me just a second to close my eyes and imagine that …Okay, five years off, I’d better still be writing and have all the books currently in my head published. In ten years, I’d like to think I’ll be trying out a new genre, maybe some sci/fi or a historical fiction series, but always with a romantic twist.

LQR: Do you write what you read? Watch? What are your favorite television shows and movies?

Meg: Yes, I love women’s fiction novels and romance novels. A good chick-flick or tear-jerking movie on Friday nights are always good. My most favorite television shows are “Dancing with the Stars” and “Master Chef.” Trust me, I never thought I’d be a reality TV fan, but it’s what I most enjoy these days.

LQR: If you had one week away from any and all responsibility what would you want to spend your time doing?

Meg: Traveling to some faraway place. There is so much to see in this world and I want to experience it all. So, when I can I like to get away, and I bring my children, because experiencing the world through their eyes is that much more exciting.

LQR: Anything else you’d like to add?

Meg: Mostly, I’d like to thank Kai for pulling together such a wonderful blog this year and inviting me to be a part of it. I have loved the stories all the authors have shared and I’ve found some new authors to follow, so thank you for bringing us all together to share our work. And thank you to all the readers who have come over to check out our work.

LQR: Where can readers find you online?

Meg: Readers can find me at www.meggraybooks.com. From there you can find links to everywhere else that I am on the web…Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, etc.

Thanks for spending some extra time with us Meg! It was great getting to know you better. Readers, hop on over to her website to find the buy links for her books and to sign up for her newsletter!

Getting Schooled

Learning to work in harmony, as a team without trying to outdo the rest. That's what getting schooled is all about...

Clyde had trouble keeping up with the group. They shot past him no matter how hard he struggled. He changed his breathing to give himself a boost. Huff, puff, hold. Huff, puff, hold.

If he could just match Steven’s speed, he’d be happy. Steven was a foot in front of him, but gaining ground on Clyde. At this rate, he’d lose sight of Steven shortly.

The bigger question was staying in line with the others. Coach Michael made sure they all understood that speed was less important than alignment. Clyde told himself that over and over, but when the others slid in front of him, he forced himself to give more. Faster, faster. He just couldn’t help it.

“Don’t push me aside,” Little Linley said and nudged him back. He’d gotten in her path. But, he overcompensated and veered over in Peter’s way.

“God, Clyde, watch out! You almost kicked me in the gut.”

“Sorry.” Clyde’s heart pounded. Would he ever learn the way to move with the others? Would he ever learn the harmony of it?

“You can do it, Clyde,” Coach Michael said, coming up next to him. “The trick is to keep straight. Try not to swerve but keep your body rotating. You’ll get it.” He moved on with such enviable ease Clyde wanted to scream.

This was just their third day out. The day before the Big Fish loomed just a week away—the day that would determine their future. They could get eaten alive in one second if they weren’t careful. Clyde’s life depended on staying with the group. Huff, puff, hold. His heart sank as Little Linley passed him.

After the practice, Clyde went off by himself. He thought he might try and go it alone for a while. If he could work on going in a straight line without the pressure of the others around him, maybe, just maybe he’d survive the big test.

When he moved out and circled around, a sense of joy and fulfillment engulfed him.  The tension he felt in the group disappeared. He could do this. All he had to do was relax and allow the rhythm to take over. That’s what Coach Michael had told him a million times. When he reached the most distant end of the divide, far from his home, he peered around, lost. Where had he ended up? The area smelled of lime and mint. The sweet odor lured him farther away. His dad had told him not to go beyond the barrier reef, but he wanted to follow that scent.

A giant hand reached for him. He lunged sideways just as the fingers grabbed the back of his body . He marshaled every bit of energy he had from deep inside his soul and escaped the trap, flying away with the speed of a seagull. The odor of mint and lime faded. He reached the home stretch in record time, having gone faster than he ever had in his life.

The next day in practice, he stayed close to Steven without any trouble. He moved when Steven moved. He kept himself perfectly aligned and never veered into Peter’s path. He stayed at least two lengths ahead of little Linley. Clyde felt jubilant when they finished.

Coach Michael pulled him aside after the practice. “What happened to you today? You were totally awesome out there.”

Clyde smiled. “I was too nervous to focus. Then the more I tried to focus, the worse it got. I just needed to prove to myself that I was as good as the rest of them. That I wasn’t holding them back.”

The coach smiled at him and patted his dorsal. “That’s what swimming in a school is all about. Knowing you can swim as fast as everyone else. Letting your body respond to the movement around you without holding back. We swim as one. That will save you from the big fish.”

Clyde finally understood.

When the big day came the following week, he swam with his school, right by the big fish and without the slightest doubt that he would survive.

***

Joan Curtis is the author of The Clock Strikes Midnight which won the Silver Medal in the Global eBook Awards for 2015 for fiction/suspense. The e-Murderer, her newest release, came out this month. It is the first in a series starring Jenna Scali.

A New Kind of School by Meg Gray

The kids were at school. The apartment was silent, minus the puppy snores coming from Butterscotch, soft and adorable. Nothing like the yelling and chatter-filled air that polluted the apartment every morning as she hustled the children out the door to school. This morning was no exception either.

Fern fired up the PC in the den. The teakettle whistled from the kitchen and she padded barefoot to the stove to fix her cup. Her calf-length yoga pants and baggy sweatshirt over her Arizona State t-shirt added a layer of casual to her new work environment. Something that could have gotten her fired from the She-devil herself at the law firm.

Last month Fern submitted her notice to Abigail. Two weeks later, she shed all the workplace stress as she carted out a box of her personal belongings from her desk. Her desire to go back to work remained, but it wouldn’t be in that office.

Steam rose from the teacup. Fern set it next to her keyboard and clicked through to her email, finding the message from Heidi Wickham.

Today marked the beginning of a new chapter in Fern’s life—she was going back to school. Online school where she got to wear comfy clothes and sit at home while she learned all about how to run her own online business, featuring her editing skills.

According to Connie Wright—Caden’s mother—there were a number of businesses around the city that would contract out services. And Connie should know. She was well connected in the city. Connie also said growing a business online would give her a global reach. It sounded scary, trying to reach out to clients all around the world. The internet was now the hub of business, and if Fern was going to succeed, she had to know what she was getting herself into.

Fern had considered just hanging a shingle and figuring things out as she went, but she prized her organizational skills and decided if she was going to roll out an online business, she was going to do it right. Straight from the beginning. And that’s where Heidi Wickham came in. The model-turned-juicing-queen ran a twelve-week course detailing the ins and outs of running an online business. And if little Miss Heidi from southeast Texas could do it, so could Fern…at least that’s what Heidi promised in all her online ads.

The timer on the screen ticked down the minutes and Fern felt a funny first-day-of-school flutter deep in her belly. This was so exciting. She checked her pencils, three number twos, sharp and ready to go. A fresh yellow legal pad sat to the right of the keyboard, ready to be filled with notes on today’s one-hour lesson.

Fern picked up her tea and sipped it. She set her cup down as the timer ticked down to zero. The screen changed, taking her into her virtual classroom. A gorgeous model-thin blonde in a strappy sundress smiled at the camera and welcomed her to the “You Can Do It Too” class. The camera panned the beautiful beach backdrop in Heidi’s world. Fern pictured herself there too, or maybe it was Hawaii, she wasn’t sure, but she saw herself on that beach with her laptop, editing pages, and raking in the money. This was all so exciting!

Heidi’s glossy lips reeled Fern in for her first lesson. “Imagine this as your office.” Heidi turned away from the beachscape. “Over the next twelve weeks I will give you the tools to make your dream job a reality. Don’t get me wrong,” she shook a finger with a manicured pink nail in front of her, “it’s going to be a lot of hard work. Are you ready for this?”

“Yes, I am,” Fern yelled at her screen. Butterscotch lifted her tired head, her droopy eyelids begging to know why she’d been disturbed. Fern patted the dog’s head, lulling her back into a snooze.

“Great,” Heidi said as if she’d heard Fern. “Because if I can do it, then you can do it too, so let’s begin…”

Fern picked up a pencil, ready to note every single word of Heidi’s foolproof business success-plan, because she was going to do this!

Heidi sat, daintily perched on the edge of a floral print couch, crossed her legs and began, “The first thing to remember is…”

The lights from above snapped out, the screen went black, and Heidi was gone.

Fern looked to her phone still plugged into its docking station. There was no way it had had enough time to charge. She bolted to her bedroom, looking for her laptop and prayed the kids hadn’t run the battery down. She didn’t want to miss her first day of school because of a power outage.

 

***

 

Meg Gray uses a small world approach when crafting her contemporary romance novels, tying minor characters from one story into another—demonstrating how intertwined our human lives really are. The city streets and country roads she takes you down aren’t necessarily a structured series, but the stories are connected. Within the pages, her readers will catch glimpses of some of their favorite characters again and again. This is a concept that mirrors itself in our everyday lives. Our worlds are much smaller than we realize, often times we are unaware of the way our lives intersect with those around us. Visit www.meggraybooks.com to learn more.