Chapter One:

If my mom didn’t tutor such pretty girls my life would be much less complicated.

     I mean, isn’t it bad enough that I’m a fourteen-year-old boy with greasy hair, a pimply face and that my last class of the day is gym so I’m a sweaty mess by the time I get home? I never know who’s going to be there when I walk in from school. I’m pretty ripe, like I said and there, at my kitchen table, sits Kylea, or Floraine or Harmony. How is a guy supposed to concentrate with girls like that at his kitchen table?

     Today, their faces cycle through my mind as I walk home. Sweat makes my shirt cling to my back under my backpack. Who will it be today? Each is so beautiful in their own way. Kylea, who plays with her silky brown hair, sending waves of apple shampoo smell wafting through the kitchen? How do girls always smell so good?

      Then there’s Floraine, with the lilting French accent, which makes my name sound like poetry when she says, “How are you Dante?” Who can take that kind of pressure? If I try to speak I know my voice will crack.

     The last one is Harmony…Harmony from heaven. That’s what I call her. Harmony has the most beautiful skin. It’s like someone airbrushed her with mocha. I sometimes find myself staring at her arms wondering if they feel like velvet. I’m afraid one day my body will overrule my brain and I’ll reach out to touch her. It’s mortifying.

     I climb the wooden steps up to my front door of our two-story and brace myself. Who will it be today? Today is Thursday and Mom tutors Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, but leaves Thursday’s open in case someone needs extra help. Hopefully, the table will be empty and I can just walk in, raid the fridge, and plop down in front of the computer instead of hiding in my room until they leave.

     I pull open the door and step in to the cool, wood floored entrance way. I can see the kitchen table to my right. Someone is definitely sitting there with my mom but I don’t recognize her. Oh no! Not a new girl. That means I have to go in and introduce myself. It’s a rule. I drop my book bag on the floor and step onto the white tile of the kitchen. Hair like black silk is flung back as I enter. I am faced with the most soulful almond shaped eyes I have ever seen. Then, she smiles. I feel myself falling forward into her smile.

     “Hi Dante,” Mom’s voice is like a slap of cold water waking me from my stupor. I have to blink away from that smile as if I’ve been staring at the sun. My eyes turn to mom, who sits next to her, hair stuck up in a sloppy bun with a pencil as usual. That roots me to reality. “I have a new student for you to meet. Her name is Sophia.”

Her name is Sophia. 

     Of course, it is. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I am lost. My mouth moves like a fish dying for water and I squeak out “Hi.”

     “Nice to meet you Dante. Your mom is helping me prepare for my SAT’s so I can get into Stanford.”

     A college woman, or at least… a high school junior. Kill me now.

     “Cool,” I say, dazzling her with my vocabulary. I can feel sweat dripping down my sides. I have to get out of here.

     “I made you a sandwich if you’re hungry,” Mom says, giving me the perfect reason to grab food and get the heck out of the room before I melt into a puddle of sweat.

     “Thanks,” I say, dashing across the room to the refrigerator next to the table and gab the goods, snagging a bottle of water before I fumble my way out of the room. My feet are suddenly two sizes too big for walking. “See ya,” I say, kicking myself mentally as I head up the stairs to my room. See ya? Really? I will never, ever get a date.

Chapter Two:

If I had normal friends my life would be much less complicated

     I am standing outside shivering at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning waiting for my conservation teacher because Sebastian insisted I join this weird hiking club. Northern Nevada can be cold at the strangest times. It’s one of those, heater in the morning, air-conditioning in the afternoon places.

     Today’s a heater day. April is very unreliable. Sebastian is jogging in place next to me as kids start to arrive and cluster into small groups. I’d be embarrassed by Sebastian with his bone thin arms and scrawny white legs, especially since he refuses to wear clothes that “touch his skin,” which right now means short baggy shorts and a t-shirt. But, we’ve been friends since birth and I’m used to him. In kindergarten, he used to rub my earlobe like it was his security blanket and I let him. It didn’t bother me and it kept Sebastian calm so I figured it wasn’t a problem? I had to draw the line in first grade though. Kids were starting to stare.

     Sebastian is one of those off-the-charts smart kids being raised in one of those weird organic families with siblings named things like Rainbow and Junia. Since his parents divorced, you can never tell who actually lives at his house because people are constantly coming and going. He calls them couch-surfers, I call them freeloaders.

     I used to think it was kind of cool but now I try to avoid his house because there is nothing good to eat, they don’t believe in microwaves, and drink stuff like hemp-milk. I swear, the last time I was there his little sister, at least I think it was his sister, it could have been someone else’s kid for all I know, walked up to his mom and said she was thirsty. Before I could look away the kid, who had to be at least five years old, was slurping away at his mom’s boob. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as interested in boobs as the next guy but I was hoping the first time I got to see one in person there wouldn’t be a five-year-old attached.

     A car door slams and I see Miley running toward us. Her long brown hair flies behind her and she jogs up and punches me in the arm.

     “Hey,” she says.

     “Ouch,” I say, rubbing my arm. She never punches Sebastian, probably thinks he’d break. He gets a nice gentle fist bump and my arm is killing me. Miley is about as opposite from the famous singer as a girl could be so it’s kind of an unfortunate name. Besides the long hair, there’s really nothing that indicates that Miley is a girl. She wears boy clothes, boy shoes, and no make-up. She’s taller than me and a super-fast runner. She’s only in seventh grade but when she moved here last year, I could tell that the other girls were going to make her life miserable, so I kinda took her under my wing. Now she’s a star on the track team so she’ll be okay without us next year when we go to high-school.

      “Gather up!” yells Mrs. Ferguson, my conservation teacher, and we all head to the trunk of her car for her for the pre-hike ritual. Mrs. Ferguson has short spiky red hair and freckles. She’s rubbing sun screen on her face and putting on her big floppy hat. You have to be careful around her or she’ll tell you about all the skin cancer she’s had cut off. It’s not of the weak of stomach.

     “Okay, grab a bottle!” she says as Lacey Smitherrman starts shoving water bottles at us. Lacey would be cute if she wasn’t so bossy. I grab two bottles from Lacy and take one back to Miley who is standing with Sebastian a few feet outside the crush of students. Sebastian won’t drink from a plastic bottle and brings his own anti-landfill, anti-poisons water bottle.

     “Open and hold,” Mrs. Ferguson says, unscrewing the top off her water bottle and holding it up as an example. I take off the lid and hold my water up for the toast. I know it’s kind of cheesy but I’ve grown to like the little ritual we do before each hike.

Mrs. Ferguson smiles around at the twenty of us, scraggly and half asleep middle schoolers and says in her best Irish accent:

“May your shoes stay on your feet.

May your feet say on the path.

May the path be a pleasant one.

And may we all get back in one piece!

Sláinte!”

     “Sláinte!”” we all say and chug down the bottle. Mrs. Ferguson makes us chug down the whole bottle of water before we leave, no matter how cold it is. “Nevada is a desert,” she says, “and we need to stay hydrated.” Then we have to throw the empties in the back of the trunk so no one drops one on the hike. Sebastian’s is strapped to a belt around his waist so it’s not a problem.

     The three of us fall into place at the back of the line. That way, we can walk at our own pace and talk without worrying about someone like Lacey telling us to hurry up. There’s not much to see on the hike but sagebrush. Still Sebastian finds it fascinating.

     “I’ve been on this hike before,” he says. See this canal?” he points to the ditch to our right. “It’s empty now but soon they’ll divert water to it in order to keep this wetland fortified.” Sebastian is really interested in water conservation. I can’t see anything I’d call a ‘wetland.’ Just some trees lining the canal.

     He continues his lecture us on his favorite topic. “This drought has left us at a critical stage to be entering the summer. “They’d better get some water restrictions out soon or we’ll be in big trouble...”

     Miley breaks in, “I heard they are going to open a new golf course in Summerset.”

Sebastian’s face looks like someone just told him his mother had died. Sebastian hates golf courses with a passion. I swear I think he’s about to cry when Miley breaks in again, “I also heard it might snow this weekend. We have a meet in Susanville and coach is worried about the roads.”

     “Your coach is always worried about roads and usually it’s nothing,” I add.

     “If you don’t like the weather…” Sebastian starts.

     “…wait a minute,” Miley and I finish.

     “Well I hope you’re right ’cause we need the water, Oof!” says Sebastian as he stumbles forward. He’s been knocked from behind by Dax Sabanovich. Who must have arrived late and was running to catch up with the class.

     “Move brain-trust,” he says as he runs by.

     “Idot,” I say.

     “Jerk,” echoes Mia.

     Dax glares over his shoulder like he’d just as soon come back and pound us into the ground but can’t be bothered. That’s the good part of having friends: when we’re alone, we’re easy pickings, but together we’re almost a threat.

     “He says brain-trust like it’s a bad thing,” says Sebastian.

     One thing you gotta give credit to Sabastian’s mom for is making sure her kids know it was okay to be smart.

     “That’s because he’s too stupid to know he just complimented you,” says Miley hurling a rock toward the canal. “Hey Dante. Any new beauties at ‘Casa de bonitas’ this week?”

     “Oh, you are not going to believe this one,” I begin. “Her name is…Sophia!” And that’s why I keep my awkward friends. We may all have different interests, but we support each other you know, we support each other.

Chapter Three:

If my dad didn’t travel so much my life would be much less complicated

     Dad is a computer whiz. He has to trouble-shoot for big companies so it’s not uncommon for him to be gone weeks at a time to places like China. Unfortunately, this was one of those times. Dad had been gone for a week and it was the beginning of spring break so mom said I could have a sleepover. We all had Friday off so Sebastian and Miley came home from school with me Thursday to try to get a glimpse of Sophia. We had plans to eat junk food and pull an all-nighter watching a Lord of the Rings marathon.   Yeah I know, we’re nerds, whatever.

     When we got to my house I noticed that the door is slightly open. I pushed inside and things don’t look right. The first thing I see after I throw my backpack on the ground is that the kitchen is empty and there’s a chair on the floor, the one my mom sits in.                  “Mom,” I yell. There’s no answer.

     I rush to the table, panic starting to bubble in my stomach. There are papers spread out on the table and a pencil, as if they were here working and just disappeared. Sophia’s leather satchel lies on the chair next to where she usually sits. It’s the turned over chair that freaks me out. “Check upstairs,” I yell to my friends. I run around the downstairs.         Across from the kitchen is the family room. Same old furniture, same desk with a computer on it, same flat screen TV…nothing unusual there. I cross through the kitchen again and out into the garage. Mom’s Subaru is still in the garage and her purse is hanging on the hook by the front door. I pull the garage door shut, step through the small laundry room and pull open the sliding glass door onto the deck. The flat wooden deck, paint peeling looks the same, the back yard looks empty. Could they have decided to get some sun? I run around the grass which is still hibernating in its dead brown state from winter. I check the sides of the house to be sure. The yard is empty and it’s not exactly the kind of weather you’d want to sit outside in, there is a biting chill to the air. Where could they be? I come back into the house and stand in the kitchen trying not to freak.

     I can hear the doors upstairs being opened and shut and Sebastian yelling, “Mrs. Lamarie?” to no answer.

     That’s when I call Dad. I’m not worried enough to call the police. Maybe they went to the store, or had a hankering for fast food. Maybe they took Sophia’s car…I don’t where they would be, but I’m nervous enough to call Dad. He always said to call him if anything went wrong and something is definitely wrong here. Maybe it doesn’t seem that wrong to anyone else but in my household, Mom is always there when I come home from school. She is usually right at that table.

     I think back. I honestly can’t remember a time that wasn’t true. Except that one time when I was five and mom had just finished grad school and started teaching at the university. I came home to an old lady who said her name was Mrs. Triffile and she was my babysitter. I kicked her hard in the shins and ran up to my room to hide in the closet. Poor Mrs. Triffle quit that day. Since then, mom has always arranged her teaching schedule to be home when I get off school. Am I spoiled? The thought leaps out at me like toast from our faulty toaster. It’s never occurred to me before but I just might be. Never mind that now, I have to call dad. Miley and Sebastian come into the room. One glance at their worried faces tells me they’d found nothing. Even they think it’s weird.

I press my ear to my cell listening to the phone ring in faraway China willing Dad to pick up. I don’t even know what time it is there. Is Dad asleep? Dad answers on the third ring.

     “Dante? You okay?”

We don’t call long distance just to chat. We save that for our skype dates on the weekends.      “Uh, Dad…I’m sorry if I woke you.”

     “No, I just got out of the shower. Are you okay? Mom?”

     “I’m sure everything's okay. It’s just that… I can’t find Mom.”

     “What do you mean you can’t find her?”

     His tone of voice was not what I expected. I thought he’d laugh off my concerns or sound irritated that I’d interrupted his work. He also does not sound surprised, but he almost sounded as if he’d been expecting this kind of call.

     “I mean when we got home, Mom wasn’t here. She and Sophia, that’s the new girl she’s been tutoring, they are just missing.”

     “Who’s we? Who is with you?”

     “Sebastian and Miley.”

     “Good. I’m glad you’re not alone. Now listen to me closely. It may be nothing but I want you to go out to the shed.”

     “The shed?” I’m pretty sure I misheard. I mean, I’ve lost Mom, and Dad wants me to what? Mow the lawn?

     “Yes and look on top of the workbench. That’s where my toolbox is.”

     I now feel like I’ve entered the twilight zone, or maybe I’ve reached Dad on the day he happens to be having a mental breakdown. “Dad, I don’t think you heard me. Mom is missing.”

     “Right, so pay attention, Dante. Open the tool box. There will be a Phone in there. Open it and see if there’s a voicemail.”

     “Dad! You’re freaking me out here. What’s going on?”

     “Just do it Dante. Keep me on the phone so I can hear what’s happening. Take your friends with you.”

     I turned to Miley and Sebastian who are looking at me expectantly. “He wants us to go look in my shed.”

     They stare back at me, faces reflecting my confusion. I turned to walk again past the washer and dryer and open the back door. They follow me across the deck, stepping into the grass and to the back corner of the yard where we keep two quads and next to them, the shed. It is just a garden shed, maybe a little nicer than some but nothing noticeable. I put my ear to the phone, “Okay, we’re at the shed.”

     “Is the lock still on?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Okay, the combination is 37-25-14, open it up.

     I have to put the phone under my arm to unlock the shed. Tthe lock is just like the one on my school locker. If my hands weren’t shaking I could have got it open on the first try. As it is it takes three.

     I pull open the door, worried that I’ll find something grizzly inside, but it is just a shed. Sunlight filters in through a small window above my dad’s workbench. It smells like grass clippings and motor oil. The work bench and Dad’s tools are on the right side of the shed and Mom’s gardening stuff hangs on the wall to the left. I put the phone back up to my ear, Miley and Sebastian step into the shed with me, making it feel crowded, but safe.

     “I’m in Dad.”

     “Okay, now Dante open the toolbox and take out the phone.”

This feels surreal, like I’ve fallen asleep and woken up in a James Bond film. There aren’t supposed to be phones in tool boxes. It isn’t normal. The battered red toolbox isn’t that big. It’s the kind you can pick up and carry. I put the phone on the workbench and open the box. There are tools in there. Just tools: a hammer, a wrench, a screwdriver. I feel a flood of relief. I put my dad on speaker. “Don’t see anything but tools in it Dad.”

     “Lift out the shelf out of the toolbox.”

I lift out the handled top section and set it on the bench hoping it is empty underneath, and all this craziness can just stop, but of course it isn’t. There is a small black phone the kind you pay by the month for. Next to it is a small thumb drive, a tiny black flash light and something that looks like a mace spray container.

     “I found the phone Dad.”

     Okay, put it on speaker so I can hear… Is there a message?” He asked the second question as an afterthought, as if he knew there would be.

     “We’re already on speaker.” I inform him, “It says: Missed call. One voicemail.”

     “Okay,” he says with a sigh. “Play it.”

     I’m starting to dread this. I look at Sebastian and Miley, they moved closer to me, each putting a hand on one of my shoulders. I push play. My mom’s voice comes on. She sounds tense, her voice a higher pitch than usual, although her words are reassuring.            “Dante honey, I know this is scary, but don’t be afraid. I’ve been taken, but no one will hurt me. The thing is honey…it’s imperative you follow me as soon as possible. Bring your friends with you if you can. Dad will tell you how. I’ve got to go. Oh, and I love you and there are sandwiches in the fridge.”

     My body is beginning to shake. I’m trying to keep it together but this is all so weird…and she’d left us sandwiches?

     “Dad, what is going on?”

     “Dante, I’m making reservations right now to get home. But, you’re gonna have to do this, I’m sorry to put it on you. I can’t really explain it over the phone. It’s not safe. Is there a thumb drive in there?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Okay, go in to the laptop and plug it in. It will give you the background you need. Is the tracker in there?”

     “Tracker? No, there’s there is a flashlight and some kind of spray can.”

     “That’s it, the flashlight is the tracker. Take the spray can with you too. Don’t call me. I’ll call you as soon as I get to a secure phone. And Dante…”

     “Yes,”

     “I love you and I’m counting on you son.”

__________________________________ 

Working Title: "If Only I..."

Genre: Middle Grade Fiction/Action Adventure

Age Range: Eight and up

Word Count: 15828

Author: Jacci Turner

Why is my project a good fit?  Young boys love books that are funny, have scientific interest as well as a good adventure. This book has all three and Trident is a quality publisher that can get it to the masses of boys just waiting to read it.

The Hook: Dante's mom is missing and he and his friends must find her.

Synopsis: When Dante returns home to find his mom missing, foul play is suspected. Suddenly he learns that his parents might be more than the college professor and business man he always knew them to be. He and his friends must follow clues, take risks and vanquish bad guys and rattle snakes to save his mom from bad scientists determined to use her research to  create genetic clones. 

Target Audience: Children aged 8 and up, especially boys.

Bio: Harper Legend Author and author of nine Middle Grade and Young Adult books. Speaker, blogger and social media maven with a solid platform on Facebook, Twitter, Linked in, Google+, Tumblr, Goodreads, Instagram and Pinterest. Teacher of adult fiction writing classes, two years as the director of education at High Sierra Writers. Member SCBWI.

Education, I have undergraduate degrees in Social Work and Speech/Theater as well as Graduate degrees in Marriage and Family Therapy and School Counseling.

I love kids and teens and I love to tell stories.

“Cross God one time, and you will be depicted forever as a bloodied goat man - but I’m the evil one.”

       She crossed and uncrossed her legs.

       Indeed, the young woman across from me was not unpleasant to look at. She was plain looking, mousy even.

       If I had been told that the devil were a woman, my mind would have filled with a vision of a Delilah temptress, forked tongue slipping in my ear while I quivered with waning resistance.

       Alas - no swirling smoke, no hopping henchmen. Dressed in crimson satin, a woman devil of my imagination would convince me to do vile things with whimsy.

       The woman across from me was buttoned down, no cleavage or flitting eyelashes. She looks like a mom. I try to keep my suspicion, any fool could guess that this was naught but a trick. Blue blouse and khakis did not an innocent make.

“Oh, this isn’t my normal form, this is a rental especially for you.”

       A wink, there it was - the trickster was out to play. Ignoring that Lucifer was reading my unexpressed thoughts - I was filled with disgust. This woman possessed, to be used and discarded like some puppet.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

       Staccato laughter burst from her, drawing the attention of the tables around us. It was that laugh that began the chill, which poured over my skin like oil.

“This is my fault, I tend to indulge in theatrics.”

       She began to change. Sallow shrinking greying meat - half of her face ripped up with a violence, showing bloodless flesh - she laughed again, the laughter strange sounding from behind flapping skin. It was then that I saw the tire marks, which crawled up across her chest before me.

“Remember me now?”

       I had tried to forget. Spread on pavement in the dark - I hadn’t gotten a good look. Besides, I had been very drunk.