Still time to enter if you have a finished YA or NA (New Adult) and leave up for the weekend! So check it out!
(If you're a friend popping by, thanks! Don't feel like you have to read my entry, I totally understand .... so have a great weekend!!)
My query and first 500 below:
Seventeen year old Madeline Martin gets strange looks for her blue hair and punk fashion, which isn’t such a big deal, but if she gets caught shoplifting or skipping school again, she’ll be really sorry. To keep her in line, Madeline's mom sends her to stay with her uncle in upstate New York for the summer, to work in a public library. Being away from her Manhattan friends and lifestyle sucks, but it’s way better than juvy hall. Alone in the library one night, Madeline stumbles onto an envelope tucked inside the pages of an eighteenth century atlas and unwittingly uncovers a political secret hidden away for centuries. Confiding only in the roguish neighbor guy, who's dealing with issues of his own, Madeline sets out to uncover the truth of what the found documents mean, as well as whoever may be willing to pay big bucks for them. After discovering she’s being followed by a stranger, and the police can’t help her, she has no choice but to unravel the mystery on her own.
Expelled from the IRIA, eighteen year old Armand Dantuine is after the truth as well, but not for the same reasons. He’s been hired by an international organization to retrieve the same secret documents, offering him a chance to regain the respect he never had in Iran. One person will stand in his way, however, and if necessary, the Martin girl will be a casualty of little importance.
Mom says I’m my father’s daughter.
She doesn’t mean it in a good way. It’s why I’m stuck in the most boring town in upstate New York for the summer, working in the public library. It was this or change bedpans for old people in a retirement home, and I’m not about to work around human defecation all day.
One more book to return and I’m done for the night. I roll the book cart onward, just as my MP3 dies, right in the middle of a filthy jazz riff too. Hate it when that happens. I flick the buds out of my ears and reel toward the American History section. The faded parquet floor creaks like it’s in pain. Except for that, it’s totally quiet—too quiet on my first night closing alone. At least the head librarian doesn’t hover over my shoulder. She lets me handle the lockdown on my own, and sad to say, right now she may be the only one who trusts me.
This big old building has three levels, with the third floor skirting a transparent railing around the center staircase. From up here, you can see all the way down to the atrium floor, where moonlight from the glass ceiling spills in like silvery rain. Distorted shadows dance across the floor there, provoked by a breeze through the tree limbs that hug the outside windows.
This job is supposed to keep me out of trouble, and I have to admit, even though it’s torture being away from my friends in Manhattan, it’s way better than forever being labeled a youth offender for something I didn’t do. Mom doesn’t get it—why I put myself on the line for my friends. That’s what she means when she says I’m my father’s daughter. Dad was a firefighter and made a career of getting people out of trouble. There’s even a memorial for him, along with the other firefighters who lost their lives on September 11. They dubbed him a hero, like the name was somehow supposed to make up for his death.
At the far end of the American History section I follow the decimal numbers to return the last book, a navy blue hardback that looks like it hasn’t been read in years. It’s heavy and smells like my uncle’s basement. The American Revolution is embossed across the front in pale gold. I scan the numbers on the binding again. Great. It belongs on the top shelf where I can’t reach without the ladder. Stepping back down the aisle, I snag the nearest shelf ladder and roll it over.
Glass rattles at the far atrium windows. My head jerks up in their direction where a couple of pigeons flutter from the stone ledge outside.
“Get a grip, girl,” I say to myself.
I’ve seen people mugged at knife-point outside my own friggin’ apartment building. Don’t know why I’m so jumpy. Must be that horror flick I watched last night. Mom’s always saying they’ll rot my brain.
Thanks to all who read and comment! Best of luck to my fellow contestants! :)