Hi all,
So I'm trying YA...solid YA; no cross over, no college somethings, just YA. Oh yeah, and there's fantasy elements, but not in the first five. Anyway, here's the first few pages and I was wondering if they draw the reader in. BTW, the MC is 15 in this scene. She's into reading and drama, fyi.
Thanks in advance for comments!
Laura
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“Nellie. It’s your turn.” Mom extended her arm out to me and smiled.
I accepted the burning candle from her cold hand, making sure to grip its plastic holder tight in my trembling fingers. Even though it was ten degrees outside, the last thing I wanted to do was to get hot wax on my skin.
My mind went blank as I stared into the small, yellow flame. It took all my concentration not to drop the traditional symbol that made our backyard ceremony all the more serious. It was my father’s life we were commemorating, after all, and at that moment, everything hinged on my next move. Not that I had any idea what to say or how to act. The fact that mom had just finished a heartfelt soliloquy that rivaled Shakespeare didn’t help.
I tore my gaze from the candle and saw that Mom and Andrew stared at me expectantly. At eight, my little brother just couldn’t understand the solemn nature of the occasion. He danced back and forth on either foot, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. Plumes of moist breath steamed from his mouth and red nose. The only reason he was out in the elements with mom and me was that she promised to give him hot cocoa with real marshmallows when we were done.
“Come on, Nellie! Say something!” He whined, patience almost tapped dry.
If you were out here making a snowman or chucking snowballs at your grubby friends, you wouldn’t feel the cold, I thought. I sniffed and licked my lips again, longing for my chapstick. Too bad I’d left it in my book bag which was safely slung on the back of my desk chair, warm and cozy in the house.
“Shhh, Andrew. You can’t rush feelings, honey.” Mom patted his shoulder and pushed his hat further down over his ears before pulling him to her chest in a hug. “Go ahead, Nel.”
“I don’t know what to say, Mom. We should just go inside.” Giving up, I offered the candle back to her. She didn't take it from me and wax dripped over the lipped edge of the holder and plopped to the ground. It sliced through the thin layer of snow, leaving small holes in its wake. At least my hand wasn’t in its path.
I sucked in a breath and wheezed from the dry air. Raising my head to the sky, I noticed that large flakes were falling. No wind blew, so they settled in silence on their predecessors. If I wasn’t so irritated—and if it wasn’t after dark—the scene would have been beautiful. As it was, the aimless swirling of the fine white powder caught in the glow of the energy efficient porch lights was mesmerizing.
Andrew tipped his head back to catch the ice crystals on his tongue. “Ahhh,” he called out as if he was at the doctor’s office.
Mom covered his mouth with her hand and shushed him again. “Nellie. This is for your father. And it’s important. I asked you to write something down or at least think about what you’d say before hand. Didn’t you do that?” She looked hurt and disappointed that I hadn’t made any effort to draft a speech about the disappearance and assumed death of my father. After three months, hadn’t we already been through enough? I mean, we’d been through the search for his body, the wake with an empty casket, the funeral, even the odd stares and awkward “sorry about your dad” comments at school. Why did she keep prolonging the agony?
“Sorry.” I lowered my gaze to the ground and tried not to cry. Again.
“Oh, honey, don’t be sorry. I just wanted this to be special. Remembering your dad keeps him in our hearts. In that way, he’s still alive.”
That was it. Overwhelmed with anger, I tossed the candle in the snow. “So we need to have our own little ‘ceremony’ to remember him?” I threw up my arms and let them flop back to my sides in exasperation. “What about the funeral? Lots of people came to that. Nice things were said. Dad was ‘celebrated’ then. Why are we doing this all over now?” I glared at mom, enraged at the forced tribute.
Mom closed her eyes and sighed. “Nellie. This was for your father. It’s his birthday. He deserves this.”
My breath caught in my throat. Tears burned down my cheeks before they froze to my face in the cold night. “He deserves us being sad?” I shook my head. “I just can’t believe that.” Spinning around on my booted heel, I turned away from mom and Andrew and stormed back into the house.
I slammed my bedroom door extra hard to drive my point home. Part of me wanted mom to stalk after me so that she could pound on the door and I could yell, “Go away!” at her. It was self-serving, but my heart ached for the release anyway. But I knew she wouldn’t do that. No, she was the type of mom who respected her kids’ privacy and personal space.
Stewing in my frustration, I crossed my arms and pondered my situation. My cheeks burned with embarrassment at my stunt, even though I was alone. Then again, that was the point. I was sulking without an audience. How stupid. Rolling my eyes at myself, I unzipped my coat, unwound my scarf, and snaked my feet out of my boots at the same time. Loathe to leave wet spots on the hardwood floor, I retrieved a spare towel from the hallway closet across from my bedroom and cleaned up the mess from the melting snow that had stuck to my shoes.
Engrossed in my chore, I’d forgotten to close the door behind me. Bent over with my back to the hallway, I didn’t hear mom approach.
“Nellie.”
I jumped up to my feet, instantly regretting the head rush. “Mom! You startled me!” My fright made me forget I was mad at her. For the moment.
She looked at the dirty towel in my hand and smiled. “Cleaning. You use your anger well, Nel. That tells me you’ll be just fine.”
Frowning, I tossed the towel-turned-cleaning-rag atop the pile of winter gear now stuffed in the corner of my room. “What?”
Crossing the threshold, mom put her arms out to hug me. “I know it hurts now, Nellie, but this will pass.”
I backed away. “How can you say that? How can I get over dad’s disappearance? He left us. And we’ll never know what happened.”
Mom refused to let me shirk her embrace. Stuck between her and my bed, there were no options for retreat. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tight. I hugged her back, but with limp arms. It was, in my mind, a way to meet her in the middle. Surrender on my own terms.
Letting me go, mom peered into my eyes and squinted. “I know you’re mad at me, Nellie. But you’ll thank me later for making it a point to honor your father’s memory. To lose a dad at such a young age. I can only imagine what you must be going through.”
“Yeah.” I looked at the floor, searching for missed wet spots. It helped me gloss over mom’s words.
“Nellie, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”
“Mom,” I groaned.
She put up a hand to stop me. “I know that you know that, honey, but I want to say it. If you hear it often enough, then maybe you’ll take me up on the offer and talk to me.”
Yeah, right. “Uh-huh.”
She smirked. “At least I don’t make you guys have heart to hearts with me with sock puppets.”
I blinked and frowned. “Huh?”
My expression must have been comical, because mom burst out laughing. “Exactly.”
