Hi all! Life's been so hectic that I've had no time for updates in a while — but rest assured, I have not disappeared! =)
I've had some issues with corrupted files a few months back, and my Mac got fried in a power outage — lucky me, right? There's nothing like getting 80% through a manuscript, just to find out that the file got corrupted and I lost just about everything.
Between panic attacks, I thought about Ben Stiller's character in the movie Duplex. You know, the writer who had his laptop set on fire, and run over by a dump truck the night before his book deadline?
Yeah ... it's as bad as it looks.
In case you're wondering where the My Best Friend's Brother series went, I decided to see how it does on Kindle Unlimited. You can check it out at FavreauYA.com.
I'm finishing up a manuscript (which hopefully will stay finished), and will have more news shortly!
Thanks for dropping by.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
Tuesday, December 6, 2016
Exciting news!!! I woke up to My Best Friend's Brother (Book 1) on Kindle's Top 100 Free list! It made it there last night, and climbed some by this morning.
I'm so thrilled that my book was—and still is at the time of this post—one of the most downloaded ebooks in the Kindle store! =)
If you have not yet read it, you can download it here. It's free to read.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Some readers messaged me on Facebook asking for more pictures of my now 7-week-old m'loot Alaskan malamute puppy, so I thought it would be nice to share a few on my blog as well. Here is our new little guy at 6 weeks (the day we brought him home):
He rides well in the CART!
M'loots are without a doubt the best dogs ever! This little guy is currently around 15 pounds, and has a lot of growing to do—his mom is 170 pounds, and his dad tops 180! M'loots were originally bred for defense, as a draft animal and to hunt polar bears! They are very loyal, smart, and great with kids (if you follow me on Facebook you probably noticed how Max used to let my kids dress him, and wore the stuff all day!).
In addition to potty training this guy, I am still adding to Jesse Daniels Reimagined, and am getting ready for an autumn road trip!
Hope you enjoyed the pictures! More to come! =)
He rides well in the car!
|Giant Malamute puppy 6 weeks|
He rides well in the CART!
And look at that face!
In addition to potty training this guy, I am still adding to Jesse Daniels Reimagined, and am getting ready for an autumn road trip!
Hope you enjoyed the pictures! More to come! =)
Thursday, August 4, 2016
** Excerpt from Year of Luke **
Nikki bit the head off a gingerbread man. Violently. A frosted leg fell to her plate.
“They’re not dating,” I hissed.
We were at the resort lodge, sipping hot chocolate and devouring cookies, pretending we weren’t there for Andre LeBlanc.
Nikki glared a hole through Amanda McGuire’s face.
Sporting his tan uniform, Andre sat behind the counter, surfing the internet on his phone. Amanda sat a foot away from him, eventually emitting a wistful sigh his way.
“Nikki,” I nudged.
Her eyes narrowed on me. Then they returned to a giggling Amanda.
“I love that color on you!” Amanda brushed Andre’s arm with her sparkly baby blue nails.
Andre peeked at his uniform, and brushed her hand away. “I wear this color every day.”
Amanda inched her seat toward him. “You didn’t wear it yesterday.”
He stared at her. “I meant, when I’m working.”
She tucked some brown hair behind her ear. “Still....”
His brow furrowed. “How do you know what I wore yesterday?”
She cleared her throat and looked away.
He shook his head and looked back at his phone.
She rubbernecked to see it.
“Who’s the girl?” she asked a second later.
Andre raised an eyebrow at her.
Amanda crossed her arms. “The girl you’re messaging with....”
Andre looked back at his screen. “My mom.”
She popped a bubble. “Why do you talk with her?”
He licked his lips. “‘Cause she’s my parent.”
She inhaled him. “Oh my God, that smell....”
“...Is the cookies burning,” Andre finished.
In a panic she hopped to her feet, grabbed a mitt, and scurried over to the large oven. “I completely forgot!”
Andre rolled his eyes, leaned back in his seat, and plopped a shoe on the counter. I wasn’t sure he was allowed to do that, but their boss had left for the night.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” Amanda chirped from one counter over. She placed the cookie tray on a cooling rack.
“I’m spending it at Luke’s. New Year’s also at Luke’s. And Valentine’s Day in the Alps for the wedding.
“Now you don’t have to ask for a few holidays.”
Amanda sneered. “Wedding?!”
Andre peeked over his shoulder at her. “Luke’s wedding.”
She puffed out her chest. “Oh.
“I never got an invitation.”
“It’s in the Alps,” Andre reiterated.
“Still never got one!”
He picked at his back teeth. “I’m sure it’s an oversight,” he said dully.
“Well, there’s still time!” She sat back beside him, just as he finished rolling his eyes again.
“Gosh,” she said, partially unbuttoning her uniform. Her boobs practically bounced out. “It’s so hot all of a sudden!”
Nikki’s nails screeched across the table.
I shot her a look.
“What?” she grumbled.
“Cool it,” I whispered.
She curled her lip. “Too bad that’s not Luke, so I can watch you cool it.”
“They’re not dating.” I was beginning to feel like a broken record.
She checked her watch. “Where are Lilly and Troy already?!” she wondered aloud. And I mean loud.
No one bought that she was there for Lilly—I’m not sure why she even bothered.
“If it’s hot all of a sudden, it’s because you were standing by an oven,” Andre exclaimed.
“Are you saying I’m not hot?” Amanda spat.
“No, woman. I didn’t say you’re not hot. I said, you were suddenly hot because you were standing by an oven.”
“If I’m hot, why don’t you ask me out?” she urged.
His brow furrowed. “I never said you’re hot. As I recall, I merely said you are pretty. And you’re not a blonde.”
“You said, ‘I never said you’re not hot’. That means I’m hot.”
He made a face. “Nooo ... it means I never made mention of you being hot.”
She sucked her teeth. “So I have to be blonde now? Why?”
“Because. It’s what I like.”
He looked over his phone at Nikki. His twinkling blue eyes rolled down her brown shirt, black jeans and boots.
When he caught my gaze, he shied away.
“He was checking you out,” I hissed, as I caught Amanda’s glare.
“Really?” Nikki peeped, sitting up straight.
“Yup,” I said, checking my watch. It was after eight.
“I don’t know about you,” Amanda preached, “but when I’m with someone, I never check out anyone else!”
Andre stared blankly. “With someone?”
“That’s what I said.”
Bewildered, Andre flashed his teeth. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Amanda looked away like she didn’t catch that.
After an awkward silence, Andre looked back at his phone. Then he grabbed the ticket book, and strolled on over to us.
“Mademoiselle Napper,” he rumbled, licking his lips seductively. “Ready to order dinner?”
She pointed to her cookie. “This is dinner.”
“For a nine-year-old, maybe.”
Her eyes fell to the triceps that bulged out of his rolled-up sleeves.
“Are you nine years old?” he teased.
“Obviously not,” she said as she pushed her dessert plate away. “Since you slept with me.”
“And who is this?” Amanda jeered, suddenly beside him.
We all stared at her, because she knew full-well who that was.
“Nikki Napper?” Andre peeped. “You know, the girl with the imaginary boyfriend...?
Amanda lifted her chin. “So immature.”
Nikki made a face. “Excuse me? You don’t even know me.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Amanda dismissed.
Andre waved a hand in contempt. “What would you like, Miss Napper?”
“A steak,” she grumbled. “Still bleeding.”
Andre jotted it down.
“Anything else?” He took an awkward step to the side, only to have Amanda follow him.
Nikki glared at her. “A knife.”
Andre pursed his lips. “That already comes with the steak.”
Nikki forced a smile. “Just checking.”
“And by the way, what brings you here tonight?” Andre inquired.
“We’re here for Troy and Lilly,” Nikki said instantly.
Andre crossed his bulky arms. “They’re not here. They’re at the airport.”
Nikki’s face fell. “For what?”
“They’re picking up Anna....”
Nikki mouthed an “Oh.” She looked at me awkwardly.
And I thought I was a crappy liar.
“Still want that steak?” Andre ordered, shooting Amanda a look. She got the hint and retreated to the counter.
“Yeah. Just ... you know, make it quick. I’m in the wrong place, apparently.”
I glanced over at Amanda, whose face was sour. She looked like she wanted to kill Nikki, almost as bad as Nikki wanted to kill her.
When the lodge door swung open, snowflakes and a draft swept the room.
But it warmed up instantly, because Thor Daman was there.
He removed his gray hat and goggles, and unzipped his matching down jacket. His blond hair was wild, his smile was crooked, and his stormy eyes twinkled as they mingled with mine.
Yeah, he still has that effect on me.
The Norse god fell into a chair beside me, leaned back in the seat, and grinned wide. “Hello, Adonia Morrison.”
“Hello, Mr. Daman. He just took our orders,” I said, pointing to Andre.
“No big deal. I’m not all that hungry.”
He looked at Nikki’s plate. “Beheading gingerbread men?”
She didn’t answer him; she was too distracted by Andre.
“They have bodies, you know,” Thor added, looking at them.
Nikki licked the crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “I know.”
Thor tittered. “You only eat heads?”
“What’s up with that wench?” Nikki motioned to Amanda with her nose.
Thor glanced her way. “I think it’s safe to say she’s a bit obsessed.”
And then—Snap!—another gingerbread body fell to Nikki’s plate.
“I think it’s safe to say she’s insane,” Nikki growled.
“Shhh!” Thor put a finger to his lips. “She might hear you.”
“Good,” Nikki snarled.
Thor leaned across the table, and smiled up at her. “Not good. She can get a bit nuts—don’t tick her off.”
“A bit?” Nikki laughed. “Really!”
Thor leaned back in his seat again, and blew out his cheeks. “I’ve been working here for nearly six months. Trust me—play nice.”
Nikki looked back at Andre by the grill. He’d set the steak on a plate and seasoned it with pepper, as he sung along to whatever played in his earbuds.
“What if I don’t want to play nice?”
Thor shrugged a shoulder. “You were warned.”
Nikki cleared her throat. “So! How was work, Mr. Snowboarding Instructor?”
Thor grabbed a gingerbread body off her plate and nipped an arm. “Decent. My toes are frozen.”
“You knew what you were getting yourself into,” Nikki teased.
“Definitely. And I’m enjoying it, too.”
Andre arrived with Nikki’s steak. “Here you go, gorgeous,” he said with a wink.
Nikki grinned. “Thanks.”
Andre licked his lips, and moved the knife under the meat. “Uh-huh.” His eyes brushed hers. “Careful...”
“You’re too sweet,” she cooed.
“I try.” They gazed at each other.
Nikki cut a piece of steak. “What time do you get off work?”
Andre twisted his lips. “Ten.”
“Yup. But hey, you’ve still got to head to the airport. I’m sure you won’t have time to miss me and my ... friendship ... much.”
Her gaze fell to her lap. Surely she was trying to stay composed. “I guess.”
She looked back up at him. “If you want to watch a movie when we get home....”
“We’ll see what happens.” He smiled, winked, and retreated to the counter.
Thor’s eyebrows gathered. “What’s at the airport?”
Nikki chewed some meat. “Lilly’s friend Anna. She’s spending her winter break with us.”
Thor pursed his lips thoughtfully.
I looked at my watch, growing a bit excited to see her again. “We should get going.”
I glanced at Thor. “Wanna come?”
“Always,” he said, a naughty look in his eyes.
I rolled my eyes. “To the airport, pervert!”
He chuckled. “Count me in, babe.”
Nikki cut faster, and wolfed down her steak. She motioned a piece toward Thor, and he opened his mouth for a bite.
“Almost done,” she said with her mouth full. “Think Anna will mind that we’re late?”
I peeked at Thor. “Somehow, I doubt it.”
Now available! Continue reading at
Thursday, May 19, 2016
In case you have not noticed, I am not a fan of wordy.
And the irony here is that this will be a long post. lol
I've finished up the Brother series, and I have several other projects I am working on (all of which contain recurring characters, may I add). But today I'm going to talk about my inspiration for Spirit Guide, since I've already been asked where I got the idea ... several times.
In the summer of 1999, I got my head stuck in a tiger's mouth.
Yes, really. It was a live tiger, too. Not all tigers kill people—who knew?
And by the way, I may write fiction, but I am not making this up. This happened.
At the time, I worked as a kennel assistant for a veterinarian in northeastern Pennsylvania. I cleaned, did laundry ... that sort of thing. I was essentially Cinderella, only with a paycheck, and the animals didn't talk.
Well, this veterinarian, Tom, had a wife named Margaret, who had a bunch of animals at her rehab center next door. I kept hearing about them from my mom, who was Margaret's hairdresser. I know, kind of odd that I did not sooner notice these mountain lions and a tiger running around next door to the vet clinic I worked at—but in my defense, I just never ventured that far behind the clinic.
When I went exploring, I heard the mountain lions. They have very funny, distinct calls that sound a lot like "Oh, wow!", and it's adorable. I would go to them on my lunch break and feed them grass (yes, they eat grass!), disregarding the signs showing people's fingers falling off if they stuck them through the fence.
Well, I was always the daring type.
When I realized it was my mom's client running the place, I had my mother set me up with a job.
It was not a full-time job, it was just a come-in-when-you-can summer job. And it was a volunteer position—I even signed a waiver saying I was working there at my own risk, and that they can not be held liable if I died. Yeah, my dad was just thrilled about that—lol.
So what did I work with at this place? Monkeys (those nasty little animals flung dung at me, lol), a bearcat (binturong), coati (South-American raccoon), a sloth, bats (not my favorite but probably more pleasant than the monkeys, now that I think about it), one remaining mountain lion (I held the 2nd one's paw as it died), and a Siberian tiger named Reba.
Reba was born to a milkless mother at another center, bottle-fed with her surviving siblings and nursed back to health by Margaret. She would not have survived in a zoo or elsewhere, but she was not weak—in fact, she was pretty badass. She'd protectively killed a male lion since.
My coworker, Yellow Feather (a native American lady) never let me in the cat room unsupervised. Mainly because they had a young stunted mountain lion in there with rickets (spaghetti legs) that wanted to use me as a chew toy.
It was during these supervised visits that I learned the basics of not dying:
1) Never wear deodorant or perfume.
2) Never wash before work (Sounds gross, I know, but shampoo is smelly)
3) Don't panic. Stay calm.
4) Never, ever turn your back on them. They need to see your face the entire time.
So much for those last two....
I was feeling particularly brave one afternoon. So Yellow Feather asked, "Do you want a tiger hug?"
Seriously, was that even a question?! Who the hell wouldn't want a tiger hug?
She opened the gate to the cat room, and we stepped in. "Reba, give Chrissy a hug!"
On her bench at my level, Reba eyed me. I approached her, in awe, uncertain. But seriously, the woman promised me a tiger hug—and my crazy 18-at-the-time self was not about to pass on the bragging rights!
"Well, what are you waiting for? Wrap your arms around her!" Yellow directed as I reached the bench.
I ran my fingers through her mane, and Reba reached for my shoulder. Her arms wrapped around me, and her paws quickly gripped my back. Before I knew it, I was breathing in her chest.
She was powerful.
I hugged her for a moment. It was about as cute and cuddly as you can get.
And when I tried to move away, I found that I couldn't.
I felt her breath on the side of my face. She intently sniffed my hair. Her rough tongue ran over my face ... over the top of my head.
She sniffed again. Tightened her grip on me. Pulled me further into her chest.
I tried to remember for a moment if I'd washed before work. But I didn't have much time to really worry about my hygiene, or lack thereof.
Because her jaws gripped my head.
So up until then, I was giggling, because her tongue felt funny.
That juxtaposed into sort of a panic. I could tell she felt me stiffen, and at that point, she tightened her jaws. Her teeth pressed into the top of my head.
It was not painful—in fact, it just felt slobbery. But I could feel every tooth in her mouth, pressed onto my skull.
"Oh my God," I said with a nervous laugh. I pushed on her cheeks gently, trying to free my head.
"I would not panic if I were you!" Yellow preached. "She'll pop your head like a grape!"
So, naturally ... what's the first thing I did? I panicked.
Because, why not make the situation WORSE?
"Let her go Reba," Yellow pled, her voice easy. She clearly was not as nervous as I was.
But then, she was not drenched in tiger spit.
And, because I was not squeezed enough, her arms tensed around me even more.
I waited, heart in my throat. Slobber down my ... everything.
"Reba, let Chrissy go."
I still wasn't breathing.
Drool dripped down my head, my neck, into my ears, and down my shirt. It smelled like ... squirrel?
Yes, definitely squirrel. She'd been chewing on that bone-hard frozen squirrel earlier.
I'm not sure how long it lasted. When your head's in a tiger's mouth, it sort of feels like an eternity.
And as quickly as she gripped it, Reba released my head, throated a Rrrrr, and licked my face.
Jittery, I started backing up toward the gate. She got to her paws on her bench, jumped off, and strolled toward me.
"Good girl, Reba!" Yellow opened the gate.
And I was out.
That's why you're reading this today.
As it turns out, she probably didn't even consider killing me. I'd like to say that's 'cause I'm awesome, but the truth is, Reba was just grooming me. She'd done it to Margaret millions of times.
And what is the first thing I did when I got home that day? I told my horrified parents about getting my head stuck in a tiger's mouth. My father's response?
"You need to quit that job, right now!"
Well it's a good thing I'm 18!
I went back. Because I'm a rebel. And they could not stop me.
And in case you haven't figured it out, I don't regret it at all. It was the most amazing experience of my life.
Now, Spirit Guide is fiction. But there is no better way for a writer to research tigers, than to get her head stuck in the jaws of one. lol
The setting for Spirit Guide is in northern Alaska, where I hope to visit again once or twice this summer. So if I'm missing in action for a little while, you'll know where I am, because I need the inspiration!
I'm really looking forward to this book (more on that to come)! Although this is a stand-alone novel, it's also got Troy De La Fontaine in it (yeah, my teen beta-reader is thrilled, lol)!
And I'm sure you can guess who I will dedicate this book to! Because, after all, she let me live to write it.
We love and miss you, Reba.
Image credit: A huge thanks to my dear friend, Margaret Hunter, for the pictures of her beloved Reba.
You can follow me on Facebook for updates on new books.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Early release! My Best Friend's Brother: Making Up Blake is now available! You can pick up a copy at iBooks, Amazon, or Barnes & Noble. I've included an excerpt below! Happy reading! = )
*** Excerpt from Making Up Blake ***
To my displeasure, we each had to say a few words when our name was called to fetch our diploma. It could’ve been a speech, a thank you, words of wisdom ... pretty much anything.
The auditorium buzzed until just after six, when the lights dimmed. Our collective parents—hundreds of them—snapped pictures from the bleachers. Cameras were recording. Our every move would be watched, over and over again, for generations.
Yeah, it made me sick.
Even I snoozed through Anna’s valedictorian speech. I felt bad, because I knew how hard she prepared for it. I knew how hard she worked just to be able to give it—but at the same time, I needed toothpicks for my eyelids.
Since Pawlak comes after Morrison, Luke sat rows behind me. But I could feel his eyes on me, and I couldn’t wait for nine o’clock the next morning, so I could feel more than just those on me.
Mr. Bias handed out diplomas. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this clueless man being my last encounter with high school staff, ever. But, even though he’s an idiot, I still kind of liked him.
I liked him, because he actually got me out of math class. I liked him, because—on very rare occasions—his advice was helpful. I liked him, because, with him, I could talk about anything.
I liked him, because—if I ever dared to miss him—I could easily just watch a Cuba Gooding, Jr. movie, and feel like I’m seeing him again.
“You know, I was your age once,” he said with his permanent grin. He stood on stage in black pants, a white dress shirt and red tie. “I remember all too well how you’re feeling this very moment—how much I couldn’t wait to get out of school and just get on with my life!
“And here I am, twenty years later—still in school, and not going anywhere.” His smile faded. “In a way, it’s like life in prison, without the possibility of parole.”
The crowd laughed. Cameras flashed at him in the dim room.
“The thing is,” he continued, his voice echoing, “it’s not all bad. I mean, most of it is. But on occasion, I get satisfaction from my job. When someone comes to me for advice, I help them out, and I feel accomplished—whether I’d helped them prepare for the SATs, helped them decide on a school, or comforted them when their best friend landed herself in the newspaper,” he said, looking at me with that grin.
I shrunk a bit when others joined him. The place grew hot when people didn’t look away fast enough.
It’s okay, though, I saw Lilly shrink, too.
“I want everyone here to know that they can always come to me. Any time. If you ever have a problem,” Mr. Bias exclaimed, “or if you have news you'd like to share—college graduation, marriage, a new baby, or especially if you win the lottery—feel free to call and share!” His gaze fell, and he sniffled into the microphone. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He stopped to compose himself for a moment, then picked up a list off the lectern. “Jake Andrews,” he read, preparing the first diploma.
People actually cheered—he must have a large family. He dashed up on stage in his black cap and gown, claiming his diploma and holding it victoriously for all to see.
Cameras flashed at him. “I did it! Now it’s time to party!”
And, believe it or not, the crowd went wild.
“Alex Anniston,” Mr. Bias continued, just as I felt my phone vibrate.
I reached into my gown and pulled it out of my pocket. There was a message notification, and I knew it was surely from Nikki.
I looked at the bleachers, where Andre sat by my parents, Troy, and the Jacobsons, in a red tee shirt and black jeans. The guy looks great in red, which, I’m sure, is why he wore it so much—it made him fiery hot.
Gino rushed on stage, grabbed his diploma and flashed a thumbs up for the camera. “I’d like to thank my ma for her support, my dad for his guidance, and my ex-girlfriend for making the Barones filthy freakin’ rich! You already paid for my college, baby!”
People laughed and glanced at Lilly.
Gino jetted off stage.
Mr. Bias continued calling the rest of the B’s, so I figured I had time to answer a little question. I clicked on the message icon. To my surprise, the message was not from Nikki, but from her boyfriend, Blake:
Hiya, hot stuff.
I stared at it. Surely this is intended for the supermodel he’s dating?
You messaged the wrong account,
I typed in response, and put the phone back in my pocket.
A minute later, it vibrated again.
No I didn’t.
A friend request popped up. I stared at the screen.
“Jenna...” I vaguely heard Mr. Bias say, and she hurried up on stage.
“Like, oh my God!” she squealed. “It’s time to shop!”
I quickly accepted the friend request, still kind of confused. This incredibly handsome guy—with dirty blond hair, dreamy chocolate eyes, and an amazing build—wanted to be friends with me.
Not the first time that’s happened, I thought as I felt my ring.
I grew suddenly nervous. Nikki would surely see this friendship—wouldn’t she expect an explanation?
And why is he sending me a winky face?
“Lilly Jacobson!” Mr. Bias held up her diploma.
Lilly hurried on stage, her veil of blond hair practically trailing behind her. She really was turning into Rapunzel.
She grabbed her diploma and squealed. “I want to thank my mom for being awesome; I want to thank my brother for his super-hot friends; I want to thank Troy De La Fontaine for being born,” she gushed, waving to him in the bleachers. “And since my dad didn’t show up, I want to thank Burke Jacobson for raising me!”
The crowd cheered. A sea of cameras flashed, and she actually curtsied.
And, although I should’ve been cheering for Lilly—and about to be called on any minute myself—something possessed me to go through that Blake guy’s photos. Because, you know, that’s what friends do.
And we were friends now, Blake and I.
For some odd reason.
I’m not sure why looking at the guy’s pics was a priority. I’m not sure why I even friended him. I’m not sure why he would bother noticing me, let alone be messaging me.
I’m not sure why I was salivating!
The first of many was a picture of him under the shower head. His expression was hot, his muscles were tense, his abs were wet. He looked absolutely luscious under that steaming hot shower.
And I was thinking,
Who the hell took this picture?
The next one showed him outside, shirtless on a bright summer day. He sported denim shorts, and he leaned against a large tree trunk. His body glistened, like someone rubbed oil all over him. It was quite refreshing.
Was it sweat? Sweat from what? Outside. By a tree.
In the next photo, he was in a swimming pool. His hair was wet and sleek. His biceps were monstrous, his lower lip curled seductively, and his eyes were deep. It’s like he was making love to the camera or something.
I scrolled to the next picture, of Blake on the beach, in a red speedo, dusted in sand. His eyes were soulful, his every curve was delightful, his bulge—
“I wasn’t looking at his johnson!” I blurted.
And after an instant of deathly silence,
The crowd. Went. Wild.
They roared with laughter.
Cameras blinded me.
They shone a freakin’ spotlight on me.
I stumbled out of my chair, disoriented as an idiot.
Beside myself, I made my way past a maze of legs, afraid someone would trip me.
Because, you know ... I wasn’t embarrassed enough.
I staggered breathlessly onto the stage.
People still snapped away—hundreds of photos per second. I could feel the red in my face, and I wasn’t breathing.
I don’t even recall looking at Mr. Bias. It was all a blur. Humiliated, I couldn’t think.
I was ... I was ... forgetting something.
My speech. I’d forgotten my speech.
And I didn’t want “I wasn’t looking at his johnson!” to be my senior speech—the last thing I uttered to anyone in that school.
So, in a breathless panic, all I could think of were the ironic words of a Chinese proverb,
“Wisdom is attained by learning to hold one’s tongue.”
Now available! Continue reading at
Excerpt from Making Up Blake. © Chrissy Favreau 2016. All rights reserved.