June 2, 2008 | Book One, Book Stuff, DA Series, Draven Atreides
From now until the April 17, 2009 release date of A Royale Pain: A Draven Atreides, Teenage FBI novel , I will post the unedited version of this book. Every month will be a different chapter, but since the chapters are so long–and unedited–I will post a few pages every week. Keep in mind that what you’ll be reading is the first draft of Book One, pre-editor and pre-spell check. It’s extremely raw, so there will be spelling errors. Comments and opinions are appreciated and may be taken into consideration during the current revision process. If you would like to order this book at a discount, be sure to get on the DA Book One Pre-Order Notification List at the end of this post.
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Bamboo-lemongrass scrub
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CHAPTER ONE “Draven Atreides.”
“Here,” I say, then move to flatten my neck hair standing on end.
He’s late again. Well, maybe not late. Just tardy. Today is Friday, the weekend is about to begin, and he’s tardy again. It’s not the fact that his is the only seat empty when the music stops and Mrs. Jovanovich begins roll call. No, not that. It’s not the opening and closing of the door resounding like a sharp slap in the silence. Nope, not that, either. Nor is it that, despite sitting three rows over and one seat back, I can always smell his familiar scent wafting under my nose: a combination of ocean and male. No, it’s none of these things.
The simple truth is that I sense him. For real. The feeling goes no further than a prickle at the back of my neck, but it’s enough. I have no doubt that if I’m in a crowded stadium, I’ll still be aware of him. I know what you’re thinking. The girl is certifiable and needs to have a standing reservation at the nearest asylum. But it’s not so strange if you really think about it. Some people call it intuition, others call it premonition. I prefer to call it my “tuner”. A tuner whose frequency is permanently locked onto a six foot two, brown-haired, blue-eyed muscular guy named Rader Deschanel. I first became “aware” of him last year, my first year at Craycroft School of the Arts. He strolled into my Biology class that day and every female in the room had practically snapped to attention. Me excluded, of course.
He’s nice-looking for a white guy, but he doesn’t make my heart stomp and shout. His girlfriend is Taffy Royale, resident Drama Queen and owner of an irritatingly perky giggle. Yes, it’s true. She doesn’t laugh, she giggles. If she were a doll, she’d be Tickle Me Elmo’s kid sister. And what’s with the name Taffy? A person can get a cavity just from saying her name.
Poor thing thinks she’s going to be the next Meryl Streep. As the saying goes, looks don’t last forever and they sure don’t help if you can’t act out of a paper bag. CSA can only do so much.
I look up and watch Rader stroll to the other side of the room.All the classes at CSA are relatively small in size. I occupy one of two rows against one wall, while Rader and Taffy sit in another two-rowed aisle on the other side of the room; Four rows of seats remain empty in the center. Why Mrs J. set up assigned seating like this, I will never know. Control issues, safety in numbers…it’s a good topic to think about during the times she’s talking about stuff I’ve already learned.
“Nice of you to join us, Rader,” Mrs. J comments wryly.
“Sorry. I couldn’t find a parking spot,” he replies, cracking a lazy smile.
Right. I roll my eyes while the rest of the class laughs.
“Try not to let it happen again,” she harrumphs. “Open your book, please. We’re on Chapter ten, page six.”
I glance over my shoulder and catch Taffy blowing a kiss to a weary-looking Rader. Slouching in his seat, legs sprawled in the aisle on either side of his desk, it appears he might keel over from lack of sleep. Or boredom. I snort softly and shake my head. What does he see in her? I wonder. Other than her knack for gossiping, expensive gift-giving skills, and trendy clothes, she’s a waste of air.
“All I asked was why she was wearing that stupid baggy T-shirt on the beach. She had the nerve to get all Mommy Dearest on me and say ‘Well, unlike you, I won’t have skin cancer by the time I’m thirty’ and I’m all, ‘ I don’t smoke, so I have nothing to worry about’,” Taffy’s saying in a loud whisper.
Compared to a relatively silent classroom with only the sound of chalk scratching on the chalkboard, she’s loud. My mouth hangs open as I stare at Taffy in disbelief. Are you kidding me? Out of the whole school, small as it is, he ends up with her? She’s an embarrassment to the female species. He can do so much better. Like me. Or someone like me, that is.
Granted, I’m sixteen, five feet six, with a full mouth, small button nose, and a few extra curves that won’t bring cars to a screeching halt. Well, maybe a few mountain bikes. I keep my thick, sandy brown hair in braids the majority of the time because if I don’t, it becomes a freakin’ nightmare to comb. And despite the light green eyes hidden behind purple-framed glasses and light skin tone, I am of African-American descent. The high, apple-shaped appendage—a.k.a my butt—is the dead giveaway. No white girl could get a perky butt like mine without a Butt Master or implants.
“I’m trying to teach class here, Taffy, so can you save your Summer of Skin Cancer story for later?” Mrs. J requests, then pauses in the act of writing a word on the board. She holds a chalky finger up in the air and turns around. “Although, now that you mention it, skin cancer is a serious thing. Back when I was going for my degree in Chemistry…”
I muffle a groan as Mrs. J goes off on another tangent. I’ve learned to tune her out. Of course—and this happens once or twice—I tune her out for too long and miss a few things. But that’s to be expected. I wonder how I’m supposed to learn a darned thing if my eyes have to be propped open with toothpicks. I must’ve been stark raving mad to schedule my Advanced Bio/Chemistry class first thing in the morning. Even if it does start at nine fifteen and ends—I drag my gaze to the clock above the chalkboard—in five minutes. I sigh in relief. Praise the Lord, Hallelujah, pass the biscuits. I wonder if I’d get in trouble for slapping my lab partner upside the head with a glass beeker.
The theme from “Saved by the Bell” suddenly blares through the speakers and everyone practically runs for the door. Leaning down to put my book in my backpack, I straighten up to find a folded note on my desk. I smile as I see the back of my best friend hightail it out the door to her next class. I scoop up the note, shoulder my backpack and make my way to my Creative Writing class. Walking slowly, I unfold the note and read my friends’ hasty scrawl written on Winnie-the-Pooh and Friends stationary:
We are going to have a BLAST-O-RAMA this weekend. Tell you all about it at lunch. Hugs, smooches, you know the deal. See ya. P
REMINDER:
~ Get to know Draven beyond the book by checking out her blog.
~ Sign up for the мебелиDA Book One Pre-Order Notification List below
Technorati Tags: A Royale Pain, A Draven Atreides, Teenage FBI novel, Tickle Me Elmo, Meryl Streep, Butt Master, Saved by the Bell, Winnie-the-Pooh
Cady Lola Cep says:
Hahaha. I’m liking this. I must say that I’m liking this better than the prologue, although I liked the background.
I like stories written in the first person, although I’m not good at writing them myself.
Opinionated Diva says:
A teenage FBI novel huh? Interesting. Looking forward to seeing how this unfolds.
Taffy as a name…ugh…I think that is one of the worst! Hopefully it’s short for something else.
Celise says:
Cady - Writing in first person present tense has proven to be a bit of a challenge for me, but I like it. I didn’t think it would work any other way because Draven really is funny. And she talks in her head a lot and I didn’t think I’d be able to capture that if it was written in third person.
OD - LOL. Yes. This is what happens when you watch ALIAS and BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER. Hope you got a chance to read the Prologue, which was posted before this. As for Taffy, I wanted to use something other than Candy. And no, it’s not short for something else. LOL
Sarcastica says:
Love it. Seriously Celise, I’m hooked. I HAVE to get this book and read it!!
just a girl says:
A boy! A bitch! I love it already. Also, you have some great descriptions:
“And what’s with the name Taffy? A person can get a cavity just from saying her name.”
“The high, apple-shaped appendage—a.k.a my butt—is the dead giveaway. No white girl could get a perky butt like mine without a Butt Master or implants.”
♥
x
JAG
Sarcastica says:
Oi. I can not get the sign up thing to allow me to sign up