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Pitch:
Leila, a seventeen-year-old girl with a traumatic past, learns to trust again when she meets Will Marlowe, a boy determined to protect her from an unknown stalker.
Blurb:
Escaping from old traumas, Leila and her mother move back to Ludford, her mother's childhood town, hoping for a new start. But Leila and her mother soon learn that it's not easy to shed their past.
While navigating the social hierarchy of her new school, Leila copes with increasingly threatening anonymous notes from an unknown stalker.
When she meets Will, a boy determined to protect her from both classmates and an external threat, Leila begins to believe that a fresh start might be possible after all.
With danger lurking in so many corners of her life and with the stalker threatening the sliver of happiness she's managed to carve out for herself, can Leila break free from her past to grasp a brighter future?
First 1K words:
The letter arrived while I was in the shower.
Since waking that morning, I'd looked into the mailbox for a check from Dad every fifteen minutes. So, I know for sure the mailbox was definitely empty when I finally gave up on Joe, our mailman, and headed to the bathroom.
Now, as I stand in the doorway, wet hair dripping cold water down my neck, I know something is up.
I peer at the envelope, holding it close to my face. It looks like the letter I've been hoping for, but there's no name and no postage stamp—just the address in neat black capitals. Dad didn't mail this from Toronto. Someone walked to my house, climbed the porch steps, and dropped it into the rusty metal mailbox affixed to the brick wall, all while I was upstairs, undressed and oblivious.
Jaime's face appears before me and my chest hurts as the memory of our last time together crowds in. I hope to God it's not from him. I don't want it to start again. My stomach clenches. Texts, notes, pounding on the door; I squeeze my eyes tight and black out the dark images rising to the surface.
My hands shake as I rip open the envelope. I get charcoal on my fingertips from unfolding the paper and smoothing it out until, confused, I stare back at my own face. The artist is skilled. He's captured my mood too, lost and a little sad, though he has exaggerated my chest and hips in my Hello Kitty t-shirt and shorts, giving me the almost comic book look of a female superhero. I search the picture again. There is no signature. No words. Just a drawing of me sitting on this porch staring at the road.
The tension I've been holding inside loosens. I know this can't be good, but mostly it leaves me confused. Jaime left me words, accusations, threats, never a random drawing. I have no idea who did this or why they'd bother.
My brows furrow as I try to make sense of this. I've been in Ludford for over a week. Before that, we lived in Bantry. Since what happened there in May when I stopped going to school, I've spent my time hiding in my room or in the back garden. How does anyone even know I exist? I've sat on this porch a handful of times at most.
A bird chirps, drawing my gaze to the trees lining the two-lane street with its old houses that have seen better days. A creepy silence fills the air as I wait, heart beat slowing, for something to happen.
But nothing does. There's no one here but me. I examine the decorative border of black swirls edging the paper, searching for hidden initials or a clue to the person who left this.
I rack my brain thinking about who I've met so far, and who I've seen walk past the house, and who might be responsible for this drawing. It gives me the creeps to picture someone sitting at a table putting so much thought and energy into capturing me on paper.
Should I tell Mom? The question pops into my head, but I know the answer. She'll say it's a small-town thing. Or that someone wanted to talk to me, and I wouldn't give them a chance. Is that possible? Is this someone's weird way of trying to get me to notice them? Mom would say yes; that it's my fault because I'm too closed off, and what I need is to 'open myself up to life' and let people in. As if that worked last time.
I go upstairs to my room and put the paper in my dresser drawer on top of old journals, my artwork, assorted mementos, and other junk I haven't gotten around to sorting through. I shove the drawer closed with a thunk, giving me the satisfying illusion that I'm finished with it and could wipe it from my mind as easily as I've hidden it from my sight.
I glance across at the alarm clock. It's 8:45. I'm late, which is what I want, but if I don't leave soon, I'll be too late. The seconds tick on as I imagine myself crawling into bed under the heavy quilt like I've done for the last ten days.
Everyone else started school after Labour Day, but not me. I told Mom I wasn't ready and she let it go. Mom has a pretty laid-back view on parenting, but I guess getting chewed out by Dad made her put her foot down: school today, or back to Toronto to live with Dad. Simple decision. Choosing between two absentee parents, I'd rather live with the one who doesn't have anger issues.
As I enter the high school office, a plump brunette glances up from behind her desk, then acts as if she doesn't see me, turning her back slightly to finger the leaves of the jade plant growing on the window ledge beside her.
"Hi..." I begin. I wipe the wet mud off the bottom of my sneaker onto the rug and wait for some sign of life. "I'm Leila."
"Uh, huh."
"My mom, Hannah Hails, enrolled me here last week. She told you to expect me today."
"Did she also tell you that school begins at 8:25... not 9:40?" she asks. Her mouth tightens as she waits for my response.
"Sorry." My gaze goes involuntarily to the hem of my new jeans. They're splattered with a dull nut brown. A heavy silence builds around me until I squirm under the weight of adult disapproval and hasty assumptions. I clear my throat. "My mother accidentally took the car keys, and I had to walk. They were in her purse when she left this morning." As soon as I say the words, I wish I could unsay them, knowing she'll only throw them back at me.
