Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

I am so thrilled to bring A MATTER OF DAYS to readers in June 2013...

Amazing author and NYT Bestseller, Carrie Jones said this,"Gripping and poignant, A MATTER OF DAYS takes readers on a heart-stopping journey of love and survival."

And the incredible Michael Northrop known for his hit TRAPPED and award winning GENTLEMEN said this, "Nadia and Rabbit’s cross-country trek through a plague-hollowed America makes for a gripping and, yes, infectious tale. Survivors dot the landscape but the old rules no longer apply, and the world the resourceful siblings encounter reveals as much about the boundaries of human nature—from cowardice and cruelty to kindness and strength—as it does about the limits of the human immune system. An appealing cast of characters and just the right dose of science keep the story engaging and help maintain the momentum all the way to the end of the journey."


If you want to start getting tastes be sure to "like" the facebook fan page--I'm uploading bits daily.

The first three chapters are going on AmberKiser.com soon! Bloggers please email [email protected] to be added to the review list. Thanks!

Newsletter from Amber Kizer for July 2012
*new in paperback* WILDCAT FIREFLIES




On Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ and Facebook “Amber Kizerâ€�
[email protected]


Contents:
A note from Amber
Contest info
Reprint Information


A NOTE FROM AMBER

Hello my favorite readers!

WILDCAT FIREFLIES comes out tomorrow in paperback! You can order it from any bookseller—your favorite store or online and there’s even an amazingly narrated audio version. I hope you’ll let me know how you like it and remember you can request a free bookplate for your copy (or a friend’s) at any time by emailing me!

New this month:
I’ve added information about my Indiana roots and history that appear in WILDCAT FIREFLIES to the tab titled “Indiana Roots and Loves� visit here:

SPEED OF LIGHT inspiration photos can be found by clicking on the SPEED OF LIGHT tab on AmberKizer.com or visit

Ever wanted to see your name in a book? Read on for the contest this month—it’s a doozy!

I hope to have the first chapters of SPEED OF LIGHT ready for you by the end of the month—you’ll be the first to know!

In the meantime, happy reading! Amber

***

CONTEST INFORMATION:
Congrats to Deniz whose name was drawn as the winner of last month’s contest!

JULY 2012: WANT TO SEE YOUR NAME IN THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS?
I need your help spreading the word on the Meridian books so I’m offering a unique contest through July 31, 2012. Read MERIDIAN or WILDCAT FIREFLIES, write a review focusing on the things you loved in the stories and upload it to any of these: Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, Indigo.ca, Facebook (either status or note on your page), Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ, Pinterest, Shelfari…am I missing any? Add it to my list! Then send me the links (once they’re up on websites)—for EVERY review site you post to you will be entered to have your name in the acknowledgements of my 2014 release PIECES OF ME. Depending on the number of entries 3-5 names will be drawn on August 2, 2012. The more you post the more chances you have to win. International readers feel free to post to your online booksellers and sites that I don’t know about and educate me! Help spread the word and see your name in print in the hardcover and paperback editions in the USA!

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PERMISSION TO REPRINT

You have permission to reprint any or all of the content in this newsletter, please include the following paragraph with the material:

Reprinted from Amber Kizer’s newsletter—get your own at AmberKizer.com. Amber’s debut novel ONE BUTT CHEEK AT A TIME was a NYPL 2008 Best Book For Teens. MERIDIAN is the first of the Fenestra books. Read more at . To read or listen to an excerpt, get up the minute news, and be eligible for cool exclusive promotions please visit or to sign up to receive the newsletter.

You are receiving this newsletter because you signed up for it at AmberKizer.com, MeridianSozu.com, or OneButtCheek.com, or you told me you want to subscribe. You may unsubscribe at any time.

If you like this newsletter, please pass it on to your friends, family and colleagues.

Hello Happy Readers!

WILDCAT FIREFLIES is on shelves in the US, e-books and audio versions are ready for downloads! It’s here, it’s here, it’s here! Please join me on the count of three in a super-special happy dance…ready? One…Two…Three�

YAY!!!!

For those of you with friends and family in Indiana, be sure to spread the word—there are real places featured in this story! Wildcat Creek, Ft. Ouiatenon, the city of Carmel, Helios Tea Room�

I can’t articulate how amazing it feels to have my fourth book out and this second in the Meridian series. Many questions you had about Fenestras and Protectors are answered and many more asked as Meridian and Tens learn more about themselves and the world as it relates to their destiny.

If you’re a fan of audio books I’d like to give a big shout out to Khristine who narrates this one. She talked to me several times during her studio work to get as close to my imagination as possible. I know she worked extremely hard and went above and beyond to get it right. So a huge thank you to her—be sure to give a preview listen to it on iTunes, Audible, and Amazon…you’ll be hooked!

Be sure to check your favorite YA blog for special posts and signed giveaways. Two in-person events this month to tell you about:

Sunday, July 24th
Langley, WA
I will be signing all of my books at The Moonraker Bookstore from 1-3PM. Be sure to call ahead to reserve your copies or if you can’t wait—stop in and buy them now, bring them back on the 24th for me to sign! The Moonraker is located at 209 1st Street Langley, WA 98260 360-221-6962

Tuesday, July 26th
Bellingham, WA
At the Bellingham Public Library, Fairhaven Branch, from 4-5:30PM I will be teaching a writing workshop for kids ages 12-18. We’ll talk about setting, characterization, how publishing works and great resources for teens who want to learn the craft. The library is setting a limit on how many teens are allowed so please call and register ahead of time to make sure you’ve got a space…For more information call Jennifer at 778-7231 or Aubri at 384-3150

Then, at 7PM that evening, I will be at Village Books in Fairhaven to do a presentation on behind the scenes of WILDCAT FIREFLIES. If you like to know the background and inspiration that goes into a story and see how my personal writing process flows—this is the perfect event for you! I will sign all books after the event until 8:30PM. There is no space limit on this, so teens who can’t get into the writing workshop are welcome to come and ask their questions here. Call ahead to pre-order or reserve copies! 1200 11th Street Bellingham, WA 98225 Tel: (360) 671-2626

I hope to see you at one of these events. Let me know what you think of WILDCAT FIREFLIES! And as always if you’re not able to attend an event—I will send you personalized bookplates for your books—just email me at [email protected] with your mailing address and request.
In the meantime,
Who’s at your window? Amber

Newsletter from Amber Kizer for June 2011
Coming soon:
WILDCAT FIREFLIES (July 12, 2011)
SPEED OF LIGHT Fenestra #3
ECHOES OF 1492
COUNTING TENS Fenestra #4
Read now:
7 KINDS OF ORDINARY CATASTROPHES
ONE BUTT CHEEK AT A TIME
MERIDIAN



On Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ and Facebook “Amber Kizerâ€�
[email protected]


Contents:
A note from Amber
Reprint Information


A NOTE FROM AMBER

Hello happy readers!

For Meridian’s fans, we are only four weeks away from the US debut of WILDCAT FIREFLIES (both hardcover and audio versions)! July 12th will be here before we know it, but if you can’t wait for a sneak preview be sure to check out the prologue on ! The Australian edition will be out in November. And the abridged German edition comes out in December. You can pre-order your copy from any bookseller or online.

I am hard at work on book three in the MERIDIAN series, called SPEED OF LIGHT. I just got home from a big trip researching all sorts of cool places and people! I’m so excited to be spending time with Meridian and Tens and new characters you’ll meet in WILDCAT FIREFLIES. Like Juliet, who’s merely trying to survive in a horrible place called Dunklebarger Rehabilitation Center. And Rumi who is a glass artist who makes Spirit Stones that glow around Fenestra! Or Joi, who runs Helios Tea Room and gives Meridian and Tens a place to call home. I can’t wait until you meet them all!

July will be a busy month both in bookstores and online. I’ll be stopping by Random Buzzers for a week from July 4th, answering questions from readers—so please come say hello to me! (I’ll post the address when it starts!) And be sure to check all your favorite book blogs—I am making the rounds with interviews, giveaways, games and all things book related. July 23rd I’ll be at Moonraker Books in Langley, signing book in the afternoon. And July 26th, I’ll be in Bellingham, Washington, teaching a writing workshop for teens at the library, then giving a behind the scenes talk at Village Books that night at 7PM. More events are still in the works so stay tuned.

7 KINDS OF ORDINARY CATASTROPHES (April 2011) definitely struck your funny bones—thank you for that! If you haven’t read it and want to peek—check out the first few chapters at . Thank you for all the lovely emails!

Just a heads up—I’m caught up on fan mail from 2010, and heard from a reader who swore she didn’t hear from me. I reply! I do, I do! But sometimes they seem to get caught in spam filters because it’s an unknown address. So please check those pesky filters! If you have requested a bookplate and bookmark up until April 2011—you should have received it already! I am just now sending out May and June, but the others went out. So let me know if you didn’t get it and we’ll try again—make sure your zip code is correct on those addresses! And if you have questions be sure to read through the FAQs—most likely I’ve answered it already on there! As always though, if you have a question be sure to ask and I’ll answer as quickly as I can!

Let me know what you think of the prologue to WILDCAT FIREFLIES or Gert’s antics in 7 KINDS�
Live loud,
Amber

***

PERMISSION TO REPRINT

You have permission to reprint any or all of the content in this newsletter, please include the following paragraph with the material:

Reprinted from Amber Kizer’s newsletter—get your own at AmberKizer.com. Amber’s debut novel ONE BUTT CHEEK AT A TIME was a NYPL 2008 Best Book For Teens. MERIDIAN starts the Fenestra Chronicles and is a dark paranormal available in hardcover now. Read more at . To read or listen to an excerpt, get up the minute news, and be eligible for cool exclusive promotions please visit or to sign up to receive the newsletter.

You are receiving this newsletter because you signed up for it at AmberKizer.com, MeridianSozu.com, or OneButtCheek.com, or you told me you want to subscribe. You may unsubscribe at any time.

If you like this newsletter, please pass it on to your friends, family and colleagues.

The second book in the MERIDIAN series
USA Release: July 12 2011
Australia Release: November 2011
ISBN: 978-0-385-73971-9

Cover text:
Meridian Sozu is a Fenestra—a human-angel link between the dying and the beyond. It is her calling to help souls safely make the transition into the afterlife. Though she appears human to the living, she is the light that the dying see as they prepare to leave this world. But she and all Fenestras are threatened by the Aternocti, dark forces who snatch souls from the Light and suck them into the void of Evil, causing chaos.

At Meridian’s side, Tens Valdes, her Soul Mate and destined Protector, must learn his responsibilities not only to Meridian but also to the humans who need them. Still mourning their beloved Auntie—the woman who taught them everything they know—Meridian and Tens have hit the road seeking another Fenestra. Their search leads them from Colorado to Indiana, to a dilapidated facility called Dunklebarger that houses foster children and the dying elderly, as well as a corrupt system set up by the Aternocti to find young Fenestras.

Dunklebarger is the only home Juliet remembers. Surrounded by death and illness, she struggles to make a loving home for the youngest kids and to protect them from the violent whims of the headmistress. As she nears her sixteenth birthday, Juliet’s light and her will to escape weaken with each passing day…and she feels a seductive pull toward the dying, who sickness seems to infect her, forcing her closer to the end�

Will Juliet hang on long enough for Meridian and Tens to find her? Or will the Aternocti that lurk in the very house Juliet calls home get to her first?

Newsletter for January 2010
Amber Kizer
ONE BUTT CHEEK AT A TIME
MERIDIAN (paperback Aug 2010)
7 KINDS OF ORDINARY CATASTROPHIES (Spring 2011)
WILDCAT FIREFLIES (Fall 2011)
ECHOES OF 1492 (Spring 2012)



On Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ and Facebook “Amber Kizerâ€�
[email protected]


Contents:
A note from Amber
Favorites for Valentine’s Day
Contest/January Contest Winners
Upcoming Appearances
Reprint Information


A NOTE FROM AMBER

Hello my favorite readers!

First, thank you to all of you who added your voice to the title change debate for Gert’s second adventure. After tallying, having the students at Langley Middle School narrow down options, and vote, I passed on the suggestions to my publisher who conducted their own focus group…all that lead us to 7 KINDS OF ORDINARY CATASTROPHIES. And for those of you who wanted the adults to know that “Butt� in the title piqued your interest, I passed that along too! Be sure to check out this month’s contest for another way to add your voice to my process!

I’m very hard at work on WILDCAT FIREFLIES, Meridian’s second adventure due out in the fall of 2011. It’s coming along nicely but there are not enough hours in the day for me!

For those of you wanting to know about the Spanish version of MERIDIAN, I just found out it’ll be out in the second half of this year—so look for it this fall. When I have an exact date I’ll share that. The next international release will be in Australia, New Zealand and Malaysia in May 2010—so not too far from now. If you’re a fan from there and know a good bookstore who would appreciate bookmarks and other MERIDIAN swag please let me know.

I promised in this Valentine’s Day version that I’d share books I love, but I’m also going to share a few other favorites as well.

Next month stay tuned for my NCAA basketball picks and maybe more importantly updates about WILDCAT FIREFLIES, the soundtrack I wrote to and the candles I burned while working on this book.

Questions, comments? Email me anytime [email protected]

Take it one at a time,
Amber

***
AMBER’S VALENTINE’S DAY FAVORITES

Do you know (RED)? This is a fantastic way for consumers to put their money where their hearts are. Started by Bono many companies including Apple, Dell, Converse, Gap, Starbucks, and Nike all offer (RED) options. By buying (RED) a portion of your purchase price goes to buy lifesaving AIDS medication for people in Africa. Check it out

The Haiti Earthquake is very much on my mind. If you missed the national telethon, you missed some incredible music, but you can still download the amazing soundtrack on iTunes and your money will benefit organizations working there. Search for HOPE FOR HAITI NOW.

My absolute favorite organization is Heifer International and they work all over the world. If you’re looking for a meaningful Valentine for someone who would appreciate it, more than chocolate or flowers, make sure you check out

Okay, books:

I fell in love with fiction while in middle school—up until that point I read and books were all over our house, but I didn’t have to read. One Zebra Historical Romance and I was completely hooked on the genre (I still am). But there are two authors whose mad skills as story weavers are incomparable. There’s a warning though—their work from the 80s and 90s is much better than any of their new stuff—so go “old� when you’re looking for their books!

Jude Deveraux does the best historical romances and family stories of any I’ve ever read. They can be a bit magical, but not in an overt way, and I never fail to feel uplifted, warm and fuzzy and redeemed with one of her books. The first of hers I read was KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR and I picked it up because a boy I was desperately crushing on was reading it (I also read Anne McCaffrey for him too, not that he noticed--ever). Jude wrote in trilogies, often about sisters or cousins or the same small town. So if you pick one up and like it, there are many more to devour, from ancient Scotland to new world wild west. Look for her books written between 1985 and 1997…these were her best though she has continued to write to rave reviews from other readers.

Nora Roberts started in category romance—those are the shorter, monthly romance books. But then she branched into stand alone books. Hers can be more hit and miss so look for the trilogies with publication dates of the 1990s like BORN IN FIRE, DARING TO DREAM, and newer ones from the Chesapeake Bay series, and Three Sisters series. Her newest BRIDE QUARTET is back to her best work—if you like bridal magazines or wedding shows, then you may very well enjoy these! She also writes a futuristic crime series under the JD Robb that I also like!

The first Gabriel Garcia Marquez book I read at thirteen is called STRANGE PILGRIMS and is a collection of short stories—it still stands as one of my all time favorite books. The story LIGHT IS LIKE WATER is amazing.

For those of you who like intellectual stories that are complicated and questioning—check out Mary Doria Russell’s THE SPARROW and it’s follow up book CHILDREN OF GOD. Fantastic!

Here’s an answer to a question I get a lot from readers. Gert’s brother Mike gives her a book called GUIDE TO GETTING IT ON in my first book ONE BUTT CHEEK AT A TIME. Yes, the GUIDE is a real book and in fact it’s the best sex, and sexuality, book I’ve ever found. It’s phenomenal. I’d like to stand on street corners and in airports handing it out—the world would be a much more secure and educated place. Written with a sense of humor that makes it fun, this is a thick book that tackles everything. So if you feel like you need information, but don’t know where to start, or want to give a teen a place to start a conversation, I cannot recommend this book enough. Updated often, no subject is off limits, and all of it passes the common sense test of treating yourself and your partner with respect. Information is always our friend so check out Paul Joannides� GUIDE TO GETTING IT ON.

My most recent author-I-love-find goes to Julie Anne Peters. She tackles difficult, taboo, or complicated subjects in an entertaining, compelling, emotional YA format. I loved LUNA, the story of a transgender girl and her sister. DEFINE NORMAL is well done and her newest BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS I’LL BE DEAD tackles suicide and bullycide in a way that would make for fantastic class or family discussions. She has other books that I’m working my way through. I can’t say enough about her work to readers, but also teachers and librarians. Fabulous!

For those of you who love to bake, or think you might, I have to suggest Colette Peters� books especially CAKES TO DREAM ON. I find a lot of cookbooks and recipes aren’t quite right (Martha Stewart’s never ever work for me) and that gets frustrating especially for beginners who have no way of evaluating a recipe for potential. Colette’s step by step instructions, as well as her recipes, work—taste fantastic and have I mentioned that they turn out for the home baker?

On the same note if you love the colors painted on cakes and cookies, but don’t know where to start check out Pearl Dust, Luster Dust and Highlighters. You mix them with lemon extract or vodka (both evaporate leaving the color behind—I prefer the lemon extract I think it dries faster, but it also leaves a nice lemon taste) and paint onto either royal icing or fondant. Lots of cake supply stores carry them, but you can also purchase them online. Check out (I’ve ordered from them) or do a search for luster dust in your area and see who might have them. They’re not expensive, a little goes a long way, and most are safe to eat (they say if they’re not!).

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FEBRUARY CONTEST

This month’s contest relates to MERIDIAN and the sequel WILDCAT FIREFLIES that I’m working on right now. I’ve received a ton of fan mail (THANK YOU!) and some of you have questions or things you’d like to see addressed in the next book—like “I want to know more about Tens!!!� and “Are Fenestras only girls or can there be guys too?� And “Are Fenestras real or did you make that up?�

So I want to know—if you could tell me one thing you’d like to know more about—what’s the thing you hope I’ll explain or expand or detail in the next book—what would you want to see? I can’t make any guarantees about it, but I’ll certainly make sure the FAQs on the website reflect your questions.

Email me with your one question or comment by Feb. 21st and your name will automatically be added to a drawing for a signed, personalized copy of either of my books. (Have them both? Then, you can have it signed for a friend!)

Here’s your chance to voice your wishes for the sequel! [email protected]

January Contest Winners:
Jennifer S.
Lucy S.
(You should receive email requesting your choice of book and mailing addy)

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UPCOMING APPEARANCES

May 20th WICA in Langley WA
A Whidbey Talks Presentation about Creativity
Details TBA

July 2010 PNWA Summer Conference
Seattle Airport HILTON
I’ll be presenting a workshop about organizing and writing YA series
Details TBA

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PERMISSION TO REPRINT

You have permission to reprint any or all of the content in this newsletter, please include the following paragraph with the material:

Reprinted from Amber Kizer’s newsletter—get your own at AmberKizer.com. Amber’s debut novel ONE BUTT CHEEK AT A TIME was a NYPL 2008 Best Book For Teens. MERIDIAN starts the Fenestra Chronicles and is a dark paranormal available in hardcover now. Read more at . To read or listen to an excerpt, get up the minute news, and be eligible for cool exclusive promotions please visit or to sign up to receive the newsletter.

You are receiving this newsletter because you signed up for it at AmberKizer.com, MeridianSozu.com, or OneButtCheek.com, or you told me you want to subscribe. You may unsubscribe at any time.

If you like this newsletter, please pass it on to your friends, family and colleagues.

Newsletter for January 2010
Amber Kizer
ONE BUTT CHEEK AT A TIME
MERIDIAN
Gert #2 Spring 2011
Fenestra #2 Fall 2011
ECHOES OF 1492 Spring 2012



On Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ and Facebook “Amber Kizerâ€�
[email protected]


Contents:
A note from Amber
Contest
Recommended Reads


A NOTE FROM AMBER

Hello my favorite readers!

Happy New Year—may it bring you health, happiness, sweet treats and sweeter dreams.

It’s been a wild fall with the release of MERIDIAN in the US and Germany. If you haven’t already seen it the German cover is on the website and very cool too. Turkish, Australian and Spanish editions will be coming out over the next year or so as well—when I know those dates I’ll pass them along.

I want to thank each and every one of you who made it to an event for MERIDIAN. It’s always such an honor when fans and friends take time out of their busy lives to stop by and say hello. As some of you know, I had to cancel several events because I ended up with a hideous case of H1N1 that went into other infections and mono—if you came to an event that I was not at---please, please, please email me and let me try to make it right with you! It is so not my style to cancel events and I hate to disappoint readers and booksellers—so please let me know. That’s also the reason you haven’t heard from me in a while, but I’m slowly on the mend!

The next public event I’m doing is May 20th at WICA in Langley, WA. I’ll tell you more about it as we get closer. In the meantime I am writing, writing, writing…and researching for both the sequel to MERIDIAN and my flu pandemic story coming spring 2012. When the paperback of MERIDIAN comes out August 24, 2010, I will be making the rounds again so don’t fret if you missed me!

I promise my newsgroup that they’ll know news first…I have news! Many of you have asked about the upcoming companion novel to MERIDIAN. I am working on it right now with a plan of release in the fall of 2011—I’m guessing August or September, but I don’t have a solid date yet. What I do have is the working title for you…at the moment we’re calling it WILDCAT FIREFLIES. The Wildcat is a creek in Indiana—if you were paying attention at the end of MERIDIAN you knew that’s where they were headed, but there is also a wild cat in this story. I will share more about the firefly connection, as well as bits of the story in the next issue.

Be sure to check out the teacher resource page for the full document of books, resources and organizations put together about GUTSY GIRLS IN YA. I collaborated with my mom who teaches 7th grade on this presentation for the 2009 NCTE ALAN Conference. The packet is free (I can email anyone the document) and designed to help teachers connect strong girls with their students in a variety of ways. But if you’re interested in the subject you don’t have to be a teacher to mine it for great stories and fantastic opportunities in the world around us.

This month’s contest is easy—I need your opinion. We are changing the cover and title of Gert’s second book. We got into too much hot water with the butt in the titles—while readers didn’t mind, book buyers censored the books. We knew going in it might be an uphill battle so for book two we’re taking out the butt to make it more palatable for the adults of the world! So below is a list of possible titles—email me your top three. That’s all you have to do. From those names I’ll draw two people randomly and they’ll get to choose to receive either of my books personalized (if you already own it but want to give it to a friend I can personalize it to them instead!). Respond by January 20th, 2010. Easy! I know you have an opinion!

Be sure to vote for MERIDIAN as a favorite book for 2009 on your favorite book websites, blogs, and contests. Below is a link to one such list—I’d love your vote.


In February, I’ll be sharing my favorite books, chocolate recipes, and have a special Valentine’s Day contest.

Questions, comments? Email me anytime [email protected]

Take it one at a time,
Amber

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JANUARY CONTEST

Gert #2 (previously titled FROM BUTT TO BOOTY) is a sequel to ONE BUTT CHEEK AT A TIME. An excerpt is available on AmberKizer.com and on OneButtCheek.com under FROM BUTT TO BOOTY.

The high points of the story:
Gert’s sophomore year continues in her second semester of high school. She is dating Stephen, still infatuated with Lucas, learning how to kiss (and how not to!). She attends the tryout for the school’s soccer team along with Clarice and Maggie (and makes it!). She helps her brother pick out an engagement ring and set up the proposal. She and Lucas combine efforts to reunite Adam and Tim in time for prom. Her father goes to the hospital with a serious problem. And she gets her first job and her PSAT scores. All with her usual ranting and raving and lots of questions about growing up!

Possible titles contest—email your top three to [email protected] by January 20th for a chance to receive a personalized copy of either ONE BUTT CHEEK AT A TIME or MERIDIAN. Feeling creative and a big fan of Gert? Email your own creation of a title in addition to selecting from the list!

HOW NOT TO KISS
SCORE
DEALING
KEEPING IT REAL
7 KINDS OF ORDINARY CATASTROPHIES
TANGENT: SORRY
COVERT GERT
OVERENTHUSED AND CONFUSED
MASTERING THE DIRTY ART OF SURVIVAL
FRENCH…KISS, FOOD AND FRIES
WARNING; GRAPHIC TANGENTS AND TEENY TINY QUMQUATS
RIDING THE AWAY BUS
THAT’S NOT KISSING, THAT’S CARPET CLEANING
IS HE A BAD KISSER OR AM I GAY?
QUESTIONS
MANLY BOYS AND TIZZY GIRLS
LOVE IS A MANY SPARKLIED THING
ON BEING GERT

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SUGGESTED BOOKS FOR JANUARY

SWIM THE FLY by Don Calame
This is a boy version of ONE BUTT CHEEK AT A TIME. I loved it—laughed out loud a lot. Three HS boys decide their goal for the summer is to see a real live naked woman. The boys made me sympathize with them and feel sorry for them and be utterly relieved I wasn’t them all at the same time.

LONG NIGHT DANCE
DARK HEART both by Betsy James
For those of you who love HUNGER GAMES (Suzanne Collins) or the Beka Cooper TERRIER/BLOODHOUND books (Tamora Pierce) this is a trilogy for you. It’s older—before the paranormal thing was huge. LONG NIGHT DANCE has a Selkie and sea connection while DARK HEART continues the main character’s journey inland. Very austere and compelling, the voice is fantastic and very enjoyable. The third book is called LISTENING AT THE GATE—I haven’t read that one yet so I’ll let you know if the momentum continues.

Happy Reading!

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PERMISSION TO REPRINT

You have permission to reprint any or all of the content in this newsletter, please include the following paragraph with the material:

Reprinted from Amber Kizer’s newsletter—get your own at AmberKizer.com. Amber’s debut novel ONE BUTT CHEEK AT A TIME was a NYPL 2008 Best Book For Teens. MERIDIAN starts the Fenestra Chronicles and is a dark paranormal available in hardcover now. Read more at . To read or listen to an excerpt, get up the minute news, and be eligible for cool exclusive promotions please visit or to sign up to receive the newsletter.

You are receiving this newsletter because you signed up for it at AmberKizer.com, MeridianSozu.com, or OneButtCheek.com, or you told me you want to subscribe. You may unsubscribe at any time.

If you like this newsletter, please pass it on to your friends, family and colleagues.

Below are the first three chapters of MERIDIAN (Aug 11, 2009). Enjoy! [an easier to read, formatted version is available at ]


“In the economy of Nature nothing is ever lost.
I cannot believe that the soul of man
shall prove the one exception.�
Gene Stratton-Porter
Afterword from JESUS OF THE EMERALD 1923

PROLOGUE

The first creatures to seek me were the insects; my parents cleaned the bassinet free of dead ants the morning after they brought me home from the hospital. My first word was “dead.�
At age four, when I stepped out of bed and popped a giant toad like a water balloon, I never again turned any lights off.
For all of my sixth year, I slept sitting up thinking I’d spot the dying coming toward me.
There were times when it felt like my insides were full of broken glass, times when the souls of the animals passing through me felt too big, too much. I’d open my eyes in the morning and peer into the glassy gaze of a mouse on my pillow. Death never became my comfortable companion.
I didn’t have nightmares about monsters; I wasn’t afraid of a thing in my closet. In fact, there were many times when I wished they, the dying, would hide under my bed instead of burrowing into the pile of stuffed animals by my head.
My mother hugged me, told me I was special. I’d like to think my parents weren’t revolted by me. But I’ll never forget the feelings apparent in the glances they exchanged over my head. Worry. Fear. Repulsion. Concern.
My first chore was to clean up the carcasses. My second was to make the bed. I’d don rubber gloves and pick the dead up. My hands grew callused from digging so many graves. We ran out of room in the backyard by my fourteenth birthday. When I was too ill to do it, my dad stepped in and removed them, but it was always with thinly veiled disgust.
I trembled my way through the days, constantly sleep deprived, chronically ill. My stomach always hurt. Low-grade headaches constantly thumped a slow tempo. Doctors labeled me a hypochondriac, or worse—still they never found causes for the symptoms. The pain was real. The cause a mystery. They suggested shrinks. Growing pains. Perhaps I was one of those children who required lots of attention. I’d catch my mom staring at me—she often started conversations, only to break off and leave the room.
With each moon phase, the animals got bigger. Soon, they came during the day as well. At school, kids whispered my nicknames: Reaper, Grave Digger, Witch. Others, I pretended not to hear. Adults ostracized me, too. It hurt.
As I got older and stopped trying to bond, I came to the same conclusion as everyone else. I was weird. A freak. A sideshow act.
When my brother Sam was born, I kept a vigil in his room. Intent on cleaning up the dead things before he woke. I focused on making him feel that he wasn’t alone, that I understood how scary this world could be. I wouldn’t let him suffer my fears; he’d be normal in my eyes. By the time he was a month-old and the only dead came near him because of me, I retreated.
My parents pretended it didn’t matter. That nothing ever died around me. That our backyard wasn’t a graveyard. If anything, they acted like I had a talent. A gift.
If we had an extended family, I didn’t know them. The only exception was my namesake, a great-Aunt who sent me birthday quilts once a year. My world was, and is, me and death. It’s a lonely place to live, but I thought things were getting better. My name is Meridian Sozu, and I was wrong.







CHAPTER ONE

I got up the morning of December twenty-first anticipating a four day weekend for the Christmas holiday. I went to a snotty private prep school that took breaks the way most people go to the dentist. Only when they really, really had to.
Which is why I had school the twenty-first, on my sixteenth birthday. My parents refused to let me skip. It was a typical, normal day. For me “normal� meant that my stomach churned so much I swallowed Tums by the roll, and never went anywhere without Advil. My eyes depended on Visine for clarity; otherwise, I gawked in the mirror and saw the eyes of a lifetime alcoholic. I kept a stash of ace bandages and braces in my locker at school.
I coped. I studied. I kept up the façade, but I desperately needed a break. Time to sleep late. Time to eat too much and catch up painting my nails with glitter. Time to stop faking it and be myself, even if no one noticed. Time to dye my hair, currently it was the obnoxious red of tomato juice. I figured black would be a nice way to start the New Year. It fit my mood. I tucked my prerequisite white cotton blouse into my perfectly pleated tartan skirt.
There were also a bunch of new DVDs I wanted to watch. Movies about girls my age having crushes and friends and being absolutely, completely normal.
I added thick black eyeliner and three coats of mascara, as if I could make the bruises beneath my eyes an accessory. Then, I painted on clear lip gloss and tugged at the opaque tights I wore, pushing our dress code to the limit. I didn’t mind uniforms. At least I was part of a group for once in my life. But I hated looking like a little Lolita. I stared at my reflection hoping to see answers. Wishing I saw the solution to my life.
To my mutinous reflection, I rattled off the constellation names I’d been memorizing for the advanced astronomy test I had the following Tuesday.
The phone shrilled: once, twice. I tossed my toothbrush into the sink and grabbed the hallway extension. The phone never rang for me, but I still answered it, hoping.
“H±ð±ô±ô´Ç?â€�
Silence. Breathing. Murmuring.
“H±ð±ô±ô´Ç?â€� I repeated.
Mom appeared at the top of the stairs. “Who is it?� Concern deepened the lines on her face, aging her.
I shrugged at her, shook my head. “H±ð±ô±ô´Ç?â€�
She yanked the phone cord out of the wall, breathing fast, suddenly wild-eyed and pale.
Dad raced up the stairs. “Another one?�
Mom’s fist clenched the cord and she fiercely wrenched me into her arms. What the hell?
“What’s going on?� I let her hold me, and listened to her breath catch. My dad kept petting my hair. For the last five years, they hadn’t touched me except for accidents or unavoidables. Now, they didn’t seem to want to let go.
“It’s started.� Dad was the first to step away.
“What’s started?� I pushed away as the phone rang downstairs.
“We’ll talk more after school. You have a big test today.� I recognized the stubborn expression on mom’s face.
“I think we should-� Dad pressed her shoulders, rubbed her neck like he always did when she was upset.
“No, not yet. Not yet.� Mom chanted.
“What is going on?� I felt fear sizzle in my spine. “Rosie-� Dad cradled mom’s cheek with one hand and
reached for me.
“After school,� Mom said firmly. “Be careful today. Extra careful.�
“Why don’t you tell me why?� I asked. “Is this about my birthday? Turning sixteen? I can wait to get my license for a few months. I mean I’d like to drive, but if you’re this scared we can talk about it.�
Mom smoothed my hair, shaking her head. “After school.�
I shrugged and looked to my father for guidance. His expression told me he wouldn’t break ranks. “Is it boys? I’m not dating; it’s not like there’s a guy-�
Mom cut me off. “Do you want pancakes?�
I never eat breakfast. “No, that’s okay. I should catch the bus or I’ll be late.� What else can there be? My grades are excellent.
“Mer-D!� Sammy launched himself at me. As a toddler he’d given me a nickname that stuck, so even at age six I was still his Mer-D. “Happy birthday! I got you a presie. I got you a presie. Wanna know? Wanna know?� He danced around the kitchen with a maple syrup-covered fork, Pollock-ing every surface with stickiness.
“Later, Sammy. After school, okay? With cake?� I adored him. Loved him in the unconditional way I’d never received, except from him. He wasn’t afraid of me. He’d pretend to blow up the dead things with his Lego men or pose them in little forts, like caricatures of life.
“Cake, cake, makey-cakey.� He pranced around, his face split in a grin.
I dropped my voice so Sammy wouldn’t hear me. Turning back to my mom I said, “Why are you so freaked?�
Dad answered for her. “There is something we need to discuss when you get home, but it can wait.�
“Are you sure?� I pressed. I hadn’t ever seen either of them this anxious.
“You don’t want to miss your bus.� Mom hovered. She’d been swinging from overprotective to distant for the last few months. There was an almost tangible distance like an ocean between us. I’d catch her scrutinizing me, like she was trying to memorize my DNA.
“You have everything you need?� She stared at me, patted my hair and tucked an errant curl behind my ear. She always made me want to shake my head and mess up the curls more.
“Fine. Yup.� I shrugged her off, marching out of the kitchen feeling like a kid at an adult’s only party, pissed that they wouldn’t just tell me. Secrets made me feel small and insignificant. There was a vibe I couldn’t place. I shrugged my backpack on.
Mom gave me a pathetic, sad smile that made her haggard. She didn’t say anything else.
Dad strode out from the kitchen. “Meridian, wait.� He drew me to him and hugged me so tight breathing was a challenge.
“Dad?� I leaned away, confused.
At least Sammy wasn’t acting strange. He was playing with the Lego set he’d opened the day before, on his birthday. My mom, brother and I were all born within a day or two of each other.
Mom kissed my forehead as I heard the bus clank down the street. I set off in a limping gallop without glancing back. The bus made a distinct chugging sound that made me want to hurry even when I already waited at the bus stop. So Pavlov. My right knee felt stiff and swollen. I reached the stop as the doors opened and other Prep kids got on in front of me. None of us spoke—or better to say, everyone ignored me. Another day, another eye roll.
I passed my bio test. Turned in my English term paper about graphic novels as the new Dickensian serial, wrote two hundred country names and their capitals for a pop quiz in World History, and skipped lunch par usual since the cafeteria was a world I avoided at all costs. I typically hung out at the back of the stage, in the costume room, when I wanted to evade the rest of humanity. Besides, it was easier to hide the carcasses creeping in around me.
The bus rolled back to my stop at 4:30. My mind raced. Four days off. I wanted to start doing nothing immediately. First order of business, dumping this utility uniform and boots. Kids poured off the bus behind me, all chatting incessantly. I almost broke into a flat-out bunny hop up the block to my house. A blue mustang full of senior guys slowed as they hung out the windows and flirted with my bus mates. I felt invisible to them, but I listened with one ear as my house came into view.
A white SUV with tinted windows roared around the corner ahead. The driver had to see the mustang and group of teens in the middle of the road. I’d swear he sped up. Racing toward me, or maybe them, accelerating. I dropped my backpack, frozen with shock.
Mom must have been watching for me out the windows. She ran out of the house yelling, waving her arms. Chills vibrated up my spine. Her voice broke the trance and I leapt out of the way into bushes, but the group of kids behind me were not so lucky.
I heard the impact of metal against metal. Glass cracking and breaking. Screams. I felt as if my arm was ripped out of the socket and as if there wasn’t any oxygen left.
The accident only lasted seconds from beginning to end, but the world around me slowed to a crawl. The SUV hit reverse and sped away, leaving the driver of the mustang half-inside the vehicle and half-out. Crumpled metal littered the road like tissue paper. A girl from my bio class lay motionless on the ground with others I didn’t recognize. Lots of limbs lay unnaturally. Moans and groans from more victims meant the rest were alive. I moved toward the carnage to help, drawn to them, when the pain doubled me over. It felt like hot pokers piercing my eyes. Breathing became almost impossible. I fell to the road, tears streaking my cheeks as flashes of lives and people played like disjointed movie trailers in my mind.
Mom lifted and dragged me farther and farther away. Her words were jumbled, her tone frantic. Another spasm hit me. What was happening to me? Then, Dad was there too, laying me onto the backseat of the family sedan. I held my stomach, my eyes tightly shut against the pain. Sweat bathed me.
“Get her out of here. We’re packed. Sam and I will meet you where we--� Mom ordered my father, the car already moving. She yelled to me, “I love you, Meridian. Don’t forget that!� Dad hit the gas, laying rubber as tears dripped down his cheeks.
He kept talking to me, nonsense words. Assurances. Prayers. But I was in so much pain I barely heard him.
The further away we drove from the house and the wreck, the less torture I felt. My breath came back; the pain receded like a tide. Finally, I was able to sit up in the backseat and wipe my cheeks with a tissue dad passed back.
“Better?� He asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
I nodded, not yet sure I trusted my voice. I didn’t understand. “What’s going on?�
“We don’t have time. We’ve run out of time. Mom should have told you sooner. She should have explained. But she wanted you safe. Believe me, she wanted you to stay safe. And happy. To be a kid, for as long as possible.�
He wasn’t making sense. “What are you talking about?� I asked when he paused to catch a breath. It wasn’t as if I’ve ever been a safe, happy, normal kid.
“You’re not human. Not completely human. You’re special. That pain you felt was a human soul, I think. It’s complicated.�
Huh? I swallowed. “Are you okay?�
“You have to leave, Meridian. You have to go to Auntie’s house and learn how to do this thing.�
“What thing?�
He blew out a frustrated huff. “I don’t know. Your mother was supposed to explain it to you. I’ve never seen it before. All those years she knew the pain was real and never told me why until Thanksgiving when the calls started-�
I raised my voice to stop him. “She’s not here! You are! What do you mean, I’m not human?�
Dad made eye contact in the rearview mirror, “You’re
an angel being called a Fenestra.�
Clearly, I’d fallen asleep on the bus and this was a
terribly odd nightmare. “Of course.�
“I’m not insane, young lady.� Dad gave me his best stern face and tone.
We drove into the Costco parking lot.
“Can you walk?� he asked me.
I felt sturdier, but still the body aches of a good influenza cramped my muscles.
He helped me to my feet and half-carried, half-hauled me through the long aisles of bulk goods. He kept glancing back over his shoulder as if he expected to be followed. Luggage hung off his shoulders and bumped displays as we struggled to the back.
As we pushed through a door marked “employees only,� a brisk wind ruffled my hair and chaffed my cheeks. “Dad?�
A taxi was parked right outside the door. A scruffy skater type not much older than me, got out and started transferring luggage, without a word, from Dad’s hands to the taxi.
Dad’s eyes had the expression of a trapped animal, “There isn’t time. I have to get back to your mother and brother. Don’t come home. We won’t be there. Maybe someday we’ll see you again. You will never be alone, Meridian. Never. We will love you always, but the rest of this journey you must make yourself.�
“What’s happening? What’s going on?� Tears threatened to choke off my voice.
Dad pointed. “This is Gabe. He’s going to drive you to the bus station. You need to get to Auntie.�
“In Colorado?�
He nodded. “She’ll be able to help you. But you must be very careful. Very, very careful. Stay away from people who are sick, or dying, do you hear me? Run the other way from them until you get to Auntie’s.� His hands bruised my upper arms.
This made no sense.
“Promise me, Meridian, promise you’ll stay away from the dying until you get to Auntie.� He shook me. “Promise!� I’d never witnessed such intensity on my father’s face. He scared me.
“I-I-p-pro—mise.� I stuttered out the words.
“They’ve arrived.� Gabe’s scratchy smoker voice broke the intensity of my father’s gaze.
“You have to go now. There’s a letter in your things.�
I glanced into the back of the taxi and blinking finally recognized my duffle and camping backpack. “I don’t want to go-�
“Trust me. You have to go.� He kissed my forehead and pressed me into the back of the car. “Keep your head down. This will be over soon, I promise.�
Before I could respond, he’d shut the door and disappeared back through the exit into the warehouse. “Dad? Daddy!� I yelled.
“You’d best be silent and lie down back there…Or they’ll see you.� Gabe said, his eyes shifting in the mirrors.
“W³ó´Ç?â€�
“For lack of a better explanation—the bad guys.�
“Bad guys?�
“You know what that makes you?� He gave me a feeble smile.
“N³Ü³Ù²õ?â€�
“Nope, one of the good ones.� Gabe’s taxi rumbled out of the parking lot and I rested my head on my hands. This had to be a dream. Didn’t it?


CHAPTER TWO

“…Hey kid, we’re here.� Gabe slowed and braked the car.
“Here?� I asked, not recognizing this part of town.
“The bus station. They’ll probably be watching the airports. Put this on to cover your hair.� He handed back a Portland Trailblazers baseball cap. “There’s money in the backpack, plus your ticket.�
“Ticket?� I barely mimicked his words correctly. Try as I might, I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around this.
“To wherever you’re going.� He unloaded my duffel as I crawled carefully from the car. I hurt. My mouth was parched.
“Where?� I asked again. Had Dad said Colorado?
“I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. I’m only doing a favor for a friend.�
“H³Ü³ó?â€�
“All I know is you help people get to heaven. Other than that, you need someone better informed.�
I help people get to heaven? Is he a loon?
“There’s a letter from your parents. Keep your head down, kid.� He slammed the lid of the trunk closed and brushed past me, leveling a stare at me. “Get inside. Get on the bus. Pay attention. Got it?� Then he revved the engine and sped away, leaving me in the parking lot.
My arms screamed at the weight in my duffel, so I paused every few steps to catch my breath on the way into the terminal. I scanned the empty lobby and picked the far corner to camp in. I kept my back to the wall. Who am I watching for? Will I know them? Who is after me? And why?
I rifled through the coat’s pockets, realizing this was a heavy winter coat I’d never seen before. Mom had written my name on the tag inside, or I’d have assumed it belonged to a stranger.
The letter was written by my mom in her lyrical script. I loved her handwriting. So fluid, graceful. A pang of longing struck me as I began to read.


December Twenty First
My Baby’s Sixteenth Birthday

Dearest Meridian,

As hard as it is to write this letter, I know it is harder still for you to hold it, to read it. I know the sorrow in my heart is matched only by yours. I wish I could tell you not to be afraid. I’ve protected you all these years, and now I wonder if I didn’t make your destiny more difficult. If my need to hang on to you as long as possible has placed you in great peril? There was never a good time. I kept thinking you’d ask me and demand to know more, but you simply accepted your life as normal. I know this is scary and unexpected. I hoped to travel with you to Auntie this summer. To be with you. To help you. But that is not to be and I hope someday you will forgive us. My darling girl, you are a woman now, and it’s time you take your place as a Fenestra, a title I know you are unfamiliar with.
You are special. You have always known this. And so have I. I knew the moment your cry sounded on midnight, this day sixteen years ago, that you were remarkable. A true blood Fenestra, with Creator given gifts and blessed talents. And with these come immense responsibility. For true greatness demands great sacrifice.
The Creators will keep you safe on your journey. I do not know in what form they will appear, but I do know they will help you reach Auntie’s. Know that we will see you again. If not in this lifetime, then on the other side. Know that you will be protected. Know that your journey is necessary and that others have felt what you are feeling. Though some aren’t strong enough, I know you have the strength of a perfect diamond and the courage born of indelible compassion.
Learn everything you can from Auntie. Be kind to yourself. Listen to your inner voice. Know that we love you, always. We too have to flee to safety. Under no circumstance come home. We will not be there.
You are going to Great-aunt Merry’s in Revelation, Colorado. Get on the seven a.m. bus. Get off at the second stop after Walsenburg and watch for the green Land Rover. You’ll know it when you see it. I have enclosed extra money in case you run into trouble, or get hungry on the trip. I packed everything I think you’ll want. Please forgive me if I overlooked a token of your childhood. I did my best. Your father sends his love. Sam will miss you more than the rest of us combined, I fear. You are one of the Chosen, Meridian. For that I am both grateful and sorrowful. It means you must navigate your path without me, but know that I am always in your heart and you always will be in mine.
Your mother in this life,
Mom

I hugged my bags to me and read the letter over and over again. I memorized it, casting furtive glances at anyone who entered the dingy space. They all appeared normal and completely uninterested in me. Twelve hours to kill. When my stomach growled I checked out the vending machines.
I plugged a dollar bill in and pressed the button for knock-off Hostess chocolate cupcakes. I leaned against the glass. The twirly thing caught on the edge of the packet before it could drop. Figures. Nothing was easy.
I slammed the side of my fist against the glass. “Come on!� I shouted and pounded again. Finally, the cupcakes fell into the well and I fished them out.
I tried to hum a few bars of Happy Birthday, but couldn’t get past the first notes before tears clogged my throat and I couldn’t breathe. Useless.
“Happy Super Sixteenth Birthday, Meridian,� I said, biting into the stale and waxy cake. I chewed and swallowed by rote, leaning back in the hard plastic chair. I let my head roll back. I studied the water stains on the ceiling high above me. They were the patina and sepia tones of ancient continental maps.
When I was little, Sam’s age maybe, I studied the single photograph of Great-aunt Merry we had in the house. It was snapped during her days as a nurse in World War II. I used to study it to see if I looked like her. My namesake. But Mom hadn’t acted like Great-Aunt Merry was a real person. More a fairytale or myth.
In my family, all our birthdays are within three days of one another’s, except for Dad’s. But I shared my exact day with Auntie. I’d never met her. Frankly, it was creepy being named after someone alive. Like they’re paying attention, making sure you live up to whatever it is they think they are.
She left me alone except for our birthday. She usually sent a quilt. All different sizes, they grew with me over the years. Intricate stitching, brightly colored tiny pieces of fabric; some like impressionist paintings, others like photographs of places, people, and events I didn’t recognize.
All of them seemed to tell a story each time I touched them. Like the resonance of a tuning fork, a hum vibrated up my arm. So I put them in the hall closet, and tried not to come into contact with them. There was nothing comforting about the stack; they only made the little hairs on my body stand up like an electrical storm hovered over me.
I jerked upright. Nothing came this year. Nothing for me to open first thing in the morning. She knows I’m coming? Is this part of a plan? I resisted the urge to dial my house and ask. I inhaled ample breaths and tried to relax. Were my parents really not home anymore?
The bus station smelled of sweaty dollar bills and despair. It reeked of loneliness and solitary travel. I resisted tumbling toward the edge of sleep, hyped on adrenaline and not just a little fear.
I kept my head on a swivel, thinking that if I could see the threat coming I could do something brave and heroic like get the hell out of the way. There were so few people in the station. I began to relax. Just a little.
The bus didn’t leave until morning. Hours passed that way until the sun lit the edge of the horizon. Rapid-fire heels broke the edgy silence. The woman’s raven hair, the color I couldn’t find in a box, was tugged tight back into a bun on the back of her head. Her lips were bright fuchsia and her suit would have been a power suit in the fifties. It was well cared for, but the light blue faded to gray. She had a regal bearing, but it rang false to me as I studied the woven bag slung over her shoulder. She could carry the world in that bag.
She raced to the counter. Animated. Her hands did as much talking as her mouth, and yet the bored ticket taker barely flicked his eyes away from the grainy television muted on the counter beside him.
She slapped the counter while stomping her heels, but her hodgepodge of Spanish and English didn’t illicit a response from the ticketer. Or maybe he chose not to understand her. I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the top of my bag, and tried to tune out somebody else’s problem.
What had mom packed for me? How could she know what I needed in this situation?
The conversation at the counter escalated and the woman’s gesticulations became more desperate. I didn’t want to interfere. I’d studied five languages, but never actually used any of them. The woman started to get hysterical. The teller’s voice raised another octave. She didn’t have enough money for the ticket.
Fine. I lumbered to a standing a position. Let the blood drain south and bring the toes back online. I dragged my bags behind me, hoping if I walked slow enough the confrontation would be over by the time I’d shuffled those ten feet to the counter.
No dice. I asked in Spanish if I could help.
The clerk’s face bloomed in comical relief. “She insists on going to some place in Colorado, but she’s forty bucks short. I can’t sell her a ticket.�
I explained in rudimentary Spanish. The woman’s face lit up as if finally someone heard her. I listened as she poured out a river of story way too fast for me to catch. Her daughter was having babies. Twins. She had no other money. Something about work and losing her job. She kept smiling at me, as if I could make it better.
This could be a trick. A story to sucker me. But, I dug into my coat.
Her name was Marcela Portalso. Forty bucks was everything to her. Surely mom gave me more than two twenties for emergencies. I pushed it under the glass.
Señora Portalso protested, “No. No.�
“Por favor.� Please.
She didn’t want charity. A hard worker. No hand outs.
I reached into my Spanish vocabulary and put together the words for present and baby. I have no idea if I said them in the right order.
The clerk shoved the ticket out the window. A beautiful smile decorated the Señora’s face and she clutched the ticket like it was a gift from God.
Standing there, it was all I could do not to start crying for my own mother.
Señora Portalso insisted she would pay me back in Colorado City, or Denver, or Podunk. I wandered back to my corner. The minutes clicked by until finally they called our bus number. I stashed my duffel under the bus, inhaling exhaust as it idled. Ten other people crowded around trying to be the first on, like a swarm of gnats. I stayed back, feeling the need to keep my distance. I prayed they wouldn’t talk to me. I saw no bad guys and no speeding SUVs.
I didn’t want to get on the bus at all. I wasn’t a big traveler; my parents only tried a family vacation once and it ended horribly.
Señora Portalso patted the seat next to her with obvious enthusiasm when she saw me. As I settled into the cramped space, she tapped my hand. “Muy linda,� she kept saying. “Luz! Luz!�
Very pretty. Light. Light.
I stopped thanking her after the tenth time. I didn’t have much to say. I was full of questions, but she couldn’t answer any of them.
I slept fitfully as the winter sun rose high in the sky, then drifted behind storm clouds. In the dark, the lights of the interstate flashed in bursts as we passed truck stops and rest areas. The inside of the bus was a dingier, more claustrophobic dark than any room I’d ever slept in. I kept my knees tight against the seat in front, tucked up so my feet stayed off the floor.
Bits of conversation drifted through the darkened interior. “A job…family…never been to Colorado…heading to Disney World…nothing better to do…� They all had a reason, even if it wasn’t a good one, to be heading out. And what was mine? What happens if I stay on the bus? Go on to New York City or up to Seattle? Will anyone notice? Will anyone care?
We stopped at a couple of diners for pee breaks and to grab a quick snack. I came out of the bathroom and heard a voice in the diner that sounded like my father’s--“Can I get more coffee?� I whipped my head around, but it wasn’t him. I kept a scout out for anyone following me; the ominous instructions to be careful echoed in my head.
In the early morning light, I split a sandwich with the Señora, who gave me a mealy apple and several crumbly homemade cookies in return. The cookies reminded me of my mother. I swiped at tears that leaked from the corners of my eyes. What were my parents doing now? Were they okay? Was Sam more scared than me?
Oregon disappeared in the distance, Nevada and Utah came and went. Finally, we crossed the Colorado state line. In Durango, I ate another Milky Way. Mom wasn’t here to tell me not to. Monte Vista was unremarkable; the snow picked up speed in Alamosa. In Walsenburg, we turned north heading to Pueblo, but I watched for my stop as instructed. My heartbeat sped up. I watched the miles crawl by, barely seeing more than a thick cottony white.
What I could see were lighted, flashing billboards proclaiming, “Find Salvation in Revelation� and “Faith is a lifestyle for Eternity�. They popped up every few miles. Weird. It felt a little like the Vegas strip.
We drove into Revelation a full day after I’d gotten on the bus. Revelation Colorado? Someone’s idea of a joke, right? My school uniform was wrinkled and smudged with god knows what substances. My legs hurt from sitting all that time. I wanted a shower. Real sleep. Someone to tell me this was a mistake. Ha ha! Anyone?
We climbed down as fat snowflakes fell with an icy hush. They covered my hair and stuck in my eyelashes.
“Worst snowstorm in a century. Good thing we got here when we did; they’re shutting down and grounding the fleet until this blows over. Some fools are going to be spending Christmas in small towns they never wanted to see.� The third driver of this trip cackled with mirth as he unloaded our bags. I wondered how he could find pleasure in other people’s misery. But I didn’t ask.
I collected my duffel; hefting it, I wondered how it gained so much weight riding under the bus.
I was supposed to scan for a green Land Rover. One I’d know when I saw it. With the flakes falling smaller but faster, I could barely make out the shapes of buses in the lot. White swirled everywhere. No green anything.
Already my fingers and my nose had that stiff unreal feeling of numb. I’ll recognize what when I see it? A person? The Land Rover? Aunt Merry herself?
“Better get inside before you freeze.� The driver slapped the luggage bin closed and hocked spit onto the snow drift before hustling on his way.
All the passengers raced inside, seeking light and heat. I stood alone. As always.









CHAPTER THREE

Standing in the bleak alone outside of Revelation’s bus terminal parking lot, I saw no answers. Felt no epiphany.
I trudged into the overflowing terminal. Grumpy stranded travelers seemed surprised it snowed in Colorado right before Christmas. An older man in a wheelchair fiddled with the oxygen hose in his nose, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up unexpectedly. I was swamped with the feeling of holding my breath too long under water. As if every moment without an inhalation was one closer to full out panic.
I’d felt this at the car accident two days ago. My father’s voice shouted in my head, “Promise you’ll run. Run, Meridian, go!�
I had to get away. I needed to create distance between us. Someone, some person was dying, and they’d hurt me. I turned in great circles searching for a safe place, out of the weather, but there was nothing. My breath choked and I wheezed.
The old guy turned and stared at me. But past me, as if I wasn’t really standing there at all. His eyes widened and his hands reached toward me.
A sharp pain shot through my head and rippled down my arm. I started stumbling toward the doors to the outside. His family bustled around, a toddler threw a tantrum, and still the old man’s gaze locked on me until he smiled.
The doors whooshed open behind me and I tripped out into the snow. But I could breathe. The attraction lessened and I kept going, backing away, one step at a time. Several blocks away I knelt and vomited in a curbside garbage can. I tasted blood. I grabbed a handful of what I hoped was clean snow and let it melt in my mouth until I could spit out the taste. Sweat beaded along my face and arms.
One foot in front of the other, I pushed on until I found a bench in an ATM booth. I sat to gather my strength back, closing my eyes against the waves of nausea and pain. An ambulance raced past me with its lights flashing. It stopped at the bus station. I waited until they’d loaded a person into it and then I ambled back to the station. I didn’t have another option.
“Meridian. Meridian.� I heard my name being yelled and turned.
A heavily pregnant woman toddled behind Señora Portalso, waving her hands. I stopped. I’d forgotten the Señora.
“I’m Dr. Portalso-Marquez, thank you so much for helping my mother.� She shook my hand and kissed my cheek.
“You’re welcome.� I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with the Señora’s scrutiny.
“She wants you to have this.� The woman gestured to her mother.
Señora nodded and handed me a fifty dollar bill.
“I only gave her forty bucks.� I said, trying to give the money back.
“Yes, but you shared your food and she wants to make sure you have enough to eat tonight. Are you okay? You don’t look well.�
What must they think of me? What must they assume? “Oh, I’m fine thanks. I can’t-�
“Please. Keep it. We have to get to the hospital—my contractions have started, I think.� Which explained the pain around her mouth and eyes. “Here’s my card. If you need anything, please call me. We have plenty enough to share. My mother simply didn’t receive the wire transfer before she’d left. She refuses to learn fluent English.� With a wave of her hand and sigh, she turned to her mother.
“Thank you.� I put the card in my pocket along with the money. “I’m meeting someone.� I needed to explain I wasn’t alone.
Señora Portalso leaned into her daughter and spoke rapidly. The young woman turned back to me and translated. “She wants you to know she’ll see you again.� She shrugged hesitating, “If you’re sure you’re okay?�
“Bella, bella luz.� Beautiful, beautiful light. Señora tapped my cheek and they moved toward the wall of doors.
I wanted to ask what she knew about light. What did she see? But I kept my mouth shut and watched them walk away.
I stayed behind a post as people shook the snow from their coats and stomped their feet. No one surveyed like they were searching for a sixteen-year-old they’d never met. Evidently, no one expected me.
I sat for hours, eating Milky Ways and drinking Ginger Ale. I dredged out the paper mom wrote Auntie’s address on:

EastMeetsWest
115 North South Road

I was torn between wanting to listen to mom’s directions and thinking there was no way, with this snow, a centurion was going to make it, even in a Land Rover.
An imposing black man marched over in my direction. I studied my bag, refusing to make eye contact. His size intimidated me and his vibe felt dangerous.
“You be needin� a cab, missy?� His thick African accent blew through me with power.
“H³Ü³ó?â€� I asked, my gaze snapping to his.
“You be goin� someplace?� He repeated.
I peered up at the clock. Five hours, eight milky ways, ten packages of Doritos and three ginger ales. I shifted against the pillar I’d been holding up with my back.
“Maybe.� I didn’t know if he was the “you’ll know it,� as in, you’ll be point blank asked, or if this was fate giving my tush a little push. I can sit here and wait, or I can get myself to Auntie’s house and demand answers.
He scratched his chin, but didn’t take his spellbinding eyes off my face as he reached into his coat pocket. “I make six trips to and from this place. You be sittin� here that whole time.� He held out a photograph and shoved it under my nose. “My daughter Sofi. She’s in Boston. Stuck in big Nor’easter. I hope she not alone like you. I’m Josiah, where your family? Where you need to go?�
What a question. Where is my family?
I’d never learned to trust my instincts. Did I even possess instincts? I didn’t know if I could trust this man with his midnight skin and his golden eyes.
I wanted a bed, a shower, and broccoli, a weird thing to crave. I scrounged in my pocket for the paper. Worst case scenario, he was a serial killer who preyed on stranded travelers with the help of blizzards. At least my death would end this.
“Okay. Sure. 115 North South.�
“The big place off 69?� he asked.
“I guess.�
His brow wrinkled, “You got family there?�
“My aunt.� I swallowed.
“I drive you to the turn out, but snow too heavy out there for this little car to make it up the hill.�
“You don’t drive a Land Rover?� I asked, sure this man was my “you’ll know.�
His boundless laughter rolled over me as he bent and lifted my bag, “No missy. An ol� Subaru. With older chains.�
“Oh.� I said, and followed him. He was very talkative. He told me about his family. His daughter studying law and immigration in Boston. I sat back and listened. I nodded and grunted when it was appropriate. He didn’t ask many questions, but seemed to chase the darkness away with his voice. The snow mounds rolled by and plows passed us in each direction. I couldn’t have said where we were if my life depended on it. And I was too tired to truly care.
“Here we go.� He slowed the car to a stop and reached around to pop the trunk.
In the far distance, using my imagination, I could almost see a glow of lights. The driveway was covered in snow drifts and icy patches.
“You sure?� I asked, reluctant to leave the heat of the car.
“I’m sure.� He climbed out.
I tucked my scarf around my mouth and shoved my hands into gloves. I glanced down at my very cute boots and wished I’d thought to wear ski clothes when I went to school. Not that I actually owned any. I wasn’t dressed for a long hike in the snow. Don’t have a lot of choice, now do I?
He hesitated at the trunk. “You certain? I can drop you at a motel in town and you can phone your Auntie.� He seemed reluctant to strand me in the wilderness, in the obscurity of the unknown.
I put on a brave smile. “I’ll be okay. Thank you.� I handed him the fifty Señora’s daughter had given me.
“Too much. A gift.� He gave me a little bow and didn’t touch the money.
“Thank you, but please take it.� I insisted. “Send it to your daughter for a cab ride. She might need it.�
“’Kay.� He scribbled on a scrap of paper and pressed it into my hand. “You call me, you need ‘elp.�
“Thank you.� I pushed his makeshift card into my pocket and started up the driveway.
There was no house to see. Nothing to make me think this was a good idea. I listened to the gears engage on that old rusted Subaru and felt, more than saw, the taillights fade away. There was no point in glancing back. But my God, it required everything I had not to run after him and beg him to drive me all the way home.

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