A Paranormal Teen Romance.
Available early 2012 from Astraea Press

An excerpt from Spell Check:

     About ten minutes into class, while Mr. Esenberg wrote on the board, I heard Jordan slide his feet under my desk. My breath wedged in my throat as the tips of his size nine high-performance sneakers nudged the heels of my shoes. Could the girl in front of me hear my heart thudding? Should I move my feet forward?
      My feet tingled and refused to move. A blush blazed across my cheeks. I struggled to pay attention to Mr. Esenberg without making eye contact. Forty minutes passed, the bell blared, and I had no idea what had transpired. Hopefully, my notes will make sense. I think I took notes.
      Jordan slid his feet back and thudded his book closed. We both bent down and reached for our backpacks. His leaned against mine. Our hands brushed and our heads were so close I could smell his herbal shampoo.
      Students walked past us. I'm sure some of them were talking to each other or flipping open their cell phones. But it all faded away along with the smell of chalk, highlighters, and sweat. Everything receded except the warmth of Jordan's skin, his cinnamon gum-scented breath, and the heart-stopping rush sprinting up my arm.
      "Evie?"
      We jerked apart. Seeing Parvani in the doorway looking hurt and shocked snapped my senses into hyper focus. Conversations sounded extra loud. Colors seemed too bright. It felt like a movie had started, full blast, in a hushed theater.
      I grabbed my backpack, stood up, and tried to look innocent. "Hey," I said, a little too loudly.
      Parvani adjusted her designer frames further up her nose. "My mom just called. She's going to pick me up and drive me to the hospital. We have to drop off the pillows I made."
      Parvani glanced at Jordan as he rose from his chair and stood beside me. I wondered if he knew she made heart-shaped pillows for women who'd had mastectomies. The pillows kept seatbelts from rubbing against the stitches, or something. I should think about building my résumé for college. Besides, I've heard helping others alleviates depression.
      "Could you tell your mom I don't need a ride?" I heard a definite edge to her voice.
      "Sure."
      Jordan slung his backpack over his shoulder. "How's it going?"
      Parvani acted startled, like she had just noticed him. But her voice softened. "Oh. Hello, Jordan." To me, she said, "Thank you. Goodbye."
      Unease spider-walked down my spine. I took a step toward her, trying to close the chasm that had sprung up between us. "Talk to you later."
      Parvani didn't reply. She just left, her long black hair swinging across her shoulders.
      Jordan fell into step behind me. "Did I miss something? Is she all right?"
      He sounded like the old Jordan—the sensitive, pre-Smash Heads Jordan I had grown up with. Since I couldn't give him the obvious and correct answer, I spun through possible alternatives.
      Loud static from the school's public address system blasted my eardrums, followed by the school secretary's voice. "Evie O'Reilly. Please come to the office. Evie O'Reilly. Please come to the office."
      I froze. My flushed cheeks grew hotter. Every kid crossing the field had heard my name. Cold fear formed bricks in my stomach. What if something had happened to Mom?

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