My new coming-of-age/romance novel Is There Life After College? has been out for a month now, so I figured I should give you guys a preview. (Actually, it’s pretty late to give you a preview, but I’ve been busy.) I always have a difficult time choosing a sample of one of my books, because no matter what you pick, it’s not going to encompass all the book’s themes, so I settled on transcribing Chapter Nine below, when main characters Mark and Astra meet for the first time in big, bad New York City in the late ‘90s. Enjoy! (Or, as I always say, don’t; it’s your time.)
CHAPTER NINE
The next afternoon, Mark found himself stopped at an intersection by a flashing “Don’t Walk” sign. Curious for Manhattan, he was the only one waiting at the corner, but he felt someone watching him. Spinning around, he discovered he was right, but the last thing he expected was what he saw.
Mark beheld a gorgeous punk vision. A teenaged girl wearing a ripped Nine Inch Nails T-shirt and camouflage pants was sitting against a bodega’s outside wall. Her dyed reddish brown hair rested just above her shoulders, and her high cheek bones accentuated her golden-green eyes, complementing her porcelain skin. Although she was young, she seemed wise beyond her years. She appeared to have a metal ring in every orifice of her face: ears, eyebrows, nose, lips.
Mark’s gaze turned towards her midriff, and his heart raced. He wondered what else was pierced. She reminded Mark of Angela Chase from the T.V. show My So-Called Life, if Angela had gone full punk. In short, Mark and her couldn’t have been more different.
The girl flashed a smile and leaned over, stretching her palms towards the street. Dueling rainbow tattoos arched across her exposed back and matched the wild color of her hair, and Mark wondered if she purposefully bent over so he could spy her ink. “Hi stranger,” she said at last. There was a cheerful chirp in her voice that Mark couldn’t register as sincere or sarcasm; it was too early to tell. He decided to simply be polite.
“Hello,” he said and then turned back towards the traffic. She was so cartoonishly attractive—her face and body ripped off the cover of some alternative “riot grrl” fan zine—that Mark figured she must’ve been another lunatic to want to talk to him, unless there was something else she wanted. Mark began to drum his fingers on the shoulder strap of his backpack. Tapping the strap made the bag slip off. It collided with the concrete, and his pocket Bible slid out from the half-open zipper. Before Mark could bend down to retrieve it, the mysterious girl snatched it off the sidewalk.
“Hey, that’s mine!” Mark called, sounding even more to himself like a nine-year-old than the passersby must have thought.
The girl began flipping through the book, a blank, apathetic look swallowing her pretty features. “You a big Jesus freak?” she asked. Mark then realized her voice held more sarcasm than sincerity after all.
“You don’t even know me,” he said, still waiting for the holy book to be returned.
“Why,” the teenaged stranger began, “do you know yourself?”
“Well, I—that is…” Mark stammered, feeling his cheeks warm. “That’s not a fair question.”
She smirked like a sly fox. “It wasn’t meant to be, sweetheart. No one knows who anyone is.”
Mark ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you always sit there and dispense unwanted philosophy?”
The girl smiled again. “Only on suckers who need it.”
Now Mark saw red. “‘Suckers’? You don’t even know—”
“Here we go again,” she spat, still flipping idly through the gilded pages of the book. Mark turned to face the traffic signal again. It had already turned and then changed back to “Don’t Walk.”
“Great,” he said, “you made me miss my light.”
She shook her head, her red bangs falling and framing her light eyes. “No one’s chainin’ you here,” she said. “You’re free to go.”
“But you have my book.”
The girl clasped her palms together in a mock prayer. “I thought this was God’s book.”
“Give it back to me already,” he ordered.
“Let’s play a game first.”
“What game?” Mark asked, finally picking up his bookbag off the sidewalk. “I have stuff to do.”
The girl stood up, and even though her hairline only came to his chin, she looked him up and down as if he was the shorter one. She was even more beautiful up close, and she smelled of rosewater and patchouli. “You’re sweating, tired, young, naïve, and wearing old clothes,” she said, breaking him down like an experienced card shark. “You have nothing to do.”
“And you’re not young and naïve?”
The girl smiled as if she was an innocent party who didn’t instigate this entire exchange. “Like you said, you don’t know me.”
Mark bowed his head, giving in. “Alright, if I play your stupid game, will you give me my Bible back?”
“Cross my heart,” she replied, doing so in a playful manner. Mark couldn’t help watching a little too intently as her delicate finger traced over the ample bump of her bosom. “Okay,” she began, “here are the rules. I always make a wish at a red light, and if it turns green right when I finish wishing, I know it’ll come true.”
Mark shook his head, almost feeling pity for the girl. “That’s not a game. That’s superstition.”
The girl decided to ignore his remark. “Do you know what my wish is?” she asked, winking. If Mark didn’t know any better, he would have thought she was flirting.
“What?” he asked, almost lost in those emerald eyes.
“That we survive crossing,” she answered, just as the light turned green. And with that, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the street, running as if their lives depended on it—because they did. A taxi screeched to a halt, and another car swerved violently to the right and burst a fire hydrant. As they crossed the middle of the intersection, a truck skidded out of the way with seconds to spare. After they reached the opposite corner, the girl leaped and waved her arms in the air.
“What a rush!” she cheered.
“Are you crazy?” Mark yelled as he heaved for air. “You could’ve gotten us killed!”
The girl answered his screams with a sly coolness. “Not true,” she said.
“And why is that?” he asked, outraged.
“‘Cause the light turned green just when I finished wishing,” she said, “so I knew it’d come true.”
“You’re suicidal,” he said, still trying to catch his breath.
“Ah,” she began, “I see that you’re getting to know me better.” She laughed, but Mark wasn’t sure whether she was joking or not. “Anyway, you won your Bible back.” At last, she handed him his book, and as she did, Mark glimpsed a series of pinpricks down her skinny arm. “I’m going to get a bite to eat in here,” she continued, jabbing a thumb towards the deli behind them. “Want something?”
Mark shook his head. “No, that’s okay.”
“Oh, c’mon,” she goaded, punching his shoulder like someone would do to their little brother. “You’re starving.”
“How do you know that?”
She stared at him hard with those hypnotizing green eyes. “‘Cause I used to look like you,” she said, a warmth enveloping her voice that wasn’t there before.
Now Mark smiled. “Well, you happen to be right. I am famished.”
The girl returned his smile. “Do you always talk like a thesaurus?” she asked. Mark thought about his earlier exchange with Larry, the hot dog vendor. “Follow me,” she said, leading him through the deli’s front door. “I know people.”
***
In other MTP news, my first book launch party is this weekend! Published bookstore and bar in Huntington, NY, is celebrating the release of Is There Life After College? on Sunday, September 20th at 2 p.m. Come for the discounted books; stay for the drink specials. For more information, see the flyer below.
Until next time.
MTP
P.S.: The Danger Peak audiobook is available!
P.P.S.: Is There Life After College? is now available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble:
Michael Thomas Perone 