Cover links to Amazon.com
If Only I had...
Written by Jacqueline GarlickGenre(s): YA Paranormal Romance Mystery
Disclaimer: Price subject to change without notice.
GET YOUR COPY HERE!
An excerpt from
If Only I had...
The only reason.
Though I’m slowly starting to regret my decision.
I clutch the dash and stomp my foot to the floorboards, as Jazzy throws the car into another crazy turn. You'd think she’d get the message by now, she's scaring the shit out of me. But she doesn't. Not to mention, she's kicked off her sandals and is driving in bare feet, which I’m pretty sure is illegal.
I reach down and yank her sandal out from under the brake pedal, then grab the other one to stop it from flopping around in the well by her feet.
"Thanks," she says, without turning her head, never taking her hands off the steering wheel. Secretly, I’m glad Jazzy’s reluctant to take her eyes off the road, although I would love it if she’d slow the hell down.
”Are you sure we haven’t passed it?” Rachel slides forward from the back seat, filling the hole between us. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks striped with foundation she hasn’t rubbed in yet. She looks like a startled war-painted warrior, minus the feather headdress. I guess that’s what happens when you apply make up with only the aid of a compact mirror and an interior car light.
“Chill Rach,” Jazzy scowls into the rearview mirror. “It’s not like they’ve moved the farm.”
“Honestly, I don’t remember it being this far out,” Rachel pushes.
“The shape you were in the last time we were out here, it’s a wonder you remember anything.” Jazzy flashes her a mean smirk then immediately returns her eyes to the road. “Check the GPS, will you Kye?” she says to me. Jazzy’s the only one in the world I allow to shorten my name from Kyla to Kye. Other than Denver, of course, who says it in such a sinfully sexy way, it’d be criminal to stop him.
The car bobbles in and out of a pothole and I grab for the armrest.
“Jeez, chill will you?” Jazzy says.
“It’s not exactly working,” I say, moving the GPS around.
“What do you mean it’s not working?”
I turn it so she can see. The little light is blinking, but it’s no longer tracking. It seems to be frozen in place.
Jazzy looks a bit panicked. “Oh, that thing’s always been a piece of crap,” she covers up. “Try your phone.”
“Already did,” Rachel pipes up from the back seat. “Nothing.” She wags her phone in the air.
“Great!” Jazzy slaps a hand to the steering wheel, then squints over it. “Why does it have to be so fuckin’ dark out here?”
I catch her eyes flicking from the road to the gas gauge, and back again. The gas gauge hovers dangerously close to being drained. A shiver jitters up my spine, thinking about the three of us being stuck out here, in all this darkness, not a farmhouse in sight. I bet Jazzy’s regretting not topping up the tank before we left town, like her father said.
I wonder if older cars have bigger gas tanks?
I look down at my phone thinking that I’ll just text Den if we run out of gas then realize how stupid that is. No phone reception means no texting, dummy.
But if that weren’t the case, he’d come and get us. He’d do that for me. He’d do anything for me.
I so love that about Den.
My muse. My heart. My best friend.
Denver’s my everything.
“It kind of feels like death out here, don’t you think?” Rachel says out of nowhere.
Jazzy and I stare back at her.
“What? Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to be dead?”
Her voice sounds like it’s rubbing its hands together.
“All closed in a coffin, surrounded by nothing but darkness…”
“You can stop any time now,” I say.
“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me, you’ve never wondered?”
“No!” Jazzy and I shout together.
Rachel rolls her eyes and slumps back in her seat, like she didn’t just say the creepiest thing—ever.
Fans are saying
I love to read, write, paint (walls and paper). I have a love/hate relationship with chocolate, grammar, and technology and would rather hang out with a dog, than a cat. I prefer creating things to cleaning things, and believe laughter is a one-stop-shop solution to all that ails you. You will always find a purple wall (or two) in my house (currently in my writing room), and there may or may not be a hidden passageway that leads to a mystery room. (Okay, so you won't find a hidden passageway, but a girl can dream, can't she?) Oh, and tea. There will always be tea.
My writing style has been described as edgy and rule-breaking, and by some--a touch Tim Burton-esque. Because of this, I am often referred to as the Quentin Tarantino of YA among writing friends.
In my former life, I was a teacher (both grade school and college-don't ask), but more recently I've been a graduate of Ellen Hopkin's Nevada Mentor Program and a student of James Scott Bell, Christopher Vogler and Don Maass. An excerpt from Lumière earned me the 2012 Don Maass Break Out Novel Intensive Scholarship.