Fury (34 page)

At an elite boarding school in New Hampshire, a boy with sandy hair and a perfect smile walks out of the gym after basketball practice. He furrows his brow with concentration as he composes his text message.

Gotta study tonight, baby. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

But he doesn’t put his phone into his gym bag. Instead, he
types out another text to a different number:
Hey cutie,
it reads.
Want to meet up tonight? I’ve got some free time.

“What does a girl have to do to get her number in there?” A silvery voice cuts through the evening air.

He looks up. There’s a girl in front of him, a girl who definitely does not go to his school. He would have noticed her. He would have been all over it weeks ago.

She’s beautiful. Tall. Beach-blond hair, a perky nose, and rosebud lips highlighted by bright red lipstick.

“I’m Zach,” he says, holding out his hand. “Sorry I’m so sweaty—just got out of basketball practice.”

“I know who you are,” the girl responds with a laugh that sounds like coins falling into a fountain. “I brought this for you.” She extends her hand with a flirtatious smile. She is holding a deep red orchid—delicate yet dramatic.

The boy takes it, surprised by its weight. “A beautiful girl and a beautiful flower? What did I do to deserve this?” He winks.

The girl’s smile broadens slowly as she says, “I think you know.”

Thank you . . .

First and foremost, to Lexa Hillyer and Lauren Oliver for giving me this opportunity and offering brilliant guidance along the way. Lexa, your intelligence and positive attitude are inspirational; Lauren, your vision and drive are unique.

To everyone at Simon Pulse, especially Jennifer Klonsky and Emilia Rhodes, for pouring so much energy and editorial smarts into
Fury
. To Stephen Barbara and Foundry Literary + Media for representing me and Paper Lantern Lit with style.

To Jeff Inglis, Peter Kadzis, and Phoenicians past and present for trusting and supporting me through this and many projects.

To my friends in Portland, especially Maggie Carey (and Keith), Christopher Gray, Keagan McDonough, Nicholas
Schroeder, Sonya Tomlinson (and Jay), and all you theater people, for boundless warmth and creativity. To Will, who knows why. To Dafna Garber for ten years (and counting) of unexpected best-friendship. To Laura Smith, Laura Schechter, and Jacqueline Novak for letting me write through Fourth of July 2010—my favorite holiday because I spend it with you, my oldest and dearest loves.

To my extended family, all aunts and uncles and cousins and little cousins, for being top-notch cheerleaders. To the memories of John and Marjorie Fulton, John and Eva Mayer, and Rob Vrana. And to my parents, Evelyn and Donald Fulton, for always championing my brain and loving me in your own generous ways.

ELIZABETH MILES lives in Portland, Maine, and writes for an alternative newsweekly.
Fury
is her first novel. Visit her online at ElizabethMilesBooks.com, find her on Facebook (facebook.com/elizabethmileswrites), and follow her on Twitter (twitter.com/milesbooks).