Love Fortunes and Other Disasters (34 page)

KK: Usually I vaguely set up some parameters in my head in terms of what I want the story to be about, including the major characters and how I want it to end. But I learned from early on that if I plan too much, it stifles that improv sort of feeling I get when I'm writing. I never finished the first novel I started in college because I overplanned. I had every single scene laid out, I had pieces of dialogue, and a giant binder with magazine cutouts. When it came time to actually write the novel, it went stale. I felt like someone else had already done all the work, and there wasn't much use in repeating it.

Usually I have to get maybe fifteen thousand words into a story before I start outlining, and when I do I only outline two or three chapters ahead of where I am. Bullet points are the best; they keep me brief in my outlines so I don't overwrite. Working this way helps me stay on track, but it still gives me room to just freely write as I go along.

HW: What's the best writing advice you've ever heard?

KK: It was advice that I heard recently, and I think it goes back to that improv thing that works for me. An author named Elizabeth Sims came to speak at my local writing group. Basically her idea was that you only need two words in order to sit down and write: “Yes, and?” When you're writing, you should never tell yourself no, even if it's a really weird idea and you don't know how to proceed. You play along with the idea just like an actor would with improv. Just keep going and you figure the rest out later when you're going back to revise. Telling yourself no is what brings on writer's block and other writerly problems, at least in my experience. Sims's two simple words encapsulate that concept so well. I know I'll be using those words when I face the blank page again!

 

LOVE FORTUNES AND OTHER DISASTERS

Discussion Questions

1. At first, Fallon had a low opinion of Sebastian, based on his reputation. At what point would you say her opinion of him started to change? Which turning points would you identify in their relationship? Has your opinion of someone ever changed like that?

2. The twins made a deliberate choice not to patronize Zita's shop. If you had the chance to receive a love fortune, would you? Why or why not?

3. Do you think Fallon and Sebastian are fated to be together, or do you think they're creating their own fate by choosing to be together? Why or why not?

4. What do you think of Sebastian's practice of recording silence? What does it say about his character? If you recorded the silence in the town where you live, what do you think you would hear?

5. Knowing Zita's history, can you sympathize with her and understand what drove her to behave how she does? Why or why not?

6. If you received a love fortune, what do you think your fortune would be? Do you think it would change the way you behave in romantic situations and think about romance, or do you think you would continue acting the way you do?

7. If you could use (or invent) any love charm, what would it be?

8. Nico refused to give up on Martin despite the numerous obstacles in his way. What does that say about Nico? Would you have made the same choice?

9. If you could ask Love any question, what would it be?

10. What do you think will happen to Grimbaud with Zita gone?

 

First rule of dealing with vampire bodyguards? Don't fall in love!

Caitlin has seen too much death. Adrian cannot die. Sparks will fly in this steamy vampire romance!

 

 

 

“Hey, de la Mara, you're coming, right?”

Without meaning to, I looked up, right at Adrian. And for some reason, he looked right back at me, just for a moment.

“I don't know yet.” He said it quietly, but his voice somehow carried so everyone could hear. Underneath his coat, he was wearing a thick green sweater with a wooden clasp holding the neck loosely closed. It looked cozy, and expensive.

And totally confirmed my suspicions.

“Aw, come on, man; you gotta go!” a senior protested. “You're graduating! And what you did last year at initiation was sick.”

There was a general chorus of agreements. Around us, I could see the other tables quiet down as they caught on to the gist of the conversation, and that it was now revolving around Adrian. Freshman girls—all of them but Norah, anyway—were craning their necks to see him, which just struck me as funny. Did no one else see the obvious? Trish was definitely going to win the pool.

Aware that the whole table was looking at him, he cleared his throat. “I'll probably show up.”

Content with this answer, the normal buzz of conversation resumed. I turned to Trish and whispered, “What did he do last year at initiation?”

She leaned in. “I'm not sure, because only juniors and seniors are allowed to go and I was a sophomore, but I heard it had to do with jumping off a balcony or something.”

I stared at her. “He jumped off a balcony?”

“Yeah. Like an Olympian. I heard he did, like, six flips in the air.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

She grinned. “Guess we'll see this weekend.”

History passed by quickly. We were going through the industrial revolution and Mr. Warren was showing us a series of documentaries. It was only my second day, but he was quickly becoming my favorite teacher. Music with Mrs. Leckenby was mostly painless, but a little smelly—the entire high school was stuck in one room and had to sing for forty-five minutes and the ventilation sucked. Seventh period rolled around. I headed to the library and sat down in my secluded little corner behind the bookshelves.

Looking forward to a nap, I'd just propped my feet next to a row of encyclopedias when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked up, and there was Adrian.

“May I?” he asked, nodding at the empty chair.

I shrugged. The table barely fit two, but he seemed comfortable as he set his backpack on the floor and took the seat opposite me. Now that I'd confirmed, in my own mind at least, that he was definitely not straight, my earlier nervousness evaporated—but that didn't make the growing silence any less awkward. As I sat staring at him, he finally cleared his throat and asked, “How are you?”

“Good,” I said slowly, wondering where this was going. And then because he didn't seem like he was going to say anything else, I asked, “How are you?”

He smiled and murmured, “Good.” And then the smile faltered and he rubbed a hand over his eyes.

I frowned. “Do you get headaches a lot?”

He looked up at me sharply. “What?”

I pointed a finger at his head. “You keep rubbing your eyes like you have a headache.”

“Oh,” he said, relaxing. “No, I don't get them often.” He looked up at me again with a soft smile. “All better.”

I smiled back awkwardly, but the silence stretched.

“So,” I said, searching for a safe topic to break the weirdness, “I heard you had an impressive initiation last year at the Halloween Hoedown.”

His mouth quirked up at the corner in a half smile, but he didn't say anything.

“I heard you somersaulted off a balcony about a dozen times,” I prompted.

“Did you?”

“I did.”

I stared at him, trying to get a read on his expression. He just stared back evenly. For a second, my conviction about him wavered, but then I looked at his flawless skin, the eight-hundred-dollar sweater. Maybe in New York he could merely be a meticulous dresser, but not here. Not in Stony Creek. Honestly, what was someone like him doing in a place like this, anyway? Trish had said he'd been here since sixth grade. Add that to the fact that he was a senior and had never gone on a date—no way
was he straight. It felt safe to stare right back at him without worrying that he would consider it flirtatious.

Finally, he smiled. “I guess you'll just have to wait and find out.”

I smiled despite myself, rolled my eyes, and settled back in my chair for my nap. I heard him open a book, but I was asleep after a few moments.

Half an hour later, the bell rang and I jolted awake to the sight of Norah hovering over me. Adrian quietly packed up his books to my left as I sat up and tried to remember where I was.

“Hey,” she said. “Mom called the office. She and Dad are having a problem with one of the horses, so they can't come pick us up. I usually throw my bike in the back of Molly's mom's truck and she said she could take you, too.”

Before I could respond, Adrian stood. “Actually, if you don't mind, I was going to take Caitlin home.”

We looked in tandem at Adrian. Then Norah turned to me, obviously expecting an explanation.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, belatedly. “Tell Molly I said thanks, though.”

“All right, well—see you at home.” Norah was wide-eyed as she walked off.

As we left the library, snaking our way through the rush of students, it took about point-three seconds for everyone to notice that I was walking with Adrian. And I mean
everyone
: parents, students, even the faculty heading toward their busted up cars. I very much got the impression that Adrian was a big deal here—and Adrian deviating from the norm was practically unheard of, based on everyone's reactions. Distracted by our audience, it took me about six seconds to realize what vehicle Adrian was heading toward. I stopped dead.

“You're kidding me.”

Ignoring me, he unlocked a helmet from the seat of a matte black Harley-Davidson. I walked up to him, knowing and not caring that everyone had stopped to watch us.

“You drive a motorcycle.”

“Yeah.” He put his sunglasses on.

I couldn't stop staring. “You drive a
Harley
.”

He handed me a helmet as he settled onto the bike. “Yeah.”

I took it, dumbfounded. This was not what I had expected when he offered to give me a ride. The bike was huge, which made sense since he was at least six feet tall, which in turn meant the backseat, where I imagined I was supposed to go, was almost at waist level.

“Hey, Adrian,” I said casually, testing out his name in his presence for the first time. “How do I, y'know, get on?”

He pointed at the back foot rest. “Step there, hold on to my shoulder, swing over.”

I stalled. “What if the bike falls over?”

“The bike will not fall over.”

“How do you know the bike will not fall over?”

He stared down at me. “Because I'm on it.”

Good point.

“When we're on the road,” he continued, “lean when I lean. Don't ever lean the opposite direction. If there's some emergency, tap my chest. I don't have mics in the helmets, so we can't really talk once we get going.”

I could feel dozens of eyes on us as I put my foot on the back pedal, used his shoulder to brace myself, and swung my leg over the seat ungracefully, wriggling into place behind him. The passenger seat was shallow and backless, which meant if I wasn't basically spooning him from thigh to neck, I would fall off. Not really wanting to touch him, but seeing nothing else to hold on to, I rested my hands lightly on the sides of his waist and leaned back so at least my chest wasn't plastered to his spine.

He stuck the key in the ignition. “You planning on staying on the bike?”

I nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

He started the engine. “Then hold on. I don't bite.”