Relic (30 page)

Acknowledgments

So many people helped make this dream come true for me. I wish I could give you all a hug, but we can settle for a shout out.

First, I want to thank my spectacular agent, Mollie Glick. You’re a true pro.
Relic
wouldn’t be what it is without your fantastic insights and hard work. Thanks also to Kathleen Hamblin and Brandy Rivers.

I’ll always have a special place in my heart for Stacy Abrams, my outstanding, brilliant editor. Thank you for loving and believing in my story. It’s truly been a dream working with you.

Thanks to all the lovely people at Entangled: Tara Gonzales, Alycia Tornetta, Kari Bradley, J.J. Bonds, Heather Riccio, Annette Macias and Alexandra Shostak. You’ve all helped make this experience perfect for me.

I feel beyond lucky to have made such generous, funny and talented writer friends over the years. Natalie Whipple, Kasie West, Jenn Johansson, Candice Kennington, Michelle D. Argyle and Sara Raasch. Thank you for guiding me through my many Philosophical Journeys, for making me laugh my head off, for letting me read your incredible books, and for helping to make me the writer I am today. I love you all!

And thank you to the many other fabulous writers I’ve come to know who have read for me, helped me and been there for me. Kiersten White, Kristen L. Martin, Chantele Sedgwick and Sara Larson, to name a few.

Love to all my Colorado peeps! The Best Book Club Ever: Jenn, Betsy, Darcy, Celeste, Mindy, Cheyanna, Suzy, Melissa, Amy and Kendra—you all really are the best. And thank you to my beautiful friends, Natalie and Lisa. This moment wouldn’t be as fun without my CC.

I have so much gratitude for my family. Mom and Dad, you taught me to believe in myself, to push myself. You showed me so many amazing new places. You nurtured my creativity and gave me a happy, adventurous childhood. I’ll never be able to thank you enough. Jared, Sarah, Becca, Diana, Rachel and Amy, you’re the best siblings ever, and I thank you for all the love and support over the years.

Becca, thank you for that one awesome lunch at Cafe Rio, when we said, “Why not me?” That started everything. Diana, thank you for the countless talks and advice, not just about
Relic
, but everything else. Thank you for always completely believing that I’d reach this point one day. I hope you know I most certainly could not have without you.

And finally, I want to express my love to my own little family. Amber, Logan and Ella, you kids are truly my proudest creation. And my wonderful husband, Ben, I wish I could show you how much your love and support has meant to me. Thanks for being there even when it wasn’t easy. You’ve helped me live my dreams, and I’ll always love you for that. I’m so happy to share this moment with you.

About the Author

Renee Collins graduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in history and currently lives with her family in the shadow of the Colorado red-rock cliffs, though she hasn’t unearthed a relic. Yet. Relic is her first novel.

www.reneecollinsauthor.com

Read on for a sneak peek at Cindi Madsen’s chilling

All the Broken Pieces

What if your life wasn’t your own?

Liv comes out of a coma with no memory of her past and two distinct, warring voices inside her head. Nothing, not even her reflection, seems familiar. As she stumbles through her junior year, the voices get louder, insisting she please the popular group while simultaneously despising them. But when Liv starts hanging around with Spencer, whose own mysterious past also has him on the fringe, life feels complete for the first time in, well, as long as she can remember.

Liv knows the details of the car accident that put her in the coma, but as the voices invade her dreams, and her dreams start feeling like memories, she and Spencer seek out answers. Yet the deeper they dig, the less things make sense. Can Liv rebuild the pieces of her broken past, when it means questioning not just who she is, but what she is?

Available online and in stores now!

1

White ceiling, a fuzzy face hovering over hers. Gloved fingers against her skin. A steady chirping noise mixed in with words she couldn’t quite catch hold of.

Opening her eyes took so much effort. And they kept closing before she got a good look. One prick, another. Tugging at her skin. A blurry arm moved up and down in time with the pinpricks.

I think I’m going to puke.

Strange, dreamlike voices floated over her. “I think she’s waking up.”

“She’s not ready yet.”

Cold liquid shot into her arm at her elbow and wound up to her shoulder, through her chest, until it spread into her entire body. Then blackness sucked her back under.

…

Her leg twitched. Then an arm. She wasn’t telling them to move; they kept doing it on their own. Her eyes flickered open and she caught a flash of a white ceiling. The chirping noise sounded out, steady and loud.

With a gasp, she shot up.

Hands eased her back down into the soft pillows. “Take it easy,” a blurry form said.

She blinked a couple times and her vision cleared.

A woman stood over her, a warm smile on her face. Her dark hair fell from behind her ear as she moved closer. “How are you feeling?”

Confusion filled her. She felt lost, scared. She wanted…she wasn’t sure what. “I’m…” Her throat burned as she tried to form a sentence. “I don’t…” The words didn’t sound right. They were thick and slurred. Frustration added to the confusion as she tried again. “What’s…going…am I?”

The woman reached down and cupped her cheek. “Shh. You were in an accident. But everything will be fine.”

She searched her memory. There was nothing. Nothing but flashes of being in this room. “I feel…strange.”

“But you’re talking. That’s an excellent sign.” The woman sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you remember anything? The accident? Your name?”

Pain shot across her head as she searched through the fuzziness. Tears pricked her eyes. “I don’t remember…anything.”

“Olivia, honey, it’s me. Your name is Olivia, and I’m…” Her smile widened and unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “I’m your mother. Victoria Stein.”

Olivia tried to put the images together, tried to make sense of it all. But it didn’t fit. Or she couldn’t remember if it did. A tear escaped and ran down her cheek.

The woman—
Mom
—leaned down and hugged her. “It’s okay. You were in a bad car accident and had to have several surgeries, but you’re going to be just fine. Because I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Mom squeezed Olivia’s hand. “Let me go get Henry—your father. He’ll be so glad to see that you’re finally awake.”

When Dad stepped into the room, he didn’t look familiar, either. Olivia saw the concern in his eyes, but there was something else. He seemed reluctant.

Mom pointed at the chirping monitor. “Look at her heart rate. She can understand me, and she can talk.”

Why is she saying it like that? Like it’s a big surprise.
Olivia licked her lips and forced the question from her dry throat. “Why wouldn’t I be able to talk?”

Mom sat on the foot of the bed. “Because, dear, your injuries were so severe. The brain trauma, and your heart…” She shook her head, then placed her hands over her own heart, looking like she might start crying. “You’re our little miracle.”

Olivia reached up, feeling the tender spots on her head. Her fingers brushed across a row of—were those little ridges made of metal?

“Careful. The staples are almost ready to come out, but it’s still going to be sore for a while.”

Staples?!
Her stomach rolled.
I have
staples
in my head?
She lowered her now-shaking hand. “Can I get a mirror?”

Mom looked at Dad, then back at her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not until you’ve healed a little more.”

Olivia gave two slow nods. If only everything weren’t so strange. If she could just remember something. Anything.

“You’re healing very well,” Dad said. “And your heartbeat is strong. That’s good.”

Mom smiled at her. “That’s because you’re amazing.”

Dad grabbed Mom’s hand. “Darling, I need to talk to you about something. In the other room.”

Mom patted Olivia’s leg. “You just relax. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The two of them left the room, but when Mom swung the door closed, it didn’t latch. Olivia could hear their voices in the hall.

“I still think we should…” She couldn’t make out the rest of Dad’s muffled words. “…know if I can do this.”

“…late for that,” Mom said. “We’d lose everything, including…” Her voice faded as they got farther away. “…have to move.”

She could tell the conversation was tense, but the words were impossible to decipher now. Holding a hand in front of her face, she turned it back and forth. A plastic tube ran from her arm to a machine next to her bed.

Weird. Everything was weird. She pulled a strand of her hair forward. Dark brown—like Mom’s. But it didn’t help her remember how she looked or who exactly she was. She kicked off her covers and stared at her legs. Running her gaze up and down, she assessed the damage: a few bruises and cuts. Her chest felt tight. She peeked into her nightgown and stared in horror at the long red stripe running down her chest.

Gross.

You’re alive. You shouldn’t be thinking about looks.

She dropped the nightgown, then put a palm over her heart.
Ouch.

Lowering her hand, she scanned the room.
I wonder how my face looks. From the way Dad stared at me, plus the fact that Mom won’t let me see a mirror, it must be bad.

Brains are more important than looks.

That’s what ugly people say.

Olivia put her hands on her head and squeezed. “Stop it,” she whispered to her arguing thoughts, hysteria bubbling up and squeezing the air from her lungs. What was happening to her? Why didn’t she recognize her parents or know where she was?
Who
she was? Tears ran warm trails down her cheeks. “Just make it all stop.”

Mom swung open the door and walked into the room. “What was that, dear?”

Olivia swiped the tears off her face. “Nothing. Is everything okay?”

Mom nodded. “Of course. I’m going to take some time off from work to help you heal. As soon as we get you recovered enough, we’re moving. After everything that’s happened, I think we could use a fresh start.”

Olivia was still too hazy to think about a fresh start. All she knew was that something seemed wrong. Make that
everything
seemed wrong. So she clung to the hope that she would recover quickly. And that when she did, all the wrongness would go away.

Read on for a sneak peek at Lea Rae Miller’s adorkable teen romance

The Summer I Became a Nerd

On the outside, seventeen-year-old Madelyne Summers looks like your typical blond cheerleader—perky, popular, and dating the star quarterback. But inside, Maddie spends more time agonizing over what will happen in the next issue of her favorite comic book than planning pep rallies with her squad. That she’s a nerd hiding in a popular girl’s body isn¹t just unknown, it’s anti-known. And she needs to keep it that way.

Summer is the only time Maddie lets her real self out to play, but when she slips up and the adorkable guy behind the local comic shop’s counter uncovers her secret, she’s busted. Before she can shake a pom-pom, Maddie’s whisked into Logan’s world of comic conventions, live-action role-playing, and first-person-shooter video games. And she loves it. But the more she denies who she really is, the deeper her lies become, and the more she risks losing Logan forever.

Available online and in stores now!

Prologue

When I was in junior high, the school I went to held a Halloween festival every year in the gym. There were all these little booths where we could bob for apples or throw darts at balloons for crappy little prizes like plastic spider rings and whistles that didn’t work. There was a “jailhouse” that was really just a big cardboard box with a door and a window with black spray-painted PVC pipes as the bars. We could pay a dollar to send someone to “jail” for one minute. For some reason this turned into a declaration of love if a boy sent a girl to jail.

The biggest part of this festival was always the costume contest, probably because the winner actually won cash. In sixth grade, I was determined to win this contest. I spent weeks before the festival making my costume. I figured if I went as something the judges—who were just the softball coach, the head of the cafeteria, and the principal—had never seen before, I was sure to win.

At the time, I was really into this comic book series called The Pigments. My favorite character was Spectrum Girl. She had a pink afro and this awesome cape. The cape was what I spent most of my time on. I got these long, wide strips of fabric in every shade of the rainbow, then lined the edges of each strip with bendable wire so the strips would stick out behind me and be all wavy so it would look like I was flying.

On the night of the festival I was so pumped I almost threw up as I waited in the wings of the stage. The other competitors had all chosen the same old costumes: witch, robot, the main character of whatever the most recent animated movie was. I could feel it in my very core that I had this thing wrapped up.

Then, Mrs. Birdhill announced me.

“Our next trick-or-treater is Maddie Jean Summers. She’s dressed as”—and here’s where I started to doubt myself because when she said this last part, it sounded like she was reading words she had never heard before—“the leader of the superhero team The Pigments, Spectrum Girl?”

Yep, she ended it like she was asking a question.

I stepped onto the stage, expecting a wave of
ooh
s and
ahh
s, but what I got was complete silence. I swear I heard a cricket chirp somewhere in the back of the room when I stepped up to the microphone.

“Hi. I spent two weeks working on my costume. I chose Spectrum Girl because she’s the strongest of all the Pigments, and I think she sets a great example for young women today,” I said and took a few giant steps back so I could make a slow turn.

When I made the complete 360, I stopped and looked out at the audience. It was a sea of my peers, everyone I went to school with, everyone I wanted desperately to impress. In the front row was my best friend, who shall remain nameless. She would always rag on me when I mentioned anything comic related, so I had learned not to talk about it.

I remember looking down at her in her cheerleader costume. I’m sure my eyes were pleading with her to break the silence, to help me—even if she didn’t like comics, we were best friends. Surely she’d support me.

Instead, she leaned over to the girl next to her and whispered something in her ear. They both giggled before she-who-shall-not-be-named yelled, “Where did you get your costume idea?”

I stepped up to the microphone, thinking my answer would help. Everyone loves Superman and Batman, how could they not like a costume based on a comic character?

“The Pigments is a comic book I like a lot,” I said.

“A comic book? What a dork!”

I don’t know if everyone agreed with her, but they all laughed with her. Laughed me right off the stage. Thank goodness no one was hanging out by the back exit because it would have been even more embarrassing if someone had caught me bawling my eyes out in a dark corner.

Later, as I tore my excellently crafted cape to shreds and stuffed it into a garbage bag, I vowed no one would ever get the chance to hurt me like that again.

And that’s when my double life began.