One week on an Alaskan cruise,
three teens, and an endless trail of lies.
Enter a series of thefts on
board and they all fall under scrutiny. Though Navy acts a proper preacher’s
daughter, she did end up with someone else’s purse in her hands, and Jesse
knows way more than he should about what’s gone missing. Isaiah, however, is
the one with motive—enough money and he could get back to his ranch. Each holds
a piece of the truth, but exposing the thief could damn them all. They must navigate
through the lies they’ve told, choose between standing together or saving
themselves, and decide if innocence is worth facing their ugliest secrets.
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Excerpt:
Meet Isaiah:
The ship was
so big. As big as a mountain. But I was used to twenty people on a mountain,
not a million people inside one.
I
craned my neck to get a better look at the girl ten or so people ahead of us.
Of course, Gram thought I was watching the pretty boy with the sparkling teeth
and preppy outfit.
“Keep
your eyes in your head, Zay,” she muttered.
It
didn't matter how many times I told her I liked girls. She couldn't imagine why
else I'd want to work with an all-male ranch staff in the middle of nowhere,
Montana.
The
girl's blonde hair was a shiny mane, and her outfit—dark skinny jeans, a white
tee, and huge turquoise earrings—was perfect: no frills, no bullshit.
Gram
swatted me with her purse. I glared at her.
“Nice
to have a week off, Zay?” My great-aunt Ethel asked.
We
were here on her dime, bought company for an old woman, so I muttered out a
response and went back to the hair. My fingers twitched to feel it. Not in a
creepy way, but brushing out horses was the most relaxing part of my day.
“He's
got more 'an a week,” Gram said. “I'm not sendin' him back.”
My
throat dried up. She couldn't be serious.
“I
mean it too.” Nodding, she grabbed her suitcase. Marched forward a few paces.
I
hurried after her. “I can't quit in the middle of a summer with no notice. Ike
needs me.”
“I
gave Ike your notice the day you left. He knows.”
“Why
would you do that?”
Hands
on her hips. “You had a girlfriend yet?”
“Yes!”
“Yeah,
right. I know how many of them're up at that ranch.”
“Gram,
I'm watching that blonde girl, okay?” I pointed over her head. The boy who was
way too preppy for me turned. He put up a few fingers and waved.
“That
prissy one with the frown?” Ethel asked. “She looks mean.”
“Oh,
he's just tellin’ me what he knows I wanna hear. Tellin’ time's over, Zay. You
need to get your life together.”
“What's
wrong with my life?” What I had was what I wanted. All I'd ever want. My fist
clenched. I couldn't lose the ranch, not after I'd lost everything else.
“Them
boys aren't gonna make you a family, and that ranch ain't gonna make you a
future.” She shuffled her feet forward.
I
pulled my cowboy hat down. The blonde was slipping inside the ship anyway.
“They are my family, and if being a
grunt ranch hand is my future, I'm happy with that.”
“I'm
your family,” she snapped. “And you're happy with it because you're seventeen
and you don't know no better.”
“Gram,
please?” It was a desperate whisper.
“It's
all the poor boy has left,” Aunt Ethel pointed out, not looking at me. Not even
for a second. As if I might miss that I was the poor boy she was talking about.
Gram
crossed her arms. “Building his future is more important than what he does or
does not have left.”
“Other
people we know have been gay,” Aunt Ethel said. “Jeannie from the corner, for
example, and you never worried about her future.”
Gram
glared at her. “Jeannie wasn't my grandson.”
“Then
make me a deal,” I said, because this was something we did.
“Yes.”
Aunt Ethel smiled before turning back to Gram. “He gets a girlfriend, you let
him go back.”
Gram
looked like she was face-to-face with a skunk. “What's a girlfriend gonna
prove?”
“For
one, it'll prove he likes girls.”
“He
can right fake that. Anyway, there's more 'an one reason I don't want him at
that ranch.”
“Give
the boy some hope, Liza. He's only seventeen. He's still got time to work his
life out.”
Gram
eyed me for a full two minutes. I counted the ticks in my head while studying
the wooden decking, how it barely moved beneath my feet. Hope was suddenly the
color of that girl's hair, and I talked myself into wanting the rest of her
too, no matter what she ended up being. Because now, with Gram's curt nod, it
seemed she was the only way I’d get back home.
About the Author
J Mercer grew up in Wisconsin
where she walked home from school with her head in a book, filled notebooks
with stories in junior high, then went to UW Madison for accounting and
psychology only to open a dog daycare. She wishes she were an expert linguist,
is pretty much a professional with regards to competitive dance hair (bunhawk,
anyone?), and enjoys exploring with her husband—though as much as she loves to
travel, she’s also an accomplished hermit. Perfect days include cancelled
plans, rain, and endless hours to do with what she pleases.
For updates and news, you can
find her on Facebook,
but she’s more often on Instagram,
talking about what she’s reading and other bookish things. Go there for book
recommendations, reading-inspired writing tips, or even to read along. If you
prefer everything delivered directly to your inbox, click here to get on the email list.
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