Después de estar meses publicitando el libro con una portada azul marino y a tan solo poco días de su publicación, tuvieron que cambiar la portada porque impreso se veía como una gran macha oscura.
Así que, tuvieron que volver a diseñar la portada, esta vez con colores más claros. Pero la autora quería que luciera similar con la anterior para evitar confusiones. Y estos fueron los resultados:
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000040_00009]](https://knitewrites.files.wordpress.com/2014/12/solace-ebook-sml.jpg?w=305&h=457)
Nueva portada Portada original
Así que dejarán la nueva portada con colores claros para los libros impresos, y la original con colores oscuros será la del ebook.
Personalmente, ambas portadas me parecen bonitas, pero no me gusta como la tipografía no se integra con la imagen.
Les dejo la sinopsis y el primer capítulo para que les den una ojeada:
Fecha de Publicación: 7 de enero de 2015
Sinopsis:
El padre de Corina Marion está muerto.
Médico de la Cruz Roja en una guerra interminable desde antes de Corina naciera, Luther Marion ha sido una presencia constante, pero cada vez más distante en la vida de su hija durante sus dieciséis años. Fotografías dañadas. Cartas cortas . Y tres breves llamadas telefónicas recibidas antes Corina tuvo edad suficiente para caminar.
Ahora, Luther Marion ha vuelto a casa, por fin, como un cuerpo en una caja para ser enterrado . La madre de Corina está devastada . Su pequeña ciudad, llora la pérdida de su héroe local.
Y Corina... no está seguro de lo que siente por la muerte de un padre que nunca conoció realmente .
Pero cuando un misterioso anciano se enfrenta a Corina en el funeral de su padre, se siente atraída por su oferta imposible: la oportunidad de conocer a Lutero Marion . Y en un momento de incertidumbre, Corina hace una elección con consecuencias que apenas puede comprender. Una elección que la envía al último lugar que alguna vez espera ir .
La ciudad natal de su padre. Seiscientos kilómetros al sur.
Veinticinco años en el pasado.
* * * * * * * * *
The day we discover Dad is dead, I beat the crap out of Beth the Bitch.
Well, that’s what I call her.
My fist meets her face with a resounding crunch, and pearly whites go flying high—home run!
Two teeth. Cracked. Broken. Bloody on the pavement.
Their former owner writhes on the ground eight feet away. Curled up. Fetal position. Crying like a baby.
Her hair, once a French braid, has unraveled at the seams. Her light blond locks, made frizzy by the humid air, flutter in the breeze. Her uniform, navy blue, is wrinkled, ripped, and stained. The patch on her shoulder—Rudolph Academy—is dotted with bright red blood.
When a me-sized shadow falls across Beth’s trembling form, she whimpers and covers her swelling face with ring-adorned fingers.
Terror.
She is terrified.
Of me.
As intended.
In the nearby Cedar Park fountain, off this time of year but filled with stagnant rainwater, sits Beth’s partner in crime, Liza. Dripping wet with leaves and muck stuck to clothes and skin. Her mouth, intact, hangs open in horror. Eyes wide beneath damp bangs stare in disbelief. It never occurred to Liza that she and Beth could lose a fight. Not to a star athlete—Beth is one, strong and lean—and especially not to a twig of a girl like me.
I hover over Beth, chest heaving, fist burning. Blood wells from my knuckles where the skin was stripped away. I can still feel the hit, hand on jaw, resonating in my bones. A scratch on my left cheek leaks sticky fluid. Beth’s rings cut into my face during the short, satisfying fight. And my scalp itches, too, something fierce, where she tried to rip my hair out. It hangs in my face now, loose, dark strands tickling my chin.
From a hiding place in the tree line to my right, a familiar voice calls out, “Three-oh-two, Corina! Better hurry!”
I break my Beth-directed glower and backtrack to my backpack on the ground nearby. The pack sports a newly broken zipper, and its contents litter the sidewalk and browning grass. Makeup. A phone with a scuffed case. Folders that were full of papers five minutes back—papers sopping wet, ink running. Ruined.
Worst of all is a tablet computer with a spider-webbed screen. That I received three months ago for my sixteenth birthday.
If Beth’s teeth weren’t equally broken, I’d consider this fight a minor loss.
As it is, I collect my things in half a minute, sling my pack over my shoulder, and march past the groaning Beth. But, when I spot her punched-out teeth in their final resting place, another spark of fury zips through my veins. I pause, raise my boot, and stomp on the teeth. Again and again and again. Crushing them into smears of whitish pulp on the concrete.
There. Now I’m finished.
Liza, still in the fountain, is offended by my display. She tries to recover her bully façade and spits out, “Hey, slut! You better run. Because the second Beth—”
I turn on the pads of my shoes and shoot Liza a look. One apparently so withering and cold it chokes the girl to silence. Then I toss my hair over my shoulders, flip off the defeated bully, and jog toward the tree line where the voice called out to me. I push through a row of prickly bushes to find Avery hiding behind a leaf-bare tree oozing sticky sap. Red curls bob in greeting. A smirk forms on pink lips. And Avery rubs the video recorder in her hand like a furry pet.
“Got the whole thing, Rina.” She lightly punches my shoulder. “And it was epic! If they ever give anyone crap again, this goes straight to the net. Every video site I can find. And all the school social media pages, of course.” She plucks a few leaf bits out of her hair and dusts off her jeans as she stands. “I can’t believe you knocked Beth’s teeth out. And like that. They flew at least two yards. You whacked her like a jackhammer. Jesus!” Her gaze drifts down to my right hand, and she winces. “Didn’t break anything, did you?”
Adrenaline cooling, I feel the stir of a wicked ache in my fingers. I grunt. “Don’t think so. But my hand’s going to hurt like hell for the next few weeks.” Blood has begun to crust on my knuckles in the cool November air. “And if Mom sees this mess”—I gesture to myself, head to toe, backpack included—“she’s going to pitch a fit.”
Avery leans against the tree and sighs. “True that, Rina. But at least Beth and Liza won’t bother us anymore.” She waves the camera side to side, and her relief bubbles into a throaty chuckle.
I rub my face, ignoring the sting of the cut from Beth’s jewelry. Two months ago, I would have laughed if anyone suggested I’d be roughing up a couple of Academy girls in the park today. Then the bully duo moved into town. Staked out Cedar Park as their “center of power.” Saw fit to harass any Sadler High girl who happened to pass by before or after school. First, it was slurs that went unchallenged by girls who didn’t want to pick fights. It later evolved into demands for anything of “value”—to Beth and Liza, anything worth more than five dollars.
And finally, last week, the bullies hit a breaking point.
That is, they hit Avery on her way to the movie theater.
Her cheekbone didn’t crack, but her eye is still black and blue, and no amount of concealer can hide it. The day I had to sit through class with idiots whispering about “abusive boyfriends” in relation to my best friend was the day I decided the bully duo needed to be dealt with.
Mission accomplished.
Beth’s pained sobs echo across the park, and I lean around Avery’s hiding place to observe the fallen bully again. The blonde rocks back and forth on the pavement. Drools a blood-saliva mix. Whispers harsh swears in both English and French.
Liza has crawled out of the fountain and now shivers in the wintery air. Her soaked uniform clings to her body. She makes no sound as she trudges toward the incapacitated Beth, her eyes glued to the smashed teeth on the pavement. With me out of sight, she’s dropped her futile attempts to save face. Her bottom lip quivers. Her arms hug her torso. Her steps are wobbly and uneven. She’s taken on the air of what she really is: an insecure teenage girl with a tad more muscle than average.
I almost pity her. But Avery’s black eye crushed any sympathy I could have felt for Liza or Beth. They crossed a line and paid the price.
“Girls! What the hell are you doing?” And here comes the next installment of their bill.
Murray, the cop responsible for park security during weekday afternoons, strolls around the children’s jungle gym at exactly three-oh-five. And immediately notices the bully girls in plain sight. He surges toward them, face reddening as he comes to a dozen wrong conclusions. He points at Beth and throws an accusatory glare at Liza. “You two get into a fistfight? Huh?”
Liza sputters out nonsense, one useless fib after the other, until Murray’s seething glare shuts her up. Frantic, she scans the park from north to south but finds no one to blame for her predicament. And no one to save her. She is at the total mercy of a bitter old cop and the storm clouds overhead.
Any solid defense Liza comes up with wilts at the realization she can’t tell the truth. If she reveals I whooped her ass and Beth’s, the bully duo will be ridiculed by two schools’ worth of teens. The only thing she can do to maintain some shred of dignity is pretend she and Beth pissed each other off and went at it. But even that will deal irreparable harm to their reputations. It’s a lose-lose situation. Whatever Liza says, both she and Beth are screwed—and if either of them tries to get even in the future, the video gets a global release. As I warned them before the fight.
They’ve lost, and Liza knows it.
Beth isn’t coherent enough to know it yet. But she will be soon enough.
Avery’s fingers brush my injured hand, and her smile grows wider and wider as Murray chews out the bully girls. For the first time in a week, she looks unafraid. Like she believes the monsters haunting the dimmest corner of her eye have finally been vanquished.
She looks happy.
Oh, yeah. Totally worth the pain.
Once Murray finishes reaming out Liza and Beth, he calls an ambulance despite the former’s protests. When I hear the siren wailing in the distance, I tug Avery’s sleeve as a signal to leave, and together, we make our way out of Cedar Park through a rarely used dirt path, emerging onto North Hampton Street. The ambulance blows by us on its way to the park, lights blinking, bright and blinding, and I wonder if Beth’s horde of stolen goods is worth enough to pay her upcoming medical costs.
Avery nudges me with her elbow. “Hey, you want Carlos to take care of your hand?” She digs her phone out of her pocket and offers to call.
“Sure do. I can’t go home bloody. Mom might faint.”
Avery snorts. “She’ll still see the bandages.”
“I can pass those off as gym class injuries. I’ll claim I fell on the track or something.”
“Right. Track in November.”
“I said or something. Don’t mock me. I’m great at excuses.” I examine my hand. Four fingers have grown inflamed and inflexible. “It just takes me a few minutes to come up with a good story.”
“Why’s that?”
I bite my tongue for a moment and then reply, “Because my first instinct is to tell the best story. And the best story is always the truth.”
Sigue a la autora
| Página web | Goodreads | Tumblr |
No hay comentarios :
Publicar un comentario