Title: Sister Pact
Author: Stacie Ramey
Genre: YA, Contemporary
Publisher: Sourcebooks Fire
Release Date: 1st November 2015
BLURB supplied by Sourcebooks Fire
Who holds your secrets?
Allie is devastated when her older sister
commits suicide- and it’s not just because she missed her. Allie feels
betrayed. The two made a pact that they’d always be together, in life and in
death, but Leah broke her promise and Allie needs to know why.
Her parents hover. Her friends try to
support her. And Nick, sweet Nick, keeps calling and flirting. Their sympathy
only intensifies her grief.
But the more she clings to Leah, the more
secrets surface. Allie’s not sur which is more distressing: discovering the
truth behind her sister’s death or facing her new reality without her.
PURCHASE LINKS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stacie Ramey learned to read at a very early age to escape the endless tormenting from her older siblings. She attended the University of Florida where she majored in communication sciences and Penn State where she received a Master of Science in Speech Pathology. When she’s not writing, she engages in Netflix wars with her children or beats her husband in Scrabble. She lives in Florida with her husband, three children, and two rescue dogs
AUTHOR LINKS
EXCERPT
Liquid inspiration from the Nyquil bottle makes me feel
like I should paint something for Leah. Let her know I get it now. Maybe I
didn’t always when she was alive. Maybe I didn’t listen when she tried to tell
me things.
I open the door and look out
into the hallway. Lights off, TV on downstairs. Mom’s check-out gives me the
clear shot I need. In the garage I find the white paint from the trim in my
room and the tools and brushes. Everything seems really clear right now. And
brilliant. I feel sort of brilliant. Like every part of my brain is working.
Back in my room I shake the
can of paint and open it with a screwdriver and hammer, trying hard not to
spill it on my hardwood floors. Too late.
My curtains are in the way, so
I rip them off the rod. I have to stand on my window bench to reach as high as
I need. I start to paint, not knowing what I’m doing until the image forms on
the wall, like magic. By the time I’ve painted the point of convergence on my
window where the pink diamond goes, I recognize it. I painted it like it was
burned into my brain. But I guess I knew all the time even as it materialized.
I’ve made Leah’s ring.
I sit back and admire my work.
I hope wherever she is, she sees this and knows I’m sorry. A shooting pain goes
through my head and my eyes try to adjust to the blinding light the sun throws
as it sets. Spiky rays of light come from the sunburst that flashes through my
painting, making it seem like it’s alive.
I blink away the brightness
and try to let my eyes settle. When I open them again I’m confused. Because I
see Leah standing there. Really standing there. I steady my gaze and look
again. I’m not imagining it. She’s there, surrounded by light, kind of outlined
in it. Like one of my rendering sketches.
I want to reach for her, ask her if she’s
really here, but when I blink again, her image disappears and I know it’s just
my guilt and my need that’s bringing her to me. Even if she can’t stay.
I close up the paint cans and take them
and the medicine bottle downstairs. The paint and tools go back into the garage
and the brush gets washed in the sink and left to dry on a bottom shelf of the
garage. I turn the water on in the sink and run my hand over its stainless
steel surface, careful to wash all the remnants of my painting party down the
drain. Finally I wrap the medicine bottle in newspaper and push it to the
bottom of the trashcan, making certain that it’s completely covered. One thing
Leah taught me was how to hide your party.
When I’m done, I walk back up to my
bathroom, and brush my teeth, trying not to look in the mirror too long. As if
my crazy would show somehow. I crawl into bed, setting my alarm for the
morning. First day of school. I put my hands together in the prayer position
and put them under my cheek.
I think about what I just did and try not
to worry about what it means. It’s too much allows the headache to creep back
in, crouching and ready to spring. I’ll close my eyes and go to sleep, and hope
that tomorrow will be okay. I know it’s not what I should be doing. I know I’m
copping out, but I can’t help it.
I’m living my life in tiny squares.
Checker board moves. I go forward. I go backward. I jump. Each play means
something. Each turn matters. The most important thing is to keep moving. To
not get jumped. Sometimes a little Nyquil helps that. They don’t call it
medicine for nothing.
***GIVEAWAY***
This is a US/Canada Giveaway ONLY
(Apologies to everyone else)
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