"It could not be worse for ninth grader Becky Michigan on her first day at a new school, sitting in beet juice and staining her white jeans in a classroom about to fill up with students. In the nick of time, a gorgeous blonde boy named Danny comes in and offers his over-sized baseball jersey so she can cover up, get to the office, and change. By the time she pulls the shirt over her head, however, he has mysteriously disappeared.
Becky scours the school in search of her dream-athlete and wonders why after contact with him she has magically gained the ability to throw a fastball ninety miles per hour! Instead of finding the answer, however, Becky's new skill pits her against the school bully and the entire varsity baseball team.
That night, after her exciting showdown in front of the entire school, Danny shows up at her bedroom window. If she will agree to meet him behind Rutledge High at midnight on the ball field at the edge of the woods, he promises to reveal a secret meant to alter the past and change her life forever."
Purchase your copy here:
Nicholas Fisher is a college professor and
a sports enthusiast. He writes adult horror under another name, but thought of
the idea for Becky’s Kiss while
coaching his son’s baseball team. Since the story involved high school drama he
decided to write his first young adult piece. When not writing or teaching,
Nicholas Fisher enjoys pizza, reality television, and playing the banjo. He
lives in Pennsylvania with his wife and his son goes to Arizona State
University.Connect with the Author Here:
Top Ten
List –
Favorite things.
1)
Pizza
2)
Baseball
3)
Football
4)
Heavy Metal
5)
Horror Movies
6)
Autumn
7)
Tee Shirts With
Cool Logo Graphics
8)
Coffee Mugs With
Cool Designs on Them
9)
Red Mustangs and
Other Muscle Cars
10) My Red Mustang With the Black Ragtop
Excerpt
There
was only one place left to sit in the crowded cafeteria, at the empty table by
the trash cans next to the concrete support beam that had a poster of Frederick
Douglass on it. It was an old science desk at the edge of the walking aisle
separating the two halves of the room, and one of its legs was broken at the
base. The wobble-table. For losers.
One
kid was sitting there, the Asian boy from English class. He had stuck his math
book under the short leg, and was politely sipping soup, robotic and rigid,
nothing else on his tray but a couple of pieces of fruit. Becky walked over,
pulled out the chair across from him, and slipped off her backpack.
“What’s
your name?” she said.
He
was startled, but clearly glad he had a visitor.
“Joe,”
he said. “Joey Chen.” He smiled then, and even though he had funny
teeth, the expression had an interesting effect, like craft-show glass, like
sidewalk art. His eyes glinted. “You,”
he said, “are Becky Michigan.”
She
shrugged.
“Are
you new here?”
He
looked down at his soup.
“I
am from China. I been here one year, three months, eleven days.”
Becky
sighed. A whole year and he was eating lunch alone. And counting the days.
“You
like this great food?” she said.
“No.”
“Me
neither.”
“And
I don’t like bullies,” he said. “This place is full of them.”
Becky
sighed again, and then something hit her in the ear. The projectile rolled and
wobbled across the table, settling at the far edge. It was a grape. A purple
grape.
Another
one struck her right on the end of the nose, leaving a hint of moisture, making
her blink stupidly, and yet another plinked off her forehead. So immature!
Bullies, oh yes, Joey had a point now didn’t he? She pushed back her chair and
looked over in the general direction of the assault. There, across the aisle
and about eighteen rows down, was Cody Hatcher, the big kid who had been
teasing her in English class, sitting at the edge of the table with what seemed
to be four of his idiot friends, all of them laughing like hyenas, one stamping
his foot he was so overcome with the hilarity of it all. Hatcher stopped and
looked right at Becky. He reached in front of him and took a purple grape off
the stem. He put it in his mouth and chewed real slow. Swallowed. Licked his
top lip and winked. Then his friends were laughing again, slapping him on the
back.
Becky
didn’t think, she just acted. Joe didn’t have time to move. In a flash, she
reached across the table, knocked over his milk, grabbed his orange, and
pivoted back, side-stepping into the aisle. She had a split second to look at
her target, and Hatcher had his mouth open, all teeth, eyes up at the ceiling
he was laughing so hard.
She
kicked up a knee and spread her hands, throwing-arm dangling way low behind
her. There was a moment of perfect balance there, and then her body became a
machine: all hot fluid and angry levers. She stepped into it deep, cocked up
her arm, snapped her hips, and fired.
The
orange flew out of her hand as if on a clothesline. Even through the noise, she
could hear it hiss through the air, and heads turned with it as if in slow motion.
Hatcher had just enough time to adjust his eyes from the ceiling and focus on
what was coming. It hit him square in the forehead with a hard splat and his
hands flew up. It knocked him straight back out of his chair, and the fruit
ruptured in a blast of spray and peel.
People
roared. Gossip exploded, and Becky could hear a lot of “Did you see that?” and “Who is that girl?” and “What happened?” and “Did you see how freakin’ hard she
chucked that?” Everything was
echoing, sounding unreal, and the teachers on lunch duty were darting their
eyes all around to pinpoint exactly where the disturbance was. Becky got back
in her chair, and Joe had his mouth open.
Becky
was trying not to shake.
“He
had it coming,” she managed.
To view our blog schedual and follow along with this tour visit our
