Some Boys

  Shrugging, I take his hand, grab the cardigan. “Too cold. Come on.”

  Outside on the deck I pause for a second, pull out my camera—mine, not the school’s. I shoot the blur of shrieking kids, laughing adults, and way too many weird animals. Kody tugs me over to pet a snake. Chairs are dragged over to the table for us. Dad shoves a loaded plate into Ian’s hands, and Kristie admires my wardrobe adjustment. Ian snatches my camera, captures a shot of my dad and me just as Dad tells his friends, “This is my daughter. You know, she wore a burqa to school?” I blink in shock. I had no idea he’d even heard about that.

  I stare at the picture on screen—me looking fierce with my kick-ass T-shirt and pink sweater, while Dad looks down at me with pride in his eyes. I print the picture as soon as I get home and stick it to my mirror, right next to the one of me with Ian kissing my forehead.

  I grin at myself in the mirror. I didn’t break.

  Author’s Note

  When I was researching this novel, I learned about a courageous photographer whose work both haunted and inspired me, so I named my heroine Grace in her honor. Visit project-unbreakable.org for more information about Grace Brown and to view the compelling work she’s doing. Her photographs made me understand how victims of rape aren’t just victims of rape. They’re victims of bullying and shaming and even the justice system.

  I wrote Some Boys to shed light on this tendency to defend rape because the men and sometimes women who commit it aren’t monsters in masks hiding in the bushes. After no other crime does society turn on its victims the way it does when the crime is rape. And with the rise in social media, victim-blaming is going viral. It’s my profound hope that readers will recognize the rape myths they once believed were facts and change the way they think about and talk about rape.

  A young girl attends a party, has too much to drink, and is the victim of rape. She endures medical exams to collect evidence. She identifies her attacker. And the battle lines are drawn. The police ask her humiliating questions about her habits, her past relationships, her conduct. If her attacker is anyone other than a masked psychopath, his friends, teachers, or coaches rally to defend him by calling her a slut, taunting, threatening, and even harming her.

  This is not fiction. What happens in Some Boys is in the news every day. It’s what happens to 20 percent of college women and 4 percent of college men. It’s what happens every two minutes to somebody in America.

  If you’re the victim of sexual assault, I urge you to contact your local crisis hotline or go to www.rainn.org for help.

  You’re not alone.

  It’s not your fault.

  Some Boys

  Discussion Guide

  Questions about Some Boys

  1. What do you think is the main theme of Some Boys?

  2. In the opening scene, we learn Grace’s friends have turned away from her. Why do you think they did this?

  3. Each chapter in Some Boys alternates between Grace and Ian. What did you think about the ways Grace thinks about boys? What did you think about the ways Ian thinks about girls?

  4. Why do you think Ian searched Zac’s phone?

  5. During lit class, Grace class is reading The Taming of the Shrew. What similarities do you see between Grace and Shakespeare’s Kate?

  6. Throughout the story, Grace is criticized for the way she dresses. Why does she wear her costume? Why do you think Ian doesn’t like it?

  7. How would things have changed for Grace if she’d accepted her mother’s offer of that semester abroad?

  8. Throughout Some Boys, decisions by main characters Grace, Ian, and Zac are questioned. What about decisions made by supporting characters? Which decisions were good, and which were bad? Explain.

  Questions about You

  1. How do you think you’d respond if it were your friend who’d been raped or accused of rape?

  2. Rapes like Grace’s have occurred in towns across our country like Steubenville and Maryville. In what ways has reading Some Boys changed the ways you think about how rape crimes are investigated? How would you change the law?

  3. Also in the news frequently is the subject of rape culture. What do you think rape culture is, and how do the events in Some Boys support the existence of such a culture? How do you think rape culture can be eliminated?

  4. Which lesson in Some Boys most influenced you?

  5. How do the events in Some Boys change the ways you might approach intimacy?

  Acknowledgments

  This was such an emotionally hard book to write, and I owe debts of gratitude to a number of people for helping me through it. Hugs and kisses to all my guys, Fred, Robert, and Christopher, who’d catch me sobbing over my keyboard but wisely would not interrupt me. To John Grebe Jr., a big high five for helping me with the lacrosse scenes. To Lauren Gilbert and the Sachem Public Library, thank you for the countless sources you provided while I researched rape and those who commit it.

  To all the members of the Long Island Romance Writers, RWA Chapter 160, *roars*! Thank you for your support, advice, cheerleading, and sanity preservation as I wrote this story while I honored my commitments to our chapter.

  Enormous thanks to Aubrey Poole, the Sourcebooks team, and my agent, Evan Gregory, for giving me this shot at the hat trick—three published novels! A dream come true. Loud shout-out to the Sourcebooks design team for the amazing cover and not hating me (too much?) for my nitpicks. Extra-special thanks to Alyssa-Susannah, better known as The Eater of Books, and to Amy Del Rosso, Lady Reader’s Bookstuff—and all book bloggers because without your passion for books, my stories would never find readers. I can’t thank you enough.

  Thank you to Jeannie Moon and Jeff Somers for providing not only emergency readings of the manuscript but the feedback it desperately needed to take it to even greater heights than I could have managed alone.

  Love and gratitude and all the chocolate to my Twitter friends for your continued guidance, humor, and support, and to my Book Hungry ladies, Kelly Breakey, Abby Mumford, Blake Leyers, and Karla Nellenbach, for your cheerleading, feedback, and senses of humor.

  About the Author

  Powered by chocolate, Patty Blount writes technical information by day and fiction by night. On a dare by her oldest son, she wrote her first novel in an ice rink. Her debut novel, Send, was inspired by a manager’s directive to use social media. Passionate about happily-ever-afters, Patty frequently falls in love with fictional characters only to suffer a broken heart at the closing of each book. When she’s not reading or writing, Patty enjoys hanging out with her family on Long Island and hearing from readers who love her characters as much as she does.

  SEND

  Patty Blount

  All Daniel Ellison wants is to be invisible.

  It’s been five years since he clicked Send, five years since his life made sense. Now he has a second chance in a new town where nobody knows who he is. Or what he’s done. But on his first day at school, Dan sees a kid being picked on. And instead of turning away like everyone else, he breaks it up. Because Dan knows what it’s like to be terrorized by a bully—he used to be one.

  Now the whole school thinks he’s some kind of hero—except Julie Murphy. She looks at him like she knows he has a secret. Like she knows his name isn’t really Daniel.

  Read on for an

  excerpt from Send

  A punch to the jaw wasn’t how I imagined starting my first day at another new school, but fate had a warped sense of humor.

  As a big jock pinned a skinny nerd to the dusty hood of a Civic, I wondered how I, a guy famous for causing a tragedy, was now the only person around to prevent one. I scanned the parking lot, but it was deserted except for the two guys locked in a tense clinch and me. If I’d left a minute later or gotten stuck at one more traffic light, I could have been just another kid on the cafeteria line, hearing the buzz. “Hey, did you hear about the fight in the parking lot this morning?” Instead, I was the skinny kid’s only hope.

  Can you s
ay “ironic”? an annoying voice asked in my mind. Suppose you plan to swoop in and save this kid or something.

  On a rising tide of panic, I realized I had no other choice. The skinny kid looked ready to pee his pants.

  The voice in my head snorted. You’re an idiot.

  I rolled my eyes but didn’t bother saying anything out loud. Engaging the voice in conversation only amped up its determination to annoy the crap out of me.

  You have two options, the voice said. Do something or do nothing.

  Yeah. Thanks for that probing insight. With a loud sigh, I cursed my luck and the god who took such perverted delight in twisting it. I guess suffering the kind of trauma I had probably caused some mental health issues.

  Probably?

  Okay, I amended with an eye roll, definitely some mental health issues. As long as I didn’t actually listen to a thing the voice told me to do, I wasn’t technically crazy, right? I didn’t need help, especially the kind that comes from a little white pill or, worse, a mandatory hospital stay. I had it under control.

  Dude, be smart. You break up this fight, you’re making an enemy, and you can’t afford that, not if you want to keep your secret. Just ignore it.

  For most people, the little voice in their heads was the voice of reason, a conscience or something. But mine was more like a mirror that reflected the things about me I wished nobody could ever see. He said to ignore it because he knew I’d want to more than anything else in the world.

  Because he knew I couldn’t.

  “You’re a loser, Dellerman! Always were, always will be.”

  Cruel words, words I’d heard—worse—words I’d used dozens of times struck the kid called Dellerman, making him flinch.

  I grabbed the door handle.

  Don’t do it, man.

  Save your breath. We both already knew that I would. I lived with one kid’s blood on my hands. I couldn’t handle one more.

  The jock was built like some prehistoric caveman, all protruding facial bones and muscle. Lots of muscle. He hauled Dellerman off the Civic’s hood by the kid’s shirt and shook him. The tendons in Dellerman’s thin neck popped into view as he struggled. I opened my car door, rehearsing how I’d tell my parents why we’d have to move again after what I was about to do.

  You think saving this one is gonna make up for the one you killed?

  The words pounded a stake through my heart. I shook it off with a don’t-you-get-it laugh. I was hoping to save three, not one. Forgiveness was too much to ask for, and I understood that. But maybe a bit of mercy wasn’t. If I did enough good things, maybe I wouldn’t spend eternity barbecuing over an open pit in hell. Sure, I didn’t want to see this Dellerman kid beaten up, but I also hoped to spare the caveman from the regrets that kicked my ass every damn day.

  The caveman would probably not understand my decision to butt in. Okay, he definitely wouldn’t understand. But eventually, everybody looks back on the stuff they used to do and winces. For most people, that regret doesn’t set in until some milestone birthday, but for me, it happened when I was thirteen and a judge sentenced me to nine months in juvenile detention. I’d regretted a lot of stuff since then.

  “I’m saving us all,” I said, too loud. Captain Caveman spun at the sound of my voice as I shoved out of my car. He appraised me but didn’t release Dellerman. He wasn’t as tall as me; I knew he was considering his chances. He didn’t know they weren’t very good.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Just leave the kid alone and I’ll leave you alone.”

  He taunted me with lips curled into a mocking grin and a bring-it-on wiggle of his fingers. “Oh, I’m not worried about you.”

  He should have been worried. If he had a brain, he’d have been terrified. According to the state of New Jersey, I was dangerous, a menace to the society it had removed me from for nearly a year.

  He threw a punch that I easily blocked. I heard running footsteps behind me and spun. A security guard and a teacher were coming for us. I also saw something else.

  A girl. Staring at me from the front seat of a black pickup.

  Dude, duck. The warning came a second too late, which he’d probably planned.

  The fist that connected with my face clinched it for me. God was bullied as a kid.

  • • •

  First rule of engagement: never turn your back on a threat.

  I was on my hands and knees on the grassy median that divided the parking lot, my head thick and curdled from being sucker punched, but even that wasn’t enough to silence the voice.

  When I look inside me for the voice, I see me but yet…not me, not exactly. More like a version of me, the me I used to be at thirteen. All gangly limbs, big feet, and bad skin. I call him Kenny and try to keep him bound to a dark, empty corner of my mind. If I could find a way to gag him too, I’d be psyched. As hard as I fight to forgive myself for what I did to Liam Murphy, Kenny fights as hard to make sure I can’t. I figure he’s just one more part of God’s Wrath Plan I’d put in motion five years earlier when I was thirteen.

  “Shut up,” I told him, out loud.

  “What?”

  That wasn’t Kenny’s voice. I forced my head up. My eyes blurred and finally focused on three worried faces, four if I counted the one that existed only in my mind. And I didn’t.

  Like I care.

  I squinted up at the most beautiful girl I thought I’d ever seen. I was having trouble focusing on anything but her face.

  “What happened?” the teacher had asked. My stomach pitched when I got a clear look at him. He wasn’t a teacher. He was Mr. Morris, the freakin’ principal. He was the reason I was at school so early. We had an appointment before first period.

  Dude, Kenny chuckled. You’re so doomed.

  “Jeff Dean was going to beat up Brandon Dellerman, but this guy jumped out of his car, walked right up between them, and stopped them. Jeff hit him when he wasn’t looking.”

  Her words somehow penetrated the thick swamp that still choked my thoughts. She saw me jump out of my car? She saw me step between them? If she saw all that, why the hell didn’t she try to stop them? She was a girl. She would have been safe from the caveman, and I would still be the nameless new guy.

  You don’t know that for sure.

  True, I was forced to admit. But still. Breaking up fights before the first bell wasn’t the best way to stay invisible.

  The girl turned back to me and asked with a taunting grin, “You okay?”

  Hatred, waves of it, rolled over me, pulling me under. She’d stood there, cool and blond and…and…fucking perfect, watching, just watching. She could have stopped it, could have helped. Instead, she’d done nothing. Damn, she was beautiful, like ice in sunlight. Her eyes, a cold blue with black rims, mocked me from behind trendy wire frames. Gold hair spilled around her face, but there was nothing, nothing but the cold. I hated her, hated her down to my bone marrow for what she’d made me do, what she’d made me risk. Mostly, I hated her because she had no idea.

  “I’m fine.” I scrambled to my feet, my face hot.

  “Mr. Ellison, I want you to go straight inside and see the nurse,” the principal said. “Our appointment can wait until after.”

  Mr. Morris knew about my record. That’s why he wanted to talk to me. There was no reason why that meeting couldn’t take place. My head and face ached, but I’d live. I opened my mouth to tell him so, but he turned to the cold blond.

  “Miss Murphy, show Mr. Ellison to the nurse’s office and then come see me. I want to hear exactly what went on here.” The principal turned to address other students now gathering around to watch.

  I groaned, but it wasn’t at the bark of laughter from inside my head or Miss Murphy’s huff of annoyance. It was her name. Of course, it would be Murphy. I turned my eyes to heaven and cursed again. I’d met a Murphy at every school I’d attended, just one more daily reminder of the kid I’d killed.

  My face heated as M
iss Murphy continued glaring.

  “You’re shaking.” She put her hands on me, eyes narrowed, searching me up and down for signs of serious injury, but it wasn’t concern I saw in her eyes.

  It looked a lot like satisfaction.

  Fuck this. Fuck her. As I shoved past, I got a good whiff of her, and my mind blanked on everything except how freakin’ good she smelled. She smelled like the beach. Tropical fruit or something exotic. Like sunblock lotion. I loved the beach. Of all the things I’d missed during the months I’d spent in juvenile detention, summer on the water headed the list. Long Island had tons of beaches, another reason I was determined to not mess up this time. Holtsville was the fourth or fifth town we’d tried since I’d killed Liam Murphy.

  I wanted to stay here.

  Liam killed himself, Kenny corrected, and I sneered.

  See, Kenny thinks he’s playing me. A few minutes ago, he’s making digs that I killed Liam and now it’s “Liam killed himself.” If I say “up,” he says “down.” That’s what he does. Since the first night I spent locked up, he waterboards my soul. Relentlessly. I knew his game now, so I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. Not out loud anyway. I was having such a great first day of school; talking to myself would have made it just perfect. Come to think of it, ruining my first day at another new school was probably Kenny’s plan all along.

  Yeah. I live to serve.

  “I’m fine.” I shrugged. “Just got the breath knocked out of me.”

  Miss Murphy’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Yeah, well, Jeff Dean will be telling a totally different story.”

  My vision reddened at her taunt. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll set everybody straight, since you saw the whole damn thing.” I heard her suck in air. Good. I guess nobody ever talked to Voyeur Barbie like that before. I scanned the parking lot’s trimmed lawn, tree-lined borders, and rows of parking spots but saw no sign of the caveman. “What happened to him anyway?”