“Happy adulthood,” Katrina said when she and Mr. Kale arrived. She handed me a hastily wrapped package, grinning as I opened it.
It was a clear glass bottle, filled with nasty-looking red liquid.
“Katrina.” Mr. Kale growled disapproval, but she ignored him.
“If the girl can nearly destroy the world and then save it, she can have a drink to celebrate. I call it red lightning. It’s basically the same as white lightning, but with a few minor adjustments. Enjoy!”
“Thanks,” I said, touched. I unscrewed the cap and took a swig straight from the bottle. It went down smoother than ever.
Katrina took out her flask and clinked it against the bottle. “To the calm before the storm,” she said.
“Don’t you mean after?”
She and Mr. Kale shared a secretive glance that made me nervous.
“Yes,” Katrina said. “After.”
We drank.
“Of course,” Katrina added, “there’ll always be another storm.”
Mr. Kale held a wrapped package as well, though now he was shifting it behind his back, like he wanted me to forget I’d seen it.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Katrina elbowed her uncle, suddenly serious. “Give it to her.”
“She won’t want it,” Mr. Kale muttered under his breath.
“Uncle Kale,” Katrina said, her voice softening. “It’s hers, whether she wants it or not.”
My former English teacher nodded and sighed and held out the package to me.
I smiled weakly as I accepted it. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” I mumbled as I peeled open the wrapping paper. A swatch of red fabric was revealed, along with a black ceramic mask.
“It belonged to my sister,” Mr. Kale said. “I hope it fits.”
I took another swig from the bottle of red lightning.
It was after midnight by the time the party ended. Mom was exhausted, but pleased with how things had gone. She wanted to start cleaning up, but I convinced her that she had done enough, and Parker, Jeremy, and I would handle the cleanup tomorrow.
“Happy birthday, Mia,” Mom said, and hugged me for a long time. She and I had gone for a walk around our neighborhood earlier that day, just the two of us. I brought the pepper spray Militiaman Brent had given me, but there was no need for it. Everything was calm. For now, at least.
Mom had stopped in front of an empty, half-collapsed house. The yard was overgrown, but the flowers were thriving even without anyone to care for them. She knelt down and picked a small bouquet.
“I miss him,” Mom had said. That was all. I didn’t ask whom she was referring to, Dad, or Owen, or maybe even Prophet. At home, Mom put the flowers in a vase and set it in the middle of the kitchen table. It was amazing how much those flowers did to brighten up the room. Now, with Mom hugging me, I could see the little bouquet over her shoulder, and it made me smile.
“Do you feel older?” Parker asked me after Mom went to bed, and it was just me, him, and Jeremy sitting around the kitchen table.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Eighty years sounds about right.”
Parker didn’t laugh. His eyes were serious.
Jeremy, sensing that my brother and I needed a moment alone, excused himself.
“I never told you I’m sorry,” Parker said. “For when I said I didn’t want to stand by you anymore. I didn’t mean that.”
I put my eyes in my lap. “It’s okay if you did.”
“No.” Parker shook his head, making his shaggy blond hair sweep his eyebrows. “I’ll always stand by you, from now on. I promise.”
I forced a smile. “Okay,” I said, even though I hoped neither of us had to choose between family and obligation ever again.
Jeremy was waiting for me in my bedroom. I’d told him earlier that day what I wanted for my birthday. I considered lighting a few candles, but decided Jeremy and I had enough fire between us.
Jeremy came to me and put his arms around me. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
The fire in my blood sang its favorite song.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yesssss …
Instead of answering, I reached up with my mouth and kissed him, a kiss that started gentle and exploratory, but quickly turned to more of a hostile takeover.
We fell onto the bed. My hands trailed over Jeremy’s back, and his hands were beneath me, and in my hair.
Then he pulled back.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. My blood was begging for more.
“I never saw this,” he said. “You and me together. I never saw it coming.”
I glanced at my nightstand, where the Lovers card lay faceup.
I kissed Jeremy. “I did.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
You know the saying “It takes a village to raise a child”? Well, the same goes for books.
Thank you to my villagers.
To my agent, Jamie Weiss Chilton, for taking a chance on this book and working tirelessly to help me whip it into shape. And for being a friend. Here’s to many years of coffee excursions.
To my editor, Janine O’Malley, who is truly a writer’s editor.
To my early readers, Ann Masters, D. J. Kirkbride, Lori Hildreth Walker, Christine Lanoie, Sandra Ramirez, Loara Cadavona, and Anastasia Stanecki.
To the J Crew, Julie Weinbach, Jason Porter, Jodi Rothman Moore, and J’Laurie Zerwer. Great company and mediocre food forever!
To the writers who’ve been there for me even when “Shadow Jenn” took over: Sara Wilson Etienne, Edith Cohn, Lamar Giles, Jessica Brody, and Christine Silk. I’m lucky to have you.
To my parents, for stocking their bookshelves with strange and dangerous books. To my mom, whose voracious reading habits rubbed off on me. To my dad, for all the bedtime stories that sparked my imagination.
To the Bosworth family, who let me into their inner circle.
To the incredibly talented, creative, and hardworking cast and crew of the Struck book trailer: Stephanie Rae Anderson, Alix Maria Taulbee, Nicci Faires, Kevin Joy, Sebastian Siegel, Kelly Ryan, Tristan Whitman, Tahlee Booher, Mario Amadeu, Jack Brungardt, Terra Brody, Jackie Fanara, David Chase, Iggy Scarpitti, Oscar Arvizu, Jessica Brody, and Erin Cathcart. To the Rove extras who danced like there was no tomorrow, and to the Followers who braved pouring rain and flooding streets dressed all in white to be on set and look creepy. You know who you are.
To the city of Los Angeles, for being my haven.
And most of all, to my husband, Ryan, for being my greatest supporter, my greatest inspiration, my greatest love. Lightning struck for us.
About the Author
Jennifer Bosworth lives in Los Angeles, California, where lightning hardly ever strikes, but when it does she takes cover. She is the writer half of a writer/director team with her husband, Ryan Bosworth. Learn more about her at www.jenniferbosworth.com.
STRUCK
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 45348 3
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Random House Group Company
This ebook edition published 2012
Copyright © Jennifer Bosworth, 2012
Cover illustration copyright © Steve Stone
First Published in Great Britain
Doubleday Childrens 9780857530950 2012
The right of Jennifer Bosworth to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Jennifer Bosworth, Struck
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