Come one, come all – it’s the YA SCAVENGER HUNT! One of the most exciting events in the blogosphere is on now.
YASH fall 2014 is now CLOSED! Watch out for the spring hunt coming in 2015.
I’m Teri Harman, author of magic and wonder, and I’m pleased to be your hostess on this leg of the hunt.
On this hunt, you not only get access to exclusive content from each participating YA author, you also get a secret number. Add up the numbers, and enter it for a chance to win a major prize–one lucky winner will receive at least one signed book from each author on my team in the hunt! But play fast: this contest (and all the exclusive bonus material) will only be online until noon PST on Sunday, October 5th!
You can start right here or you can also go to the YA Scavenger Hunt homepage to find out all about the hunt.
There are several contests going on simultaneously, and you can enter one or all of them! I am a part of the GOLD TEAM–but there are also lots of other teams and if you do those hunts too you’ll have a chance to win a whole different set of signed books!
Directions: Below, you’ll notice that I’ve listed my favorite number. Collect the favorite numbers of all the authors on the gold team, and then add them up (don’t worry, you can use a calculator!). Hint: the secret number is highlighted in
Entry Form: Once you’ve added up all the numbers, make sure you fill out the form here to officially qualify for the grand prize. Only entries that have the correct number will qualify.
Rules: Open internationally. Anyone below the age of 18 should have a parent or guardian’s permission to enter. To be eligible for the grand prize, you must submit the completed entry form by October 5th, at noon Pacific Time. Entries sent without the correct number or without contact information will not be considered.
Now that all the technical stuff is out of the way, I’ll introduce the author I am hosting on this hunt.
I am super excited to be hosting…
Kimberly’s Bio: Kimberly Derting once wanted to be a “foxy lady trucker” but changed her mind when she took seventh grade journalism and hasn’t looked back since. These days, she watches WAY too much TV, orders 20+ boxes of Nerds gumballs off the internet, and loves to complain about the rain even though she lives in Seattle where it rains ALL the time!
I haven’t had the chance to read Kimberly’s books yet, but they sound fabulous. And it’s cool that we both have
THREE (yes, 3)
kids. Mine are also quite loud and mouthy at times.
Now the good stuff.
Kimberly is showcasing her book, THE TAKING.
Here’s the scoop:
A flash of white light . . . and then . . . nothing.
When sixteen-year-old Kyra Agnew wakes up behind a Dumpster at the Gas ‘n’ Sip, she has no memory of how she got there. With a terrible headache and a major case of déjà vu, she heads home only to discover that five years have passed . . . yet she hasn’t aged a day.
Everything else about Kyra’s old life is different. Her parents are divorced, her boyfriend, Austin, is in college and dating her best friend, and her dad has changed from an uptight neat-freak to a drunken conspiracy theorist who blames her five-year disappearance on little green men.
Confused and lost, Kyra isn’t sure how to move forward unless she uncovers the truth. With Austin gone, she turns to Tyler, Austin’s annoying kid brother, who is now seventeen and who she has a sudden undeniable attraction to. As Tyler and Kyra retrace her steps from the fateful night of her disappearance, they discover strange phenomena that no one can explain, and they begin to wonder if Kyra’s father is not as crazy as he seems. There are others like her who have been taken . . . and returned. Kyra races to find an explanation and reclaim the life she once had, but what if the life she wants back is not her own?
Sounds amazing, right? Yes, yes, it does.
So now, KIMBERLY’S FANTASTIC BONUS MATERIAL . . .
This is a sneak peak at the sequel to THE TAKING, THE REPLACED . . .
“Don’t be stupid,” Agent Truman intoned. There was something cagey in the way he moved, and my heart picked up a beat, and then another as I kept my eyes trained on him. It wasn’t just that he didn’t back away like the others; he was up to something. He put his hands up placatingly, and even his voice became somehow less threatening. “These guys haven’t done anything wrong. Leave them out of it.”
These guys—it was a strange way for him to phrase it, since I was including him in my threat. But the guys in question looked relieved, like they were glad he was offering them an out.
They didn’t want the dreaded Code Red, which was what they called it when someone was infected by our blood, any more than I wanted to take a bullet through my shoulder. I might heal, but it would still hurt like a mother.
A few men backed up another step, but Simon must’ve sensed the same thing I did, that Agent Truman was up to something, and he called out a warning. “Don’t move! Everyone, just stay where you are.” When they all did as he ordered, freezing in place, I finally started to believe we might actually pull this thing off. Then he said, “Get her off that thing,” and Thom slipped past me, and past the guards, to Willow.
No one stopped Thom. No one so much as lifted a finger when he unfastened the straps, or when Willow jumped up, sending the gurney crashing to the glass tiles beneath us.
“You’re making a big mistake.” Agent Truman was still inching toward us, his face devoid of fear.
“Seriously. Stop where you are,” I said, part of me hoping Natty would go through with it when the time came, but hoping almost as hard that she’d chicken out.
We never got the chance to find out.
Thom tried to warn us, Willow too, with their shouts of “Behind you!” and “Run!” But it was too late for warnings because suddenly Simon was tackled from behind. I recognized the soldier who took him down because I could never forget those eyes—ice blue. The same guy Simon and I had knocked out with Jett’s sleeping gas. He grinned down in Simon’s face. “Got you now, you little piss.”
Natty was slammed from the side, and her gun toppled to the floor, skittering noisily across the tiles and coming to rest against one of the tall glass cylinders. In the sudden chaos, Thom went down too, hurled to the ground, and buried beneath a pile of bodies.
Willow, who’d just gotten to her feet, had this strange faraway look in her eyes, like she was dazed, and I was sure I knew why: they’d drugged her. Just one more reason we had to get her out of here.
I was the only one of our group still standing and able to fight.
Now it was just me and him—Agent Truman.
The back of my head ached. It burned and buzzed, and I tried to place the sensation.
I looked back at Agent Truman . . . and past him, to the central lab. To the glass tubes and the gurneys and the soldiers who could ruin everything.
Agent Truman started toward me, when the explosion happened. It wasn’t the ground-shaking explosion of pyrotechnics, but a sudden-unexpected-out-of-nowhere burst that sent glass torpedoing in all directions.
I ducked my head instinctively. Shards of glass littered the tile floor. When I glanced up again, I saw that it had been one of the human-sized canisters. It had spontaneously exploded.
No, not spontaneously, I realized, when I caught Agent Truman’s incredulous eyes shoot my way.
Me. I’d done that.
“My suit!” one of the soldiers shouted. “It’s been compromised.”
He’d been caught by a piece of flying glass.
Agent Truman crossed the floor, his feet grinding through crushed glass, almost meeting me but not quite. I eyed his cast. I imagined myself on the pitching mound. This was it, my clutch play.
Fast, like the wind-up release of a pitch, I reached behind my back and closed my fingers behind the grip of the gun hidden in the waist of my jeans, just beneath my T-shirt. Even before my shoulder had whipped back around, my thumb found that sweet spot, the safety, and released it.
I studied him, waiting to see what his game plan was, because everyone—pitcher, batter, coach, NSA agent—had some sort of plan. I did. Agent Truman did.
But my dad used to tell me, Whoever blinks first loses, so I waited for it.
“Shoot me, and your friends here all die.” That was his blink. He was threatening me, letting me know I should give up because he didn’t want to die.
I had him. “Who said anything about shooting you?” I pointed the gun at my thigh, and because I couldn’t stomach the idea of killing everyone in the room, I said, “This isn’t a bluff. This whole place is about to go Code Red in three . . . two . . .”
And that was it. I had them. Not all of them, maybe. There would be two left, but two in hazmat suits were better than a dozen. They knew it and we knew it too.
Soldiers scrambled for exits as if we’d set the place on fire. Thom was released and grabbed for Willow, who wobbled slightly but kept her balance.
I’d planned to say “I told you so” to that SOB Agent Truman, but the last thing I remembered was the sensation of my leg being ripped wide open, and then everything going black.
NOW – HUNT ON! The next number in the hunt can be found on RACHEL CARTER’s BLOG.