Title: Ask Me by Kimberly Pauley
Release Date: April 8th 2014
Summary:
Ask Aria Morse anything, and she must answer with the truth. Yet she rarely understands the cryptic words she‘s compelled to utter. Blessed—or cursed—with the power of an Oracle who cannot decipher her own predictions, she does her best to avoid anyone and everyone.
But Aria can no longer hide when Jade, one of the few girls at school who ever showed her any kindness, disappears. Any time Aria overhears a question about Jade, she inadvertently reveals something new, a clue or hint as to why Jade vanished. But like stray pieces from different puzzles, her words never present a clear picture.
Then there’s Alex, damaged and dangerous, but the first person other than Jade to stand up for her. And Will, who offers a bond that seems impossible for a girl who’s always been alone. Both were involved with Jade. Aria may be the only one who can find out what happened, but the closer she gets to solving the crime, the more she becomes a target. Not everyone wants the truth to come out.
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Excerpt:
Chapter 1
“Who Cares What the Question Is?” by The Bees
The problem
with prophecy is that someone has to actually ask the right question at the
right time for me to produce the answer to it. Otherwise, I’m as adrift in the
world as anyone else. Maybe more. The day that changed my life and the lives of
everyone around me started the same as any other day, though technically things
had been set in motion the night before. I just didn’t know it then.
It was a
typical morning with Granddad Porter reading the paper or, more likely,
studying the dog pages for the track. I sat down at the old wooden table in our
tiny dining room and poured myself a glass of juice from the carafe. I took a
sip and grimaced. Granddad gave me a knowing grin and tapped the side of his
coffee mug, even though he knew I couldn’t stand coffee. I might have to
develop a liking for it though, if I had any hope of keeping my taste buds.
Grandma Ellie’s juice concoction was far too heavy on the grapefruit that
morning. She always said it was good to start the day with something sour, so
everything else would seem sweet after. But if the truth were told, I think her
taste buds gave up in disgust years ago.
“I’m thinking
I might try getting the Powerball numbers out of you again,” Granddad said. I
rolled my eyes. He’d been working on that ever since I’d moved in with them
when I was thirteen, but my prophetic “gift” apparently didn’t want us to be
independently wealthy. It didn’t seem to matter how he asked, the answer always
came out as a cryptic riddle he could never figure out until after the numbers
were picked. It wasn’t my fault though. I’d tell him the numbers if I could. He
knew I had no control over my answers. I think he enjoyed the challenge. It was
like a running family joke between us.
“You leave the
girl alone, Porter, you hear me?” Gran called from the kitchen. “She doesn’t
need any of your foolishness before school.” She poked her head in the doorway
and waved a wooden spoon threateningly in his direction. “Pancakes and sausage
in three minutes, Aria. Don’t fill yourself up on juice.” She disappeared back
into the kitchen.
Granddad
leaned forward and whispered to me, glancing at the kitchen as he did. There
was little enough privacy in our house, but after the door between the kitchen
and dining room had rotted off its hinges a few months ago, it was even worse.
I could see the swish of Gran’s skirt as she whisked back and forth between the
stove and the counter. “So, Aria…we could use a spot of help this month, even
if it isn’t the Lotto. Don’t want to worry Ellie about it.” He gave another
furtive look toward the kitchen. What that really meant was that he was going
to ask me for something that she wouldn’t want to participate in. She didn’t believe
in divination for personal gain, even when we were flat broke. Gran had lost
her ability to prophesize years ago, when she turned seventeen. She still cast
the stones, but the only answers you could find that way were far more general
than specific. Not the kind of help Granddad was looking for.
I nodded and
he scooted his chair a little closer to the table.
“So, could you
tell me who’s going to win the third race?” He leaned over to put the tip sheet
in front of me. I waved it away. It wasn’t necessary.
I let myself
go loose so I wouldn’t interfere with the answer. Usually I’m trying to hold it
back and it felt strange and freeing to let it all go. “Your gambling away may
bring loss easily. Question it,” I said, then paused to gather myself. “Sorry,
Granddad. I guess that won’t help much.”
I sighed. It
was times like these I wished I had any amount of control over what came out of
my mouth. Gran may not approve, but giving tips to Granddad was the only way I
had found to contribute. Money had been tight since I had moved in and it
wasn’t like mom or dad ever sent any funds our way to help out with things. It
had been months since I’d heard anything from either one of them and that had
only been a birthday card signed by Janice, Dad’s second wife. He hadn’t even
bothered to scribble his own name on it. No money in it either, just a generic
card with a teddy bear on the front. Apparently, they still thought I was seven
instead of seventeen.
“No, no, I
think that might do it,” said Granddad, chewing on his stub of a pencil. “The
long odds are on a dog called Y Gamble? Clever. The odds-on favorite is Bonnie
Ballyhoo, but I think I’ll put my money on the other fellow.” He grinned and
winked as he leaned back in his chair. “Just don’t tell Ellie.”
“Don’t tell
Ellie what, you old dog?” Gran came in with a platter full of pancakes and
sausage.
“Nothing!”
said Granddad loudly. I mumbled something under my breath about fools and money
that probably neither one of them would have wanted to hear. That was a trick I
used all the time. People were always asking questions and the only way I could
leave the house and go out in public without attracting too much attention was
to go ahead and answer as quietly as I could. One of the names the kids at
school called me was The Mumbler. It was one of the nicer ones.
Not answering
a question I overheard wasn’t possible. The longest I’d ever made it without
answering had been ten minutes and that had been on a small, inconsequential
question. Those minutes had been the most uncomfortable moments of my life.
Well, physically painful, anyway. If we wanted to talk emotional pain, I had
lots of stories to tell, stretching back years, back to when I’d first been
cursed with the ‘gift’ of prophecy at age twelve.
“Hmmmphf,”
said Gran. She set down the plate and picked up the paper, pretending not to
notice as the dog pages fell out onto the table. Granddad swept them onto the
floor and kicked them under the table where chances were he’d forget them.
I took two
pancakes and poured some honey over them; grateful Gran hadn’t tried to pass
off one of her homemade orange marmalades on us this morning. She never used
enough sugar. The fact that the few tourists who came through Lake Mariah
bought them never failed to amaze me. I supposed “quaint” counted for
something. Either that or they were charity purchases. Probably the latter. It
was pretty obvious to anyone that came by our roadside stand that we were
terminally broke.
“Oh,” said
Gran. She put the paper down on the table.
“What?” I
asked. There was something about the way she’d said it that made me think of
how she sounded when she talked about my mom, her absentee daughter.
“A hit and
run.” She slid the newspaper even farther away on the table, like she could
push death away. “One of those farm workers of Dale Walker’s. Happened near
Laurel Creek last night…”
“An illegal, I
bet,” said Granddad. He wasn’t a big fan of Dale’s or his business practices.
He had a reputation for being cheap and cruel to his workers, at least
according to Granddad. We heard about it a lot at the breakfast table. Living
in a small town meant everything was everyone’s business. Besides, Granddad had
worked on a farm when he was young and he still complained about the blisters.
I think it morally offended him that Dale never actually broke a sweat himself.
Slave labor, he called it.
“There’s
nothing here that says he was,” Gran said, waving at the paper.
“What was his
name?” Granddad replied.
“Armando
Huerta,” said Gran and I at the same time.
“But I don’t
see how that matters anyway,” continued Gran sharply. “Same result. A man is
dead and he’s left behind his wife, Gabriella, along with three young kids.
It’s a shame, is what it is.” Gran bent her grey head down to say a quick
prayer. I ducked mine as well, though I really didn’t have anything to say.
“Yeah.”
Granddad was quiet a moment, though he didn’t bow his head down like Gran.
“Still, I’d bet good money it’s Dale’s fault somehow. Probably had the poor guy
out working late or something. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ran him over
himself.”
Gran raised
her head. “Drop it, Porter,” she said sternly. “You’re like a dog with a bone.”
“I’m just
saying,” continued Granddad, worrying his pancake into shreds. “You think Dale
even noticed the guy didn’t show up for work today?”
“No,” I
answered unwillingly. “Not until the police showed up.” Gran threw Granddad a
menacing look, but he was on a roll and didn’t even notice he’d asked a
question.
“You see,” he
said, waving his fork in the air, stabbing at nothing to make his point. “Who
do you think even found the poor guy? Not Dale, I’d bet you that.”
Everyday kind
of questions didn’t really have much effect on me, other than causing me to
spew out some kind of answer. They were nuisances, like mosquitoes buzzing
around my head. and were gone as soon as I spoke my answer. But big questions,
life or death kind of questions or questions deeply felt, those had a way of
hitting me directly in the middle. This one sailed right through me, leaving a
dull burning sensation in my stomach. “Guts and blood—red is everywhere.” I
spit out. “Love lost. Anger fills her.” I felt my face flush and then grow
pale. “Useless…except rage takes away…” A small moan escaped my lips. Oh, God,
the pain. For a moment I felt like the wife, staring down at her husband in a
puddle of blood on a dirty road.
I fumbled for
my glass and took a big sip, trying to ignore the way my hand shook until I
dropped it, my pancakes cushioning the blow and saving the glass. Juice spread
across the table in a sickly orange film. Gran jumped up to grab a towel from
the kitchen.
“Sorry about
that,” said Granddad, dropping his fork into the sticky mess as he grabbed his
own napkin to staunch the flow. “Always forgetting and running my fool mouth,
aren’t I?”
“Yes. It’s
okay,” I said, breathing through my mouth, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to
drink juice again for a while, not that it would be a big loss. A metallic
taste filled my mouth, like blood. “I need to get to school anyway. Sorry about
the mess, Gran.”
“No worries,”
she said, hurrying in with the towel. “You go on. Take another pancake with
you. You need to eat, especially after that. Get something on your stomach.”
She whacked Granddad in the back of the head and he nodded meekly.
I took a fresh
pancake from the platter, knowing I would throw it away as soon as I was far
enough down the road they couldn’t see me.
About The Author:
KIMBERLY PAULEY is the author
of the award-winning Sucks to Be Me, which was honored on the YALSA Quick Picks
for Reluctant Readers list. The sequel, Still Sucks to Be Me, was listed on the
VOYA Best Science Fiction Fantasy List of 2010.
Born in California, she has
lived everywhere from Florida to Chicago and has now gone international to live
in London with her husband (a numbers man) and the cutest little boy on any
continent (The Max).
She wrote Cat Girl’s Day Off because she wanted to share
what cats really think with the world. ASK Me, coming in April 2014 is
something different: darker, paranormal YA fantasy.
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