Shatterproof Read online

  "What do you mean?" I ask, inching toward the car door.

  "You set Bianca Larken's purse on fire."

  "That's ridiculous. I didn't get anywhere near it."

  "You didn't need to," he says, coming closer. "I know what you are."

  I open the door and slide into the driver's seat, but Kai holds onto the door so I can't close it. "What I am is scared," I say, pulling on the door. My dad was obviously right about needing to avoid him. "Get away from me."

  "Oh please," he says, still holding the door ajar. "You can defend yourself."

  I pick up my cell with my right hand, while trying to close the door with my left. "I can call the police."

  "Do that. I'll hang around to hear you explain what you're doing here. And I'd be happy to give a statement about your dad."

  "Fine," I say. "I think Bianca's dad will be glad to meet you. I'm sure she mentioned that you tried to steal her purse."

  We stare at each other through the crack over the door. His fingers, wrapped over the door frame, are dripping, and water runs down his face, as well. Even if he had a run-in with a fire hose, he can't still be that wet. The guy must have a serious perspiration problem.

  I use that problem to my advantage now, placing the heel of my hand against his fingers and pushing. He jerks his hand away abruptly and I hear a slight hissing sound as I slam the door closed.

  Starting the car, I pull away from Kai, half-hoping to run over his wet sneakers. Leaving the lights off, I pause at the corner to look down the hill. If Dad is there, I can't see him. There's just the gorgeous orange glow coming from the church. The huge arcs of water from the fire hoses are still losing the battle. I have to fight to keep my eyes off the rearview mirror and on the road as I drive away.

  © Yvonne Collins & Sandy Rideout

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  (2011)

  Kali Esposito, matchmaker extraordinaire, couldn't be happier that Love, Inc., the relationship management service she created with best friends, Syd and Zahra, is back in business. After a brief setback, the girls are once again using their skills to help the lovelorn break-up, make-up or take-up with someone new.

  Fun, flirtatious Kali is a little gun shy about commitment—no big surprise when your mom's racked up four divorces and your dad's permanently AWOL—but she's a diehard romantic when it comes to bringing others together, and her end-to-end makeovers can transform the most socially-challenged client into a confident charmer. The "Kali Method" she develops is helping Love, Inc. grow by leaps and bounds.

  But when a competitor steals the Kali Method and corrupts it to turn regular guys into wicked players, Kali is forced to rethink her views on love, and come up with a plan to reclaim Love, Inc.'s trade secrets before every girl in Austin gets her heart broken.

  Excerpt

  "So Gabriel's no angel," Syd says.

  "Far from it." I stare at her image, which appears on one side of my computer screen, while Zahra's image appears on the other. I've called an emergency Skype videoconference to bring my friends up to speed. "I can't believe I fell for his act."

  "Sounds like the guy was pretty convincing," Syd says. Her hair is pulled back with a thick hair band, the red lipstick is gone, and she's wearing a ratty UT sweatshirt that belonged to her dad when he was in college. Apparently, it's her lucky study charm.

  Zahra's study style features a grey hoodie and pajamas covered in a cookie print. "Jesse Sheridan knows how to charm a girl," she says. "If he's giving tips to his pals, it's not surprising you fell for Gabriel."

  "What if they aren't pals?" Syd asks. Her shoulder is moving and she keeps looking down, so I can tell she's sketching. "What if Jesse sold his tips to Gabriel?"

  "I considered that," I say. "Especially since he knows that we sell dating advice. But like Z said, we've experienced Jesse in action and Gabriel's approach was different. Yes, Jesse's charming, but he comes on strong and you know you're being charmed. Gabriel was far more subtle and I really thought we were connecting. He'd taken the time to plan a date I'd enjoy based on our conversations. He asked all kinds of questions, and made me feel like I was someone special. It worked so well that I was let down when he suggested ending the date after two hours." I sigh. "I even liked the stupid nickname he gave me. How pathetic is that?"

  Syd and Zahra both look thunderstruck.

  "Keep it short," Zahra says. "Think quality not quantity, and you'll always leave her wanting more."

  Syd picks up from there. "Always have a plan," she says. "Putting thought into a date shows you care."

  "Listen," Zahra adds. "Ask questions and find common interests."

  Stunned, I finish the list. "Identify one unique quality about the girl you like. A nickname will create a connection and make her feel special. Oh my god, it's The Kali Method! Do you guys know what this means?"

  "Yeah," Syd says, pointing a pencil at her camera. "You've been seducing yourself."

  I cover my face with my hands and groan. "I need a shower."

  © Yvonne Collins & Sandy Rideout

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  (Hyperion 2011)

  Zahra, Kali, and Syd would never have met if their parents' marriages hadn't fallen apart. But when the three girls collide in group counseling, they discover they have something else in common: they've each been triple-timed by the same nefarious charmer, Eric, aka Rico, aka Rick. Talk about eye-opening therapy.

  Cheerful, diplomatic Zahra is devastated. Rico had been her rock and sole confidant. How could she have missed the signs? Free-spirited, flirtatious Kali feels almost as bad. She and Rick hadn't been together long, but they'd felt so promising. Hardened vintage-vixen Syd is beyond tears. She and Eric had real history... Or so she'd thought. Now all three girls have one mission: to show that cheater the folly of his ways.

  Project Payback is such a success, the girls soon have clients lining up for their consulting services. Is your boyfriend acting shady? Are you dying to know if your crush is into you? If you need a little help to make-up, break-up or meet someone new, look no further than Love, Inc.

  Excerpt

  I knew starting tenth grade at Austin High would be tough. Hollis and Fletcher seem to rank pretty high in the sophomore chain of command, and the way I react now could make or break my year.

  Still, I got to class fifteen minutes early to stake my claim on exactly the right desk-second row in from the window, five rows from the front. I assumed (wrongly, as it turns out) that this was the perfect place to be overlooked. If I give it up now, will it say I'm a loser who's desperate to please? Or will it say I'm a team player?

  I stare down at Hollis's flip-flops as I ponder. Her toenails are polished a deep metallic blue embellished with tiny daisies. She has rings on four toes.

  Finally I look up. "Take the empty seat, Hollis," Senora interrupts. "Now."

  Hollis's flip-flops turn and she drops her purse, her backpack, and another bag to the floor, each landing a little closer to my feet. Finally she settles into her seat and crosses her legs. Five little daisies bob into my sight line to remind me I'm in trouble. Fletcher's swampy eyes are still boring into me from the other side.

  Obviously, indecision was the wrong decision. I should have gotten my butt out of this seat and laid a red carpet for Hollis. I'm always a beat late. It's the story of my life.

  I let my hair fall forward, grateful for the cover of the mass of red curls that polite people call auburn. I wish I could go back to my old school. Mom would be glad to have me at home, but I've vowed not to return while my grandparents are there.

  When they flew in from Pakistan last spring, I had no idea their visit would push my family over the edge. Mom had barely spoken to them since they'd disowned her for marrying a Scottish-American instead of what my sister and I secretly call an MOT-a Member of the Tribe. My parents' marriage may not have been solid, but it was holding together until my grandparents put down roots in my bedroom. Mom talked less and less and Dad worked more and mo
re, until July, when Dad finally realized he wasn't wanted and moved out. I went with him, partly to make a grand statement, and partly to divide and conquer. My sister, Saliyah, is working the reunion angle at Mom's end.

  At first I thought living downtown was kind of cool, and I went back to Anderson Mill a lot over the summer to visit my best friends, Shanna and Morgan. Now that I'm in school and working part-time, I won't be able to tackle the one-and-a-half-hour bus ride as often. I feel homesick and friend-sick. Too bad grand statements don't come with back doors.

  Senora Mendoza turns to the board. "Let's start by reviewing some verbs you learned last year. Suggestions?"

  I start conjugating in my notebook:

  I hate it here.

  You hate it here.

  She hates it here.

  He hates it here.

  We hate it here.

  They hate it here.

  It's unanimous.

  © Yvonne Collins & Sandy Rideout

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  (Hyperion 2008)

  Fifteen year old Luisa Perez is not going to win any awards for school spirit. In fact, she and her friends make it a point to avoid all activities considered "extracurricular." So when her English teacher volunteers her to be an anonymous columnist for the school paper, Luisa's first impulse is to run. But, unlike her high-school dropout sister, Luisa does want to go to college—it may be her only ticket out of a life spent working at the cowboy-themed diner where she waitresses part time—and it would be nice to have something to put on her applications.

  Her first assignment is to cover her high school's latest fund-raiser, which pits the girls against the boys. Luisa will cover the events from the female point of view, while another anonymous writer provides the male perspective—or, at least, that's how it begins. The two columnists soon find themselves engaged in an epic battle of the sexes—a battle that Luisa is determined to win, even if it means risking the best relationship she's ever had.

  Excerpt

  "Slow down!" Russ yells, running after me down the sidewalk as Betty Boop, his favorite skateboard, sees her chance and goes for it.

  "I can't!" I scream, careening toward the intersection. It seemed so far off when we started, but a couple of really good kicks and a slight incline have brought me here very quickly.

  "Drag your foot!" Russ yells.

  "I can't!" I scream again. I'm barely balanced now. My knees are locked into the bent position Russ showed me when I boarded this rocket. If I move one iota, I'll veer into either traffic or a brick wall. I'd rather take my chances on hitting a green light at the intersection.

  A cluster of school boys stops at the corner to watch. One reaches out to stop me and misses by a fraction of an inch.

  Ahead of us a lady pulls her toddler out of my path. "Sorry," I call.

  Look out!" Russ's voice is fainter now.

  As if I can't see the intersection looming 30—25—20 feet before me. "Stay green, stay green, stay green," I chant at the light. Otherwise, I'll run full tilt into that city bus as it pulls out.

  "Drag your foot!" Russ yells again.

  The light turns yellow and terror brings the feeling back to my legs. I propel myself off the board and continue to run for a few yards. At the crosswalk, I grab a pole to slow down and tumble off the curb and into the gutter. Three lanes of traffic are revving for takeoff.

  "Oh my God. Oh my God!" Russ is shrieking hysterically now, and he sounds a lot closer.

  A taxi swerves to avoid me and I clamber back onto the sidewalk on my hands and knees.

  "Oh my God!" Russ screams one more time as he arrives at my side.

  "It's okay," I say, reaching out to pat his pant leg. I'm touched at how concerned he is, considering we've only known each other a couple of weeks. I'm glad I gave him another chance. "Russ, I'm fine."

  He's looking not at me, but out into the intersection. "Betty!" he wails, as the bus moves past its splintered remains.

  I drop my head onto the sidewalk. "I'm sorry."

  "I told you to slow down," he says, jerking his pant cuff out of my hand.

  "You sent me down a hill. I didn't know what I was doing."

  His voice drops to a whisper. "She was a limited edition Stacy Peralta board. Signed by Stacy himself."

  He darts into traffic and grabs a wheel. Stroking it with one finger, he mutters, "She's irreplaceable."

  Something tells me the same cannot be said of me.

  © Yvonne Collins & Sandy Rideout

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  (Hyperion 2007)

  Fed up with her parents and all their ridiculous rules (they keep a binder full of them), fifteen-year-old Kendra Bishop writes away to The Black Sheep, a reality TV show that offers the chance to swap families with another teen. But when the camera crew, led by brash TV producer Judy Greenberg, shows up at her Manhattan apartment, Kendra starts to have second thoughts.

  Too late. Kendra is whisked away to Monterey, California, to live with the Mulligan family in a household that couldn't be more different from her own—complete with hippie parents, their five kids and a pet ferret. Of course, when Kendra falls for Mitch, the Mulligans' seventeen-year-old son, it only complicates things further, especially since Mitch despises the reality TV show and everything it stands for. But given the chance, Kendra might just be able to juggle first love, her new stardom, and a pushy producer who will stop at nothing for higher ratings.

  In this hilarious and touching novel, Kendra learns to live under a new roof but finds true refuge in the unlikeliest of places—her own family.

  Excerpt

  I'm barely out of the shower when Mona knocks on the door. "Kendra? I hate to rush you, but Max needs to get into the bathroom. He's going to be late."

  "Could he use another one?" I ask, toweling off. "I just got started here." Judging from the fur growing on her legs, Mona has no clue how long it takes to pull a polished look together.

  "There's only one, and it's a popular place in the morning," she says. "Remember I pointed out the roster! Everyone gets fifteen minutes. I'm afraid you're running over."

  "Sorry," I call to Mona. "I'll be right out." I hope I didn't sound all uptown-snob there, but it never occurred to me they'd only have one bathroom. Max is a plumber: he should spend less time Saving Our Sea Otters and more on the bathroom crisis in his own home. Had I realized, I wouldn't have wasted half my allotted time on a security sweep to see if Judy had installed tiny cameras in the showerhead or toilet tissue roll.

  Throwing my pajamas back on, I hurry down the hall to the bedroom. Though Meadow was sound asleep when I left, she managed to get up and out while I was gone. At ten, I probably wasn't concerned about personal grooming either. Now, as Maya's mirror verifies, I need to be concerned. My limp, lifeless locks can only be salvaged with volumizer and a blow dryer, both of which I left behind in the bathroom.

  Limp hair isn't my only challenge. I have my parents' dull gray eyes (although theirs are beady and mine are normal-size), and I'm prone to breaking out at the worst possible times, such as after learning that I'm starring in a reality show. Fortunately, I also have good bone structure and a nice smile. My parents came through, there.

  I wait a full twenty minutes before skulking back down the hall to the bathroom. The door is closed, but when I call Max's name, there's no answer.

  I push the door open, step into the bathroom, and freeze. Standing in front of the sink brushing his teeth is a naked man. It isn't Max, unless Max has lost forty pounds and gained a full head of hair overnight. Nor is Max likely to have such pronounced tan lines.

  By the time my eyes make the long climb from the guy's hip to his face, he's turned his to stare at me in the mirror, toothbrush suspended in mid air. It must be Mitch, I realize, because he's not much older than I am.

  "Excuse me," I say, still frozen to the spot.

  "Do you mind?" he as
ks through a mouthful of toothpaste.

  Keeping my eyes well above sea level, I reverse course until something blocks my exit. Make that someone: Judy, the show's producer.

  "Morning, KB!" she says, flashing me a grin as she steps aside to give Bob a clear shot with his camera. "I see you've met Mitch."

  "Not exactly."

  She grabs a towel off the rack and tosses it to Mitch. "Put something on, cutie, this is a G-rated show."

  He rinses his mouth before putting the towel on, and I sneak another look at the tan lines. I've never had the opportunity to examine the male form at such close range before, unless you count the marble sculptures at the Met.