Welcome back to the 4th month of The New Authors on the Block! This month we are introducing debut author Lucy Keating the author of Dreamology and today we have an EXCERPT!
Excerpt:
August 28, 2015
I am smack-dab in the middle of the Great Hall at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, exactly three feet from the spot where I barfed on my tenth birthday, just outside the Egyptian wing. But this time there are no fanny packs, no sounds of sneakers squeaking against wellpolishedfloors. Pooling at my feet this time isn’t bright pink vomit (raspberry gelato, if you’reinterested) flecked with Lucky Charm pieces (“Only on your birthday,” my dad said—and neversaid again). It’s a fifteen-pound gown, encrusted with crystals, just like the one Beyoncé wore tothe Grammys. Tonight, the lights are bright and flashing and people are whispering and looking in my direction. Tonight, for some reason, I am someone. I sip Champagne and glide from room to room, admiring the art. And that’s where Max finds me, standing in front of the Degas ballerinas, in the Impressionist section.
“You know, I can dance, too.” He slips an arm around my waist, and my whole body feels
instantly warmer.
“Prove it,” I say. I don’t have to look away from the painting to feel his eyes on me, to
know he is smiling. I have every inch of his face mapped in my brain, all of his mannerisms. I amconstantly afraid of forgetting him.
He takes my arm and gives me a twirl, and I close my eyes. When I open them again
we’re in the rooftop garden, swaying. The shrubs are covered in twinkle lights.
“You look good in a tux,” I mumble into his neck.
“Thanks. It’s the one Beyoncé wore to the Grammys,” he says in a serious tone, and we
both burst into laughter. Before I can even catch my breath Max’s arms grip me tighter and he
kisses me, tipping me so far back I lose all balance and sense of self. I didn’t realize there was a
good kind of dizzy until this.
“I missed you,” he says then, and twirls me again.
The delivery guy from Joe’s Pizza on 110th appears, looking impatient.
“You hungry?” Max asks. “I ordered.”
But inside the pizza box there’s no pizza, just a giant Oreo cookie cut in eighths like a
cake. We reach our hands in and each pick up a heavy slice. No sooner have I brought it to my
mouth than I catch mischief reflected in Max’s sea-gray eyes, and he swiftly smushes his cookie
into my cheek. Whap. I throw mine right back at him.
We race through the galleries, ducking behind Roman statues and dodging mortified
patrons as we hurl handfuls of Oreo cake at each other. I notice a museum security guard
marching in our direction. When I look more closely, I see he’s also my middle school science
teacher. I always hated that guy. We run faster.
When I’m finally cornered in the courtyard of Perneb’s tomb, I stop and face Max. We’re
covered in cookie. Jewels from the European textiles exhibit dangle around my neck and arms,
and Max has a medieval helmet on his head. We look like a royal couple gone horribly awry. A
country under our rule would surely revolt.
Max says something, but I can’t hear him through the helmet, so he flips the facepiece up,
exposing flushed cheeks.
“Let’s take a time out,” he says again. We lie on our backs in the courtyard of the tomb,
listening to the symphony music and the low hum of chatter continuing outside. Above our heads, where the ceiling of the Met should be, there is instead a starry sky.
“You know when Egyptian royalty died, they often had loved ones buried with them,” I
say.
“I think it was just servants actually, so they could be waited on in the afterlife,” Max
corrects me. Always such a know-it-all.
“Well, if I died, I’d have you buried with me.” I turn over on my side to face him.
“Oh, babe, thanks,” he exclaims. “That is by far the creepiest thing you have ever said to
me.”
A low snort echoes against the stone walls, and I notice a small African warthog lying
beside Max, staring at him fondly.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“This is Agnes,” Max nods to the pig. “She’s been following me since the Oceania wing. I
think she’s in love.”
“Well, get in line, Agnes,” I say, resting my head on his chest and breathing deeply. As
always, he smells like laundry detergent and something woody. The sound of his heartbeat lulls
me.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he pleads. “We haven’t had enough time.”
But I disagree. This evening was perfect, all I could ask for.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, praying I won’t drift off until I hear him say it back. It’s our
thing, an almost superstitious habit, to make sure we find each other again.
“I’ll see you soon,” he finally says with a sigh.
My eyes float slowly closed.
August 28, 2015
I am smack-dab in the middle of the Great Hall at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, exactly three feet from the spot where I barfed on my tenth birthday, just outside the Egyptian wing. But this time there are no fanny packs, no sounds of sneakers squeaking against wellpolishedfloors. Pooling at my feet this time isn’t bright pink vomit (raspberry gelato, if you’reinterested) flecked with Lucky Charm pieces (“Only on your birthday,” my dad said—and neversaid again). It’s a fifteen-pound gown, encrusted with crystals, just like the one Beyoncé wore tothe Grammys. Tonight, the lights are bright and flashing and people are whispering and looking in my direction. Tonight, for some reason, I am someone. I sip Champagne and glide from room to room, admiring the art. And that’s where Max finds me, standing in front of the Degas ballerinas, in the Impressionist section.
“You know, I can dance, too.” He slips an arm around my waist, and my whole body feels
instantly warmer.
“Prove it,” I say. I don’t have to look away from the painting to feel his eyes on me, to
know he is smiling. I have every inch of his face mapped in my brain, all of his mannerisms. I amconstantly afraid of forgetting him.
He takes my arm and gives me a twirl, and I close my eyes. When I open them again
we’re in the rooftop garden, swaying. The shrubs are covered in twinkle lights.
“You look good in a tux,” I mumble into his neck.
“Thanks. It’s the one Beyoncé wore to the Grammys,” he says in a serious tone, and we
both burst into laughter. Before I can even catch my breath Max’s arms grip me tighter and he
kisses me, tipping me so far back I lose all balance and sense of self. I didn’t realize there was a
good kind of dizzy until this.
“I missed you,” he says then, and twirls me again.
The delivery guy from Joe’s Pizza on 110th appears, looking impatient.
“You hungry?” Max asks. “I ordered.”
But inside the pizza box there’s no pizza, just a giant Oreo cookie cut in eighths like a
cake. We reach our hands in and each pick up a heavy slice. No sooner have I brought it to my
mouth than I catch mischief reflected in Max’s sea-gray eyes, and he swiftly smushes his cookie
into my cheek. Whap. I throw mine right back at him.
We race through the galleries, ducking behind Roman statues and dodging mortified
patrons as we hurl handfuls of Oreo cake at each other. I notice a museum security guard
marching in our direction. When I look more closely, I see he’s also my middle school science
teacher. I always hated that guy. We run faster.
When I’m finally cornered in the courtyard of Perneb’s tomb, I stop and face Max. We’re
covered in cookie. Jewels from the European textiles exhibit dangle around my neck and arms,
and Max has a medieval helmet on his head. We look like a royal couple gone horribly awry. A
country under our rule would surely revolt.
Max says something, but I can’t hear him through the helmet, so he flips the facepiece up,
exposing flushed cheeks.
“Let’s take a time out,” he says again. We lie on our backs in the courtyard of the tomb,
listening to the symphony music and the low hum of chatter continuing outside. Above our heads, where the ceiling of the Met should be, there is instead a starry sky.
“You know when Egyptian royalty died, they often had loved ones buried with them,” I
say.
“I think it was just servants actually, so they could be waited on in the afterlife,” Max
corrects me. Always such a know-it-all.
“Well, if I died, I’d have you buried with me.” I turn over on my side to face him.
“Oh, babe, thanks,” he exclaims. “That is by far the creepiest thing you have ever said to
me.”
A low snort echoes against the stone walls, and I notice a small African warthog lying
beside Max, staring at him fondly.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“This is Agnes,” Max nods to the pig. “She’s been following me since the Oceania wing. I
think she’s in love.”
“Well, get in line, Agnes,” I say, resting my head on his chest and breathing deeply. As
always, he smells like laundry detergent and something woody. The sound of his heartbeat lulls
me.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he pleads. “We haven’t had enough time.”
But I disagree. This evening was perfect, all I could ask for.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, praying I won’t drift off until I hear him say it back. It’s our
thing, an almost superstitious habit, to make sure we find each other again.
“I’ll see you soon,” he finally says with a sigh.
My eyes float slowly closed.
About Lucy:
Lucy Keating is a New Englander who fell in love with California, and now splits her time between San Francisco and Venice Beach. When she's not writing, Lucy can usually be found outside with her dog, listening to music, or eating ice cream. Almost one of these things is always true, and on a good day all are true.
Connect with Lucy: Website / Instagram / Twitter / Goodreads
About Dreamology:
Title: Dreamology
Author: Lucy Keating
Genre: Contemporary, Science Fiction, Fantasy
Publisher: HarperTeen
Publication Date: April 12th 2016
Summary:
For as long as Alice can remember, she has dreamed of Max. Together they have traveled the world and fallen deliriously, hopelessly in love. Max is the boy of her dreams—and only her dreams. Because he doesn’t exist. But when Alice walks into class on her first day at a new school, there he is. It turns out, though, that Real Max is nothing like Dream Max, and getting to know each other in reality isn’t as perfect as Alice always hoped. When their dreams start to bleed dangerously into their waking hours, the pair realize that they might have to put an end to a lifetime of dreaming about each other. But when you fall in love in your dreams, can reality ever be enough?
What to expect this month!
April 3rd: Introduction of Lucy and Dreamology + Giveaway
April 10th: Interview + Giveaway
April 17th: Excerpt + Giveaway
April 24th: Character Interview + Giveaway
Giveaway:
One (1) Winner will receive a copy of DREAMOLOGY by Lucy Keating. The Book Bratz and Lucy are not responsible for any lost of damaged packages!
Check back next week for an Character Interview!
I love this book so, so much! It made my heart soar and I reread it as much as I can. It gives me so many feels!!
ReplyDeleteI can't wait to read this book! It looks absolutely stunning and lovely; everyone I know who has read it has loved it!
ReplyDelete