Title: Scarred
Author: Elizabeth Montgomery
Genre: YA Romance
Release Date: June 26, 2015
Publisher: Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly
For those of us who come into the world different, we see it for what it really is.
Harsh.
Avery Chamberlin is special, unique. Beautiful words to gloss over the fact that
she is different. She has never felt like she fit in. Why should she?
She was reminded on a daily basis that she was not like her peers.
Flawed. Damaged. A freak.
Avery will have to come out of her shell to prove that even the bullies
have their own insecurities.
LIFE ISN’T ABOUT LABELS
The halls were crowded with kids trying to get to class, but one person stood out in the crowd as she always did. Harper Sloan. The bane of my existence. I learned early on in middle school that she came from the upper crust, but her love was bought by her alcoholic mother and absent father. She was beautiful, popular, and I’m pretty sure she could wipe her butt with hundred dollar bills if there was no toilet paper.
Walking into class, I saw the one person I wished would just move out of the state, Harper. She was draped over my desk. Our English teacher thought it was a good idea to assign seats in tenth grade. It had not been conducive to my fading-into-the-crowd plan since my desk was toward the front of the room.
“Can you remove your butt from my desk please?” I asked as sweetly as I could.
“Aww, what’s wrong, Scarface? Didn’t bring your guns?” she asked with a bogus frown and then doubled over laughing. She had called me Scarface ever since I could remember. One of the downfalls to growing up in a small town: everyone knows everyone. Forever.
“What are you talking about, Harper?” I asked, dropping my backpack to the ground beside the desk.
“Don’t you get it? Scarface…guns…Al Pacino.” Her head tilted to the side like a confused puppy. “Whatever,” she said as she rolled her eyes. “I heard you’re coming to Blake’s party?” she asked, crossing her legs across the desk.
“Who told you that?” I was starting to get annoyed, but I didn’t want to push her; she was ruthless and would tear me to shreds in a public humiliation scene.
“Well, Blake himself, silly. I think he likes you.” She had a southern twang in her voice and a pageant smile plastered across her face.
“That’s nice. Can I have my desk back please? Class is about to start and you wouldn’t want a smudge on that perfect image you have, would you?” I winked at her as she wrinkled up her face at me before grabbing my backpack and dumping its contents on the floor. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she walked away like nothing happened.
Walking into class, I saw the one person I wished would just move out of the state, Harper. She was draped over my desk. Our English teacher thought it was a good idea to assign seats in tenth grade. It had not been conducive to my fading-into-the-crowd plan since my desk was toward the front of the room.
“Can you remove your butt from my desk please?” I asked as sweetly as I could.
“Aww, what’s wrong, Scarface? Didn’t bring your guns?” she asked with a bogus frown and then doubled over laughing. She had called me Scarface ever since I could remember. One of the downfalls to growing up in a small town: everyone knows everyone. Forever.
“What are you talking about, Harper?” I asked, dropping my backpack to the ground beside the desk.
“Don’t you get it? Scarface…guns…Al Pacino.” Her head tilted to the side like a confused puppy. “Whatever,” she said as she rolled her eyes. “I heard you’re coming to Blake’s party?” she asked, crossing her legs across the desk.
“Who told you that?” I was starting to get annoyed, but I didn’t want to push her; she was ruthless and would tear me to shreds in a public humiliation scene.
“Well, Blake himself, silly. I think he likes you.” She had a southern twang in her voice and a pageant smile plastered across her face.
“That’s nice. Can I have my desk back please? Class is about to start and you wouldn’t want a smudge on that perfect image you have, would you?” I winked at her as she wrinkled up her face at me before grabbing my backpack and dumping its contents on the floor. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she walked away like nothing happened.
She is currently raising four children and a husband while elbow-deep in the depths of the writing cave. You can often find her searching on Google for an appropriate, or sometimes inappropriate, photo to insert in any random conversation. If not on Google, or Facebook chat, she can be found drinking coffee (like any normal writer), eating Gummy Bears, baking fanciful cakes, reading (of course), or writing (duh).
“I always wondered what authors meant when they said that their characters tell them what to write – I get it now!”
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