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I’ve had this contemporary YA idea in my head for a long time, but I’ve always pushed it aside. I thought it would be fun to write the first few pages to use as my excerpt this month, just to see how my voice sounded in YA-speak. It’s still very rough, but here it is:

Most of the seniors at Ravenswood Academy of Fine Arts only knew one word of sign language: Beethoven. It’s what they called me. And it wasn’t meant as a compliment. 

I was the mad cellist, and whispers abounded about how I must have sold my soul to be able to play cello like that when I couldn’t even hear the music. No, I’d just sold my childhood.

While other girls played with Barbie Dream Houses and Easy Bake Ovens, I studied the cello. My day revolved around music therapy classes, private lessons, and timed practices—all run with army precision by my mother. I guess if she had to be saddled with an imperfect daughter, the least she could do was make sure I was perfect at something.

I dug my fingertips into the C string and drew my bow across it, stirring up the clearest vibration of an F-note in my head. F-note. As in F-her. And the rest of Ravenswood Academy for treating me like a leper.

I wanted far away from this place. Far away from my mother, and the entire senior body who shunned me at every available opportunity. I wanted…Silverton School of Music, the most prestigious music college on the east coast. But Silverton was exclusive and the only way in for someone like me was through a scholarship—a scholarship that only admitted the top ten cellists to their program every year through a grueling two-day musical competition.

I was determined to be that cellist so I could tell the town of Ravenswood to kiss my ass.

I glanced up to see Cassie, my one and only ally in Ravenswood hell, making faces at me on the other side of the practice room glass. I motioned her inside with a wave of my bow, and she bounced in, tossing her black curly hair out of her eyes.

“Party at Melanie’s house tonight. You coming?”

Absolutely not.

Melanie was second chair to my first. She hated my guts. She was also competing against me for the Silverton scholarship. And the last thing I wanted was to be anywhere near the girl who’d told the entire orchestra that I’d been making out with Bobby Lundgren in the boys bathroom.

First off, the boys bathroom smelled like rancid peanut butter and flamin’ hot cheetos—I’d die of asphyxiation if I even tried to set foot in there. Second, if you’d ever seen Bobby Lundgren you’d know that I valued my mouth too much to ever touch it to his. He may have been the school’s best percussionist, but his cold sore infested lips and greasy shoulder-length hair was a huge turn off. As was the fact that he’d had to leave his old school because of some sort of restraining order against the star violinist.

It was all very hush-hush, but the one advantage of being deaf was that people often forgot you could read lips. Not Cassie, though. She never forgot who I was or what I could do. And she was still waiting for an answer about Melanie’s party.

“Not on your life.” I flicked my bow in a staccato rhythm to punctuate my words. I hardly ever spoke instead of signed, but I’d let my guard down around Cassie years ago and she refused to let me put it back up.

“C’mon, Tate. Don’t be such a stick in the mud. Her parents are away for the weekend.” She rocked on her tiptoes in graceful ballet form. “It’s going to be a blast.”

I shook my head and drew my brows into a deep, knotted frown, letting her know that Ravenswood would have to be taken over by human-eating-fairies before I’d even consider being in the same house as Melanie.

“Please.” Cassie both signed and spoke the word, an indication that she was not above begging and pleading. “I don’t want to go alone.”

“Then don’t go,” I signed back.

“You’re not being fair.”

No, I wasn’t, but this was one area where I just couldn’t bring myself to be fair. Cassie turned her back on me. I hated when she did that and I doubt she even realized how inferior it made me feel.

I pressed my lips together and carefully set my cello on the floor, resting the bow on its side. Then I shuffled over to Cassie and spun her around.

“I can’t do it,” I said. “If it was anywhere else, maybe. But not Melanie’s.”

She shrugged my hand off her shoulder and yanked open the door. “Fine. I’ll just go by myself then.”

“Cassie, wait—”

She stormed down the hallway and I watched her go, knowing that I was stupid to alienate the one person who truly ‘got me’. I sank to my knees and wrapped my arms around me. Why couldn’t I have just told her yes? Why couldn’t I have just gone to the dumb party and made sure I stayed out of Melanie’s way?

I squeezed my eyes shut. Don’t be a crybaby, Tate. After several minutes, I got an uncomfortable tingling up my spine, as if someone was watching me. I shot to my feet and spun on my heel.

Jared Meadows was leaning against the wall, staring at me with eyes as blue as a gas flame. Jared, the drool worthy pianist. Whenever he came in to play with the orchestra I became mesmerized with the way his fingers danced across the keys. Yesterday, I had missed my cue entirely, caught up in his passion, his emotion.

Where did it come from? I’d been playing since I was old enough to hold a bow, but although I could play any piece with technical perfection, the music always left my heart feeling hollow.

 My heart certainly didn’t feel hollow now. It pounded against my ribs and raced like an arpeggio. How long had he been standing there? I tugged at my ratty t-shirt, curled my toes inside my pink Dr. Martens, and blinked up at him like an idiot.

 ”You’re not going to Melanie’s party?” he asked slowly, making no secret about the fact that one, he had been eavesdropping, and two, that he hadn’t forgotten how well I could read lips.

I bit the inside of my cheek. If I spoke to him, he’d hear my clumsy speech impediment loud and clear; if I answered him in sign, he probably wouldn’t get it. And why was Jared Meadows speaking to me in the first place? It’s not like he’d ever said so much as a word to me before.

After another moment’s hesitation, I opted to sign at him. It would help me save some of my dignity, and if he couldn’t read what I said, well, that was his problem.

“I can’t make it. My mom needs me at home.” Not a total lie. She always needed me at home for some reason or another.

He pushed away from the wall. “That’s a shame,” he said. “I’m going to be there.”

I swallowed hard and watched him walk down the hall. Jared Meadows knew sign language? No. He couldn’t. Not someone like him. He’s not an idiot, Tate.  He knew someone like you would never go to the party.

But he was going to be there. Of course he was going to be there! He was Melanie’s boyfriend. And that was just one more reason to make sure I stayed far far away from her house tonight.

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