I'm trying to rewrite the opening of my YA novel to make it slightly darker (I don't want it to read like middle grade), and to introduce the characters differently. Also, I'm trying for more of a hook. [Here is the original chapter: http://www.mywriterscircle.com/index.php?topic=24311.0]
This portion is in it's early stages, so it's pretty rough. I know I have a lot of editing to do, but I'm looking for feedback on the concept and whether or not this is interesting. Does the story hook you? Would you want to read more? If not, why?
Thanks so much for reading! He was a bad omen. Everytime I caught this boy following me, strange things happened. I gritted my teeth as I heard his feet crunch the gravel behind me. There was still a five minute walk before I would reach school and I doubted he would let me ignore him.
“What do you want this time?”
If he gave me one more cryptic message, I’d pummel him. “Who says I want anything?”
I turned to glare. The sun made a bright halo around his lanky frame. He stood with his hands in his pockets, flicking his head to move dark bangs from his eyes. He had to be a foot taller than me. That was the perfect height for a good punch in the gut.
“I’m not in the mood for this.” I spun around and kept walking.
“Melanie, wait. I need to give you something.”
He knew my name? I couldn’t get him to tell me a damn thing about himself or why he chose to stalk me all summer. Instead he disappeared and reappeared into my life at random and provided unexplained warnings designed to screw with my head. He had some nerve using a name I never gave him.
I clenched my fist and quickened my pace. “I don’t want anything from you.”
He grabbed my arm and twisted me around. His grip was tighter than I expected. He must have some muscle on him after all.
“You’re going to need this.” He grabbed a bottle of blue gatorade from his bag and thrust it into my free hand.
The blood left my face. I stumbled as I tried to back away. “Why am I going to need that?”
“I don’t know.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”
I yanked my arm away from him. “I don’t want it.” I threw the bottle, clipping his left leg.
“Ow!”
I hoped it hurt. I ran down the empty street wishing I had tied my hair back today. It swished behind me, rhythmically swatting my backpack.
Why would I need the gatorade? I already had one in my bag. I was only going to school to pick up my books before classes started tomorrow. I didn’t imagine I would be doing anything that would make my blood sugar drop. And what did this guy know about my diabetes?
“Mel,” the boy panted, “stop.”
I rounded the corner. It was only one small hill before I reached the school grounds. I took longer strides to make it up the hill faster.
“Mel.” A hand gripped my shoulder.
“Get off me.” I darted to the side, but he was still running forward. His foot caught my leg and we fell to ground. I rolled backwards over him. My toe caught on his shirt and he came tumbling down the hill with me.
When we reached the bottom, my face smashed into his arm.
“Sorry.” He dropped his arm. “I was trying to catch you.”
I was sprawled on top of him with my back arching over his knees. He groaned as I dug my elbow into his stomach and pushed myself up.
“Thanks.” I tried to dust myself off, but it was a lost cause. I settled for removing the pebbles imbedded in my skin.
The boy held out the gatorade bottle. “Please, just take it.”
I didn’t want to trust him. I wanted to hate him, actually. Everytime I looked into his eyes, my hatred washed away. There was something very familiar about his eyes. Something that made me trust him. But I had never seen brown eyes like his, I was sure of it. They weren’t even all that special: a clear, generic, dark brown. It made absolutely no sense to me.
“I’ll take the bottle if you tell me your name.”
His eyes flashed in a menancing way I had never seen before. “No.”
“You know my name.” I held my hands behind my back so he couldn’t shove the gatorade into my hand again. I was getting his name.
He stared at me for a long time. So long, I wanted to ignore him and start walking to school again. I refused to make the first move though.
“Joel.” He pushed the bottle toward me. “And watchout for skateboards.”
What? Joel was half-way up the hill and clearly done with me.
Seriously? Skateboards?
