Everything about Jessie Gillmansen's life changed when her mother died. Now even her hometown of Junction is changing. Mysterious dark things are happening. All Jessie wants is to avoid more change. But showing a hot new guy around Junction High, she's about to discover a whole new type of change. Pietr Rusakova is more than good looks and a fascinating accent--he's a guy with a dangerous secret. And his very existence is sure to bring big trouble to Jessie's small town. It seems change is the one thing Jessie can't avoid...
First line: "Rio stiffened beneath my touch, striking a glossy hoof against the floor."
I want to say, "another werewolf book" but this book was more than that. Over three-fourths of the book set up the world, characters and love interest. Last part showed us the animals.
As the reader I knew what Pietr was from the beginning with the foreshadowing and use of words like "mutt," "growled," "bristled," etc. You get the point.
There is a love triangle.
A love unrequited.
A best friend doing what she thinks is right.
A pack of werewolves.
People who aren't what they seem.
And that is where the story left off. Not kidding! So many unanswered questions. What about the "other" boy? Will the best friend blow-up? Can the secrets stay secret? Who will be the next to get hurt? And who will appear from the past?
I read this book in a 1 1/2 days.
L: yes, sprinkled through out. No "F" bombs.
25% test (p.77):
"I believed him. I had to believe Derek "the man" Jamieson was good at everything he tried. Something deep inside me got soft and warm at the realization I wanted to find out exactly how true that belief was.
Derek ducked out of the office as unobtrusively as he'd appeared. Sure, he winked at the secretaries and asked about their kids--threatening to marry one's daughter when she got into ninth grade--but then he left, leaving the middle-aged women chuckling at being so easily flustered by an eleventh-grade boy. If Derek could work magic like that on my behalf, not only would I get off scot-free, I might be sainted, too.
The office door wheezed open again. Mr. Maloy flopped into the seat recently occupied by my would-be hero. he was holding a set of thick manila folders. With a sinking heart I knew they were labeled with my name.
Counselor Maloy held my life in his hands.
I reached into my backpack and dug into my jeans for my worry stone. I kept my mouth shut. I'd learned early that saying too much to the wrong person was sometimes more destructive than keeping it all bottled up inside.
After three minutes of facing my stony silence, Mr. Maloy spoke up. "you have to talk to me so I can help you, Jessica."
I had the sudden impression of him as a struggling defense attorney begging a client to cooperate. Maybe that was why he was a school counselor now.
"I want to help you, Jessica. Girls like you--"
I ground my teeth. Go ahead, I thought. Compare me to some case study on grief and adolescence. Tell me how I stack up against other disturbed girls in my age range and socioeconomic class.
I rubbed my thumb across the pietersite bead, making slow circles on its surface as I focused on staying calm. I rested my cheek on my knee and stared at the floor. And kept massaging..."