Seventeen year old Olga finally has a plan: make Random notice her as more than the girl next door. She’s only been in love with him ever since they bonded over their horrible names in kindergarten.
Just as Olga dares to hope her plan is working, lightning strikes during their first spring sail on
The cancer is treatable, but Random develops a defeated attitude after breezing through life until now. Olga decides to write her own prescription in the form of a list titled “18 Things.” The list consists of eighteen quests they must accomplish before his eighteenth birthday. Now all she has to do is learn how to heli-snowboard, pull off the perfect prank, break a world record--oh, and cope with interferences from her strict mother, a smitten head cheerleader and Random’s cynicism. What she doesn’t count on is discovering the beauty and strength within herself, and his secret love for her, in the process. Time for a new plan: persuade Random to believe in the same lesson she’s learned on their journey. Pain is the price you pay to love, and it’s worth it. She must risk her own heart, but if she fails, she risks losing her soul-mate forever.
At 75,000 words, 18 THINGS is a coming-of-age story about friendship, love, and the turmoil of real life. In its own unique way, it could be described as a young adult version of The Bucket List meets A Walk to Remember with some unexpected twists.
After working with adolescents as a youth group volunteer and teaching elementary school for the past ten years, I feel connected to today’s young adults. I’m a member of SCBWI, YA-RWA, RWA-PRO and Southwest Florida Romance Writers. The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society already agreed to review the book upon publication in its national newsletter. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Very Best Regards,
I needed a change. The first of April caused me to realize I’d been a fool carrying a secret crush for Random Lee since kindergarten. The hair dye was step one in my master plan of making him notice me as more than the girl in pigtails he used to chase at recess.
“Why does my shower look like a scene from a slasher movie?” I ask my best friend Nicole, towering over me. She laughs diabolically, pretending to wield a knife. “This is not funny. Did you read the instructions right?”
Cocking her head to the left, she says, “Hang on, this may hurt a bit.” She scrubs in the conditioner and rinses fiercely.
Five minutes later I study the color in the mirror. “Crap.” Although curls turn darker in winter when
“You look like you dyed your hair with Kool-Aid,” Nic comments, not helping.
I pick up the box and examine the photo. “I don’t understand. It warns the results may vary slightly from the color in the picture, but this isn’t even close to Strawberry Blonde.”
Nic gives me a one-armed hug. “You’re red-hot, Olga. If Random can’t see that, then he’s the fool.”
I still cringe at the sound of my name. My parents wanting to honor my Russian grandmother, they dubbed me Olga Worontzoff. They had good intentions, but whatever, the world is full of those. Case in point, my debauched hair.