Dear Agent's Inbox,
Seventeen-year-old Jerome Harold Prewitt III is not the first to fall from the pillars, but he is the first to survive.
To protect identities, everyone has a title. Jerome’s is “The Boy,” which does not convey much importance. But from age twelve, he has suspected that someone is out to get him. It could be nothing, but when a jungle cat attacks him in a suburban cemetery, he panics. He’s fortunate the girl with brown eyes he just met (sitting on her own headstone, no less) knows how to handle wild animals.
Over the years, she returns again and again to save him as attempts on his life continue. That is until the latest assailant takes her by mistake, leaving Jerome falling from the pillars--the massive structures that support whole neighborhoods miles above the polluted surface.
Now Jerome is stuck in the Underworld, a debtors’ work camp, with no one to rely on but himself. As he searches for answers as to why anyone would want to kill him, or save him for that matter, he learns the Brown-Eyed Girl has her own secret--one that could lead to the end of the world if discovered by her abductors. She's a time-traveller. All Jerome has to do now is find his answers, stop the attacks, rescue the damsel, get home, and save the world. No big deal.
THE GIRL WITH BROWN EYES is an 84,000-word YA fantasy. I have included the first page. The full manuscript is available upon request. Thank you for your consideration.
THE GIRL WITH BROWN EYES
"You shouldn’t do that.” The Boy narrowed his eyes and glared with all the indignation called for in such a situation.
"Do what?" The target of his fury, a girl no older than he, swung her legs back and forth.
At twelve and not old enough for a title, the Boy kept his focus on himself, but he had stopped his daily walk through the cemetery at a sight even he could not ignore.
The girl had brown eyes, but as for her other features, he had not taken the time to notice them. He found something else far more interesting. "What you’re doing, sitting on that headstone there."
"And why shouldn’t I?" Her question seemed genuine, but the Boy could not fathom how she could not see the issue with her actions.
"Because. Someone died there."
The Brown-Eyed Girl brushed an orange leaf from the headstone. "No they didn’t. Not one of these people died here. They all died at home in their beds, or abroad in the world, or wherever it suited the world best to have them die."
The Boy paused in surprise at her response, but could not deny she was right. Few people died in cemeteries, and even fewer died in the spot they were to be buried--the rare exceptions being people who were buried alive of course. "Well, I’m sure that person doesn’t want you sitting on his headstone.”
"Oh, I’m quite certain she doesn’t mind."
The Boy jolted. Who did she think she was? He puffed up his chest. "And how can you be so certain?"
She ran her fingers through her hair and shook it loose. "Because,” she said, “this headstone is mine.”