Sixteen-year-old Avery West's newfound family can shut down Prada at the Champs-Elysees when they want to shop in peace, and can just as easily order a bombing when they want to start a war. They are part of a powerful and dangerous secret society called the Elite and they need Avery as a pawn--or want her dead.
To decipher the ancient mystery that’s putting her life in danger, Avery must follow a trail of clues from the crypts of
Though it can stand alone, my 93,000 word YA Thriller THE ELITE is meant as the first in a trilogy. I am currently a freelance writer and recently spent time as a bookstore events and marketing coordinator, where I learned everything from the importance of co-op to the futility of wearing heels for three days straight at BEA.
Thank you for your consideration.
“It’s not flattering, it’s stalking. Jack Basil is totally stalking you.” My best friend Lara ripped open a handful of sugar packets and dumped them in her coffee.
“Could you say it a little louder?” I felt my face flush and looked around. It was pouring outside, so half the school was crowded into the cafe where I worked instead of lounging on the patio at Burt’s like usual. “And it is not. He--”
“He knew your name. And he asked me how long you’ve lived here, and where your dad is, and why you’re homeschooled.” Lara took a sip of her coffee and made a face. “It’s not like he asked me if you have a date to prom or something. That would be normal. This was not normal.”
It wasn’t normal, but Lara was wrong--Jack Basil asking about me was definitely flattering. EmmaBeth Porter, the leader of the self-proclaimed Sexy Seven, had dumped her boyfriend to ask Jack to prom, only a few days after Jack had moved here. He’d turned her down. No one turned down EmmaBeth.
And now, he was asking Lara about me.
Just then, the door jingled, a gust of cool, rain-scented breeze blew inside, and Jack Basil himself walked into the cafe. A shiver ran down my spine that I tried to tell myself was just from the cold.
Jack shook the rain out of his hair, which was the color of espresso and slightly too long, and made wavy by the storm.