I'd like to submit my lower YA novel CAN'T BUY ME LOVE (54k words) for your consideration.
Life as a teenage heiress is one mixed bag of crazy.
Thirteen year-old Marnie Mercer thinks middle school would be perfect if she could just address a few critical issues. The lack of cell phone thing, for one. Her ho-hum social status, for another. And would it be too much to ask for a first kiss to knock her (discount store) shoes off? But when she inherits a fortune from an unknown great-aunt, she discovers a brand-new set of complications.
Now, her best friend is convinced money corrupts, her parents need a loan and a group of popular girls offer Marnie access to the top of the social pyramid, but first she'll have to complete their zany pledging checklist. Soon she's sneaking locks of her principal's hair, stealing her teacher's beloved laser pointer and throwing a sure-to-get-her-grounded-for-LIFE party.
To make matters worse, she’s finally met a guy worth his weight in gold--only he might not be so interested if he finds out how many commas separate their allowances. Marnie needs to find a way to manage her money and her life while staying true to herself. Otherwise, she can say goodbye to her best friend’s respect, her parents’ trust, and any chance of getting her first kiss from a boy who makes her feel priceless.
CAN'T BUY ME LOVE will appeal to fans of Lauren Barnholdt, Wendy Mass' FINALLY and Lauren Myracle's The Winnie Years series.
I am a member of SCBWI and two critique groups. I also have a strong background in promotions as the former Head of New England Publicity and Promotions for 20th Century Fox and Miramax Films.
Thank you for your time and attention.
CAN’T BUY ME LOVE
Is it totally wrong to be jealous of someone else's coffin. I mean, it's not like I have a death wish or anything but my great-aunt's casket is seriously blinked out. It has actual diamonds in the handles. When my time's up, I definitely wouldn't mind flaming out movie star-style, like Aunt Glinda.
Maybe if I'd ever laid eyes on her (or at least the casket I assume she's inside) even once in the last thirteen years, I might be a little more into paying my respects instead of calculating carats, but until two days ago, I didn't even know I had an Aunt Glinda.
"Marnie, please move it along," hisses Mom, under her breath.
Whoops! I realize I've been standing over Aunt Glinda's casket for like two whole minutes and there's a line of people backed up behind me.
"Sorry," I whisper and speedwalk back to our pew. Aside from Mom I don't know anyone here, but I can feel lots of eyes on me. I spend the whole rest of the service standing and sitting when I'm told and trying hard to look properly mournful.
It's a little difficult to get worked up for a stranger-relative, but from all the nice things everyone is saying about Aunt Glinda, she sounds pretty cool. And RICH! Holy wow, do those diamonds catch the lights, especially with the sun coming in through the stained glass window. There are beams of color flying all over the place, like when Mr. Martin goes crazy with his laser pointer in history class. He so does not getting that aiming a red dot at Abe Lincoln's left nostril does not make the Civil War more interesting.