Little White Lies (The Girlfriends
#1)
In Little White Lies, Book # 1 of the Girlfriends Series
–eighth grader Rachel Scott finally has the perfect boyfriend. He’s good
looking, athletic and wealthy. The only problem is he doesn’t actually exist.
Rachel’s escape into her fantasy world worries her parents and they insist she
meet with the school counselor. Frustrated with her life and without her best
friend’s approval, Rachel heads down a dangerous path, looking for love in all
the wrong places.
In Little White Pills, Book #2 of The Girlfriends Series -Tenth grader Steph
Baxter has it all,
perfect looks, perfect grades and a perfect life. She’s a
model high-school
student and a member of the cheerleading squad. But in her
quest for
excellence, she makes dangerous choices. Soon her simple
solution becomes a
complex problem. Follow Steph and her best friend Rachel as
they cope with
Steph’s unexpected journey. Can Steph find support before
it’s too late?
Little White Magic (The
Girlfriends #3)
In Little White Magic, Book #3 in The Girlfriends Series – Tenth grader
Rachel Scott is sent to
work at a remote summer camp with her best friend Steph.
Hoping to find a boyfriend,
she enlists the aid of a Tarot card reader. The cards lead
her on a journey
filled with unexpected twists and turns. Will the girls’
friendship survive as
Rachel becomes obsessed with her mission to save a new
friend?
All Rachel wants is to unravel the mystery of her missing mother. Why did she
disappear over a
decade ago without saying
goodbye?
With the support of her friends, Steph and Dylan, and the guidance of her
Tarot cards she must
decide if the explanation lies in a faraway town.
A family emergency and her mother’s odd behavior threaten to disrupt
her quest. But the
Tarot and a new friend with psychic powers gives her courage
to find the
answers that really
matter.
My name’s Rachel and I invent stories. My parents call me a
fibber — a liar, to be exact. Lying makes me feel better. To me it’s just
pretending. A designer home, trips to Maui and Disney World and, of course, my
imaginary boyfriend, Walker Johnson. We met at summer camp. My imaginary summer
camp.
“Liar, liar pants on fire,” I hum as I push open the door to
the school counselor’s office for my weekly meeting. Her small room has one
dirty window. Books and black binders line the shelves in the corner. The smell
of sweat fills the room. Four boys from my class have just finished talking
with Ms. Paxton. Probably fighting at lunch again. I sigh as I slump into my
usual place at the round table.
Ms. Paxton leans forward, clasping her hands together. I try
not to stare at them, but I can’t help myself. They’re spotted with freckles
and veins that pop up. I never want to have hands like that even when I’m old.
But she has a kind face and I like her.
Last week my best friend, Stephanie, and I saw Ms. Paxton
jump into a Mercedes convertible after school. A good-looking man was in the
driver’s seat. We almost died. Who would have thought Ms. Paxton could be
hot?
“Rachel, how’s your week going?”
“Great.” It’s only Tuesday, not many things have gone wrong
yet. What does she expect me to say? “Not much to report, Ms.
Paxton.”
She leans back in her chair and waits. She knows me. After
all, I’ve been coming to her sessions since the beginning of the term. My
parents make me. They say I have issues. Some days, like today, my issue is
being in this room. Great!!
“Tell me about your weekend.”
“Same old, same old.” I wince when I realize I sound like my
dad.
Ms. Paxton’s eyebrows rise. That’s her signal that she needs
to hear more.
“Well, I hung out with Steph. We burned some CDs, watched
dance shows on TV and ate junk food. I made a ton of popcorn. We added half a
pound of melted butter and Parmesan cheese. Then we finished with bowls of
chocolate ice cream and some vinegar chips.”
Ms. Paxton’s eyebrows lift another inch.
The last time we talked, I whined about my weight. I’m
supposed to be following Weight Watchers, but I can’t seem to stick to the
program. Why shouldn’t I reward myself every once in a
while?
“I got another great e-mail from
Walker.”
“What about?”
“He wants me to join him in Vermont next
summer.”
“Really?”
I listen carefully to the tone of her voice. I think she’s
still a believer.
My fate is the Land Of Perfection. Perfect grades, perfect
body, perfect life. But I’m faltering. I’m not who you think I
am.
I stroke the side of the plastic vial of little white pills,
considering what to do. I twist off the cap, pop one down my throat and gulp
some water. It’s all good. They’re prescription, you know. Not mine, of course,
but legal. Just something to take the edge off my day. I tuck my secret deep in
my pocket and get ready for school.
I’m the girl you love to hate. I have it all. Brains, looks,
friends. My best friend Rachel says so and she’s right about everything. So I’d
like to agree with her – but most days, about this particular topic, I think
she’s wrong. So what if I’m pretty, get straight A’s and have a ton of friends?
None of that makes me feel good.
I’m only in the tenth grade and Dad and Mom keep asking what
I want to do with the rest of my life. My life. I tell them I haven’t a clue.
What I do know is I plan to be ultra-careful about the path I choose. I won’t
follow my dad.
I don’t want to spend my life hating what I do. I don’t want
to wake up in the morning and look in the mirror and think ‘Is this all there
is?’ I need to discover what’s out in the world at my own pace. That’s the
problem. My parents are fast-track kind of people, looking for the best,
wanting the most expensive stuff. Every day they push, push, push. Push
themselves. And push me.
My grandpa wanted Dad to be a lawyer. So he went to Harvard
Law School. But now he’s a busy orthodontist in Portervale, north of Seattle. I
have no idea why he changed his mind. Now he spends all day making smiles
sparkle. One day I wish he would make me smile.
My mom used to be a model. But then she got married and had
me. I wasn’t part of her plan. I think she’s still recovering from the fact she
got pregnant. Now she’s a home stager. She gets to spend other people’s money
to make their houses look fabulous in order to sell them. The owners then move
on to their next fantastic place.
I think her work is boring. Everything is super organized
and the sofas look like you shouldn’t sit on them or they’d bruise. The
designer kitchens shine but never have a yummy smell. So Mom fakes it. She uses
a mini Crock Pot and chucks in some gingerbread goop. This aroma makes the
house feel homey so clients will fall in love with the place. I suppose it
works because she’s always busy. She loves ‘decluttering and neutralizing’ a
home, as she calls it, to help buyers see its full potential. But she should
look carefully at her daughter’s potential.
Me? I’m Steph, Child Number One of the Baxter household.
Actually, I’m the one and only, and this is my story.
Rachel
Normally I love a Tarot card reading, but today something is
wrong, wrong, wrong. Madame Ariana’s azure eyes skewer me like a
laser.
I shrink back in my chair. “What do you
see?”
In the silence, her silver bracelets jingle as she places
twenty-two cards in a circle, her long fingers caressing each one. I know what
she’s doing—the Soul Mate spread. I’ve studied the cards throughout my senior
year. She points to the card in the middle.
“The King of Wands,” she says in an ominous
tone.
“What does that mean?”
She spins one of her five rings slowly with her left thumb. I
stare at the largest ring, the one with the dragon. My stomach plummets. I’ve
always hated dragons. There’s something about the blood-red eyes that is beyond
scary. I make an effort to refocus.
“Does that card represent the
past?”
“Be patient, Rachel. The cards will let you
know.”
I’m here to find out if Channing really loves me or if this is
just a summer romance. I guess I’m nervous because he’s my very first real
boyfriend. I’m not counting my neighbor last year who I thought might be
interested in me. Channing could have any girl in Camp Winnoski. Every day I
wonder why he chose me.
The neglected cottage has thick purple curtains and black
walls. Three plump crystals dangle from glossy beaded strings in the window.
Good. Three is my lucky number. A dusty stench thickens the air. Even though
it’s late in the afternoon, it’s so dark outside it feels like midnight.
Another summer storm is brewing.
Madame Ariana talks about the past. But I don’t want to think
about my mom abandoning me, dad always working, changing schools. Not today. I
want her to tell me about Channing. About the
future.
“You
are ready for a deeper connection with your soul mate. But I see confusion and
conflicts. The King of Wands will be your mentor. He will inspire you. In time,
harmony will rule.” She leans across the scarred pine table and whispers, “You
will be two jewels polishing each other’s rough
edges.”
That
sounds cool, but …
The lights flicker and thunder rolls in the distance.
Raindrops drum on the tin roof, making my heart beat faster. Madame Ariana’s
blue shawl rises and falls over her bony shoulders as she arranges a new
spread. “Ah, the King of Wands again.”
I study the card. The regal figure is sitting on a fancy
throne, wearing a robe and crown and holding a wand with a bunch of leaves
sticking out the top. I wish I could remember its significance. I’ll check it
out later in my favorite Tarot book.
“But he’s reversed,” I add.
“Yes.” Madame Ariana stares at me. “The energy of the card is
blocked.”
Wonderful. I peek at my watch. My best friend, Steph, is
waiting outside. She must be wondering what’s taking so long. I want Madame
Ariana to hurry, because I need to shower before dinner. The line for the camp
washrooms is ugly if you don’t arrive early. But I want to hear that Channing
is The One!
She leans forward and speaks carefully into the microphone on
the table. “The vision is still taking shape.”
I get to keep the tape. When I return to camp I’ll have to
dredge up a tape player. That will be a pain. Camp Winnoski has almost zero
technology. We’re allowed brief emails to our parents in the office on Sunday
afternoons with mega supervision. What a drag. I’m still in withdrawal from saying
goodbye to my iPad and iPhone. I mean, that’s
punishment!
As Madame Ariana taps the card, I notice the tattoo on her
wrist—a snake curled around something I don’t
recognize.
“Yes, still taking shape,” she murmurs. “The cards say you
must confront your strengths and weaknesses. Show neither doubt nor fear. The
vision indicates you will be strong.”
“What vision?” I suddenly have my own vision. I can see my
hard-earned money evaporating.
“You must put forth effort and legwork,” she
continues.
Hmm, sounds like school. And this is my summer to be free.
Well, sort of. Working as a camp counselor isn’t exactly a
holiday.
Annoyance chokes my brain. “Is my boyfriend, Channing, the
King of Wands?” Obviously, I have to be
specific.
“Does he inspire you?”
Well. All I know is that he’s one hot guy who is attracted to
me—and I’m wondering why.
Madame Ariana delivers vague suggestions and I try to
concentrate. She isn’t giving me answers and this session is costing me a lot.
My dad and stepmom would come unhinged if they found out that a large part of
my salary is going to a Tarot reader. I can hear my dad’s voice: “Rachel, I
can’t understand why you believe such nonsense.” I love him, but he’s way too
practical. He doesn’t believe in coloring outside the lines, if you know what I
mean.
Raindrops splatter and slide down the grimy windows, leaving
spidery trails. Can’t Madame Ariana read the disappointment on my face? Surely
if she understands the universe, she knows what I want to
hear.
“Trust
your instincts. The answers will come.” She switches off the recorder and hands
me the tape. “I’ll tell you more next time.”
Or not. I pay her sixty-five dollars and leave. As I open the
door, sunlight and fresh air stream into the room. The storm is over. Steph,
wet hair clinging to her face, grabs my hand and we begin the thirty minute
hike back to camp. Our sneakers squish through the muddy puddles on the winding
path in the Vermont forest.
“What took so long? What did she
say?”
“She told me lots of things about myself I already know. There
were clues about the future, but she didn’t tell me what will happen. Just that
there will be conflicts.” Simply saying that word makes me shudder. I reach
inside the pocket of my cargo pants and touch my special comfort stones. My
tourmaline for compassion, my amber for protection, and my malachite for
spiritual guidance.
“Oh, that sucks. I know you wanted to hear about Channing.”
Steph grabs me around the waist. I put my arm around her and
we lope along like we used to when we were little. We were experts at
three-legged races.
“There’s something that really bugs me. Apparently I will meet
my mentor, the King of Wands. Madame Ariana wouldn’t say who it is. But I can’t
afford to go to her again. I wonder if she’d lower her price if I cleaned her
cabin. The place is disgusting. It smells like my brothers’
socks.”
“Okay, girlfriend, I recognize that look,” Steph says. “What
are you plotting?”
I give her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m going to find the King of
Wands.”
In the middle of a Saturday morning, two days after Christmas,
my dad launches a thunderbolt into my world. My mom, who evaporated when I was
four, has sent me a letter.
As he hands over the promised message, his eyes brim with
tears. He moves closer on the couch in our family room and gently squeezes my
shoulder. Dread saturates my brain now that the moment is here. Maybe reading
this is one giant mistake. All I know is that once I open the letter, my life
will change forever. Finally, I’ll understand why she disappeared. I’ve
imagined every possible reason. But now is the moment of
truth.
Taking a gulp of air, I rip the envelope open and study the
shaky handwriting. Forcing the words from my throat, I read aloud so that my
best friend Steph and my stepmom Diane, who are sitting on the other sofa, can
share in the news.
My darling daughter Rachel, I
tried many times to connect with you. But I couldn’t do it. Years have passed,
I know. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I can’t forgive me. But...now, I’m
ready to explain. I’ve spoken with your father. Hopefully he can arrange the
details. Right now, I’m living in Prickly Pear Junction, Arizona. I’m looking
forward to seeing you.
Fiona
I
stare at Dad, searching for his reaction, and he pulls me into a hug. Memories
from the past float through my mind.
“Rachel, I thought this letter was important and that you
should know where your mother is living. She phoned me last week. We’ve talked,
but I haven’t made any firm plans. I wanted to speak with you
first.”
His eyes are red and he turns away to wipe his face. I slowly
re-examine the note, inspecting each line for a clue. A bubble of annoyance
expands in my brain. This letter tells me nothing. Absolutely
nothing.
How can she do this to me? I’ve waited years to hear from her
and now all I have is this meaningless bunch of sentences. Why didn’t she say
something that would help me?
Steph shoots across the room and pulls me to my feet. “I’m so
sorry—I know you expected more.”
“Yeah,” I mutter as I race upstairs to my bedroom, abandoning
the letter, just like my mother abandoned
me.
Steph follows, grabs my shoulders, and gives me a shake. “Talk
to me, Rachel. What are you thinking?”
“I just want to understand. After twelve years of waiting to
hear something, I need to know what’s going on with her. Is that too much to
ask?” I collapse onto my bed and pound the pillows in frustration. “I don’t
want to wait. I want to talk to her today.”
“Rachel, get up.”
I turn over and look at her through bleary eyes. “And don’t
think that food will be the answer to this. I’m not always starving.” Well, not
always, but most of the time.
“I
know you. Eating won’t solve this problem. But what can I do to help you feel
better?” She crosses her arms and gives me one of her serious, no-nonsense
stares.
I sit up slowly and hug my knees. “Here’s the thing. I
thought—I mean I really, really believed—I’d discover something new about what
happened when she lived with Dad.”
“Maybe today isn’t the
day.”
“You’ve got that right,” I say on a sigh. “I can’t imagine
their conversation. My mom’s disappearance hurt him, too. Even after all these
years, some days he can’t hide his
resentment.”
Steph sits next to me. “Listen, nothing has really changed.
You knew she was out there somewhere.”
“But things are different now. Fiona or my mother—I never know
how to think about her. I can’t remember much of my life with her. Now she
wants to meet me. Why? After all these years! What does she want from me? I
thought I was ready for this moment. I dreamed about this moment. But now that
it’s here, I’m a mess.”
“Well, at least we know your mother is somewhere in Arizona.”
“Right. Dad thought she was living in New Mexico. But I guess
not. All I’ve heard is that she moves around a lot. She works in restaurants.
That’s all I know.”
“Don’t you want to meet her? This is just nerves, Rachel.
You’re in shock.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what to think. I’m stunned that
she wrote to me. I mean, I wanted her to write, but it’s going to take a while
to sink in.”
“Hey, turn around. How about one of my famous neck
massages?”
As Steph vigorously kneads my tight muscles, I let my mind
wander. What would happen if I went to Arizona? What would that accomplish? So,
I would meet my mother. Then what? I’ve always considered the meeting, but I’ve
never thought about what would happen next.
“Rachel, let’s look up this Prickly Pear place and find out
some information. That might help you make up your mind about whether or not
you want to go.” Steph slides her phone out of her pocket. “I’ve never heard of
the town.” She taps the name into Google. “Woo-ee! Check this out. You won’t
believe it. You’re totally going to adore
this.”
“Read it to me.”
I flop back onto the bed and close my eyes. Steph’s voice
drones on and on about the vegetation, the weather, the hiking trails, and the
Jeep tours available at Prickly Pear Junction, just outside of Phoenix. Yeah,
yeah.
Suddenly my eyes fly wide open. Wide, wide open. “Read that
part again, please.”
“Sure. ‘This sleepy town is more new age than Sedona. Tourists
will discover opportunities for aura readings, crystals, vortex information,
flower essences, the Tarot, and other occult practices. Explore the events of
the past and their influences on the present. Open your mind and spend your
holiday in Prickly Pear Junction.’”
“Steph,” I shriek. “I’m meant to go there. I know it. I know
it.”
Jodie Esch lives on an island in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, dog, cat, chickens and alpacas. When not living in her fictional world, she spends her time as the ‘Waste Management Queen’ picking up manure on the property. She is passionate about words and is obsessed with writing and reading.
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