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    Playing Keira
    Playing Keira
    Playing Keira
    Ebook71 pages1 hour

    Playing Keira

    By Jennifer Castle

    5/5

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    About this ebook

    From a breakthrough voice in YA fiction comes a captivating digital-original 50-page short story starring a supporting character from the novel You Look Different in Real Life.

    The premise was simple: Five kids living their real lives, with a new movie about them every five years. But that was before Keira's mother walked out and the cameras captured every heartbreaking detail for the world to see. Now Keira doesn't even know what "real life" means—she only knows how to pretend to be herself.

    Then she meets Garrett on a bus to New York City. At first, Keira creates a fictional identity and enjoys the freedom of being someone totally different. But as their brief connection turns into something more, Keira starts to see what life could be like if she just stopped pretending and accepted the person she really is.

    Jennifer Castle's pitch-perfect teen voices and sharp insights—together with a teaser to You Look Different in Real Life—make this story a must-read, especially for fans of Sarah Dessen.

    Epic Reads Impulse is a digital imprint with new releases each month.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperTeen
    Release dateMay 7, 2013
    ISBN9780062271594
    Playing Keira
    Author

    Jennifer Castle

    Jennifer Castle received her BA in Creative Writing at Brown University. She lives in New York's Hudson Valley with her husband and daughters.

    Read more from Jennifer Castle

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      Book preview

      Playing Keira - Jennifer Castle

      Contents

      Begin Reading

      Excerpt from You Look Different in Real Life

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      About the Author

      Back Ads

      Also by Jennifer Castle

      Copyright

      About the Publisher

      BEGIN READING

      I slide forty dollars in cash that is not mine through the hole in the ticket window and say, One way to New York City, please.

      My hand steady, my voice not wavering one bit. I am doing this. I actually am.

      If the woman behind the window checks me out and asks, Just one way? or seems suspicious of a teenage girl alone, buying a Trailways bus ticket at six a.m. on a Saturday morning, I’ve got a story prepared. A fake name, too, should I need it. I think I want to need it. Because it shouldn’t be this easy to put your body through the movements of something you’ve fantasized about doing for so long. Should it?

      But the ticket-window lady doesn’t ask. She simply takes the money that is not mine and prints out a ticket, which I guess is technically mine now. To her, I’m just another person with somewhere to go, and none of her concern. I’m nobody. You have no idea how exhilarating this is. The rush of it prickles the back of my neck beneath my travel-efficient ponytail.

      I take the ticket from her, along with the change that is not mine, and slide both into the wallet that is not mine behind the driver’s license with a face that is not mine. I realize it’s annoying for me to keep saying the not mine part, but it makes me feel more like I’m just borrowing these things. Not stealing or cheating.

      Outside the station, I find a spot on the bench next to a couple sitting with their bodies intertwined so that at first, I can’t tell which are her legs and which are his. (They’re both wearing pajama bottoms. So classy.) The bench has a good view of the street, and if someone’s come looking, I can probably spot them before they spot me. What if they have? Let me think. I will dash around the corner of the building and hide somewhere. I will face them down and demand they let me go. Or maybe I’ll fold, let them take me back where I’m supposed to be. Honestly, any of these things could happen. I almost wish for the chance to find out.

      I scan the waiting passengers. Not a single familiar face, luckily, and oof, there’s that rush again. Because it doesn’t happen too often, being surrounded by people who don’t know me. I could levitate from how weightless it makes me feel. Is this what it was like for my mother that day? She went east on a train instead of south on a bus, but still. I can nearly imagine that first taste of what life would be like somewhere else, as someone starting from scratch. Without us. I wonder what she would do right now, if she knew I was on my way to her. I like to think she’d be excited and giddy, jittery. Maybe she’d rush to the bathroom because she thought she might puke from the good kind of nervousness. Which would be completely understandable, because I just did that myself.

      Here comes the bus now, and the sight of it brings on a rather specific thank God/oh shit combination of emotions. It’s not too late to change your mind, I think. But before I can even consider that further, the bus clanks to a halt in front of me. Now the door is opening and it feels like going through it is the only way to keep breathing.

      I hand my ticket to the driver with a smile. Mental note: smiling goes a long way when you’re trying to convince people (and yourself) that you’re not doing anything wrong.

      I find a window seat and settle in, watching the other passengers board and figure out where to sit. Some people really take their time with this, like which seat they choose is some big commitment for the ninety-five minutes of the ride. Still, I’m hoping nobody sits next to me, because I could use the extra personal space after last night. I look out the window and give off a bitchy air. I am crazy good at the bitchy air.

      It seems to be working, until I feel someone slide into the aisle seat next to me. I turn to look.

      The first thing I notice about the guy is that he’s wearing two jackets: a denim jacket with a leather jacket on top of it. He’s young, but older than me. Scruffy. Wet hair. As he leans forward to remove the leather jacket, he nods to me quickly and I nod back, then return to my window gaze.

      I wait. I’m assuming he’s looking at me more thoroughly now. His glance will sweep up and down, taking stock. Because that’s what usually happens. I’m not being egotistical here; it’s the facts. People find me attractive. I call this stock-taking action the Appraisal, usually followed by the Shift.

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