LM Preston: KICKOFF to YA Scavenger Hunt Oct 3rd to 8th

SCAVENGER HUNT PUZZLE

Directions: Below, you'll notice that I've listed my favorite number. Collect the favorite numbers of all the authors on the ORANGE TEAM, and then add them up (don't worry, you can use a calculator!).

9

Entry Form: Once you've added up all the numbers, make sure you fill out the form here to officially qualify for the grand prize. Only entries that have the correct number will qualify.

Rules: Open internationally, anyone below the age of 18 should have a parent or guardian's permission to enter. To be eligible for the grand prize, you must submit the completed entry form by October 9th, at noon Pacific Time. Entries sent without the correct number or without contact information will not be considered.

QUICK HELP to speed you through the HUNT

SCAVENGER HUNT POST

I am Spotlighting author

LISA MANTERFIELD

Today, I am hosting LISA MANTERFIELD on my website for the YA Scavenger Hunt!

Lisa Manterfield is the award-winning author of A Strange Companion and I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home: How One Woman Dared to Say No to Motherhood. Her work has appeared in The Saturday Evening Post, Los Angeles Times, and Psychology Today. Originally from northern England, she now lives in Southern California with her husband and over-indulged cat. Learn more at LisaManterfield.com.

Find out more information by checking out the author website or find more about the author's book here! Her WEBSITE, LisaManterfield.com and her book, SMALLEST THING.

The very last thing 17-year-old Emmott Syddall wants is to turn out like her dad. She’s descended from ten generations who never left their dull English village, and there’s no way she’s going to waste a perfectly good life that way. She’s moving to London and she swears she is never coming back.

But when the unexplained deaths of her neighbors force the government to quarantine the village, Em learns what it truly means to be trapped. Now, she must choose. Will she pursue her desire for freedom, at all costs, or do what’s best for the people she loves: her dad, her best friend Deb, and, to her surprise, the mysterious man in the HAZMAT suit?

Inspired by the historical story of the plague village of Eyam, this contemporary tale of friendship, community, and impossible love weaves the horrors of recent news headlines with the intimate details of how it feels to become an adult—and fall in love—in the midst of tragedy.

And don't forget to enter the contest for a chance to win a ton of books by me, Lisa Manterfield , and more! To enter, you need to know that my favorite number is 9. Add up all the favorite numbers of the authors on the ORANGE TEAM and you'll have all the secret code to enter for the grand prize!

EXCLUSIVE CONTENT

Deleted Scene from The Smallest Thing

“You need to see this.”

It’s a message from Deb with a link to a YouTube video. “Love in the Time of Plauge” is the pithy title some dim bulb has come up with and then misspelled.

“Thanks,” I message back, “but I think I’ve seen about as much plauge—and plague—as I can stomach. Don’t need to watch it online when I’m living it here.”

“True enough, but I think you’ll want to see this. Just look.”

I sigh and flop back on my bed. Had it come from anyone else I would have told them where to stick their stupid video, but Deb wouldn’t be insistent if it wasn’t something either really important or really juicy. I click on the link, sit through the banal car insurance ad and watch the spinning dandelion clock until the video loads. It’s only had about 100,000 views, so it’s either not very good or it’s just getting started. Obviously no cute cats will star in this one.

I recognize the setting immediately—the haphazard tree line, the protruding limestone rocks, and the curving bowl of Cucklett Delf. In the bottom, the stream that marks the border of the village glistens in the midday sun, so that it looks more like an electric fence than a passable band of water. I can’t see anyone in the frame so I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at. “Um, a little editing would be nice,” I say to the screen. I’m about to give up and close the window when something moves at the top of the screen and a figure emerges from between the rocks. I don’t need to see her take more than a couple of steps down into the Delf before I recognize her.

It’s me.

At first I’m not shocked to see myself on screen. I’m probably in a million videos out there, mucking about with friends, clowning for the camera, and generally making an arse of myself for the entire world to see. But there’s something different about this video. Even though I’m not much more than a growing dot on the screen, there’s something intimate about the scene. Something about me doesn’t look right. It’s the way I move, the way I look at the ground as I walk, as if I don’t care how the camera sees me. Finally I realize what it is: I’m acting normal. I’m not posing and preening, or giggling and pretending to be shy about performing; I’m just walking out in nature on my own. I’m just being me, minding my own business.

A sickening feeling erupts in the pit of stomach. I have no recollection of this video being shot. This is not the work of a friend. I’m not going to look up into the camera and grin any second now. I’m not going to say, “Are you getting this?” right before the video cuts out. Someone has taken a video of me without my knowledge and the thought of being watched, unaware, makes my insides pull into themselves.

I try to think when this could have been taken. Was it since the quarantine? Judging by the angle, someone must have shot it from beyond the boundary. The only time I’ve been close to the edge of the quarantine zone was to see Ro.

My stomach sinks. Ro? He couldn’t have. The foundation on which I’ve built our relationship begins to shake, but right before it crumbles, Ro walks into the frame. I’m so relieved he’s not behind this that I forget for a moment that I’m being filmed by a hidden stranger. I watch the scene unfold as Ro and I hurry down to our respective sides of the water. The memories of seeing him that day start to trickle back in. He was so afraid of the quarantine and worried in case we were caught, even though we weren’t breaking the rules. With a frustratingly safe distance between us, we talked and I trusted that things were still okay with us. Once the quarantine was lifted we’d be together again, we said. He said he missed me and couldn’t wait to touch me again. I remember how I’d flirted, how he’d egged me on, how I’d…

I feel the color wash from face as I see myself as 100,000 people have already seen me. I thought I’d been seductive, but as I watch my little performance, seductive isn’t the word that comes to mind. I look ridiculous, teasing Ro with my T-shirt inched up. I look like a model in a tacky car magazine, posing with my eyes wide open, like any brain cells I ever had have evaporated, leaving my skull an empty shell.

I can’t watch anymore. I need to call Ro. I wonder if he’s seen it. He’s going to go through the roof. I’m helpless, trapped here, but he can find out who did this and get it taken down before another 100,000 people see it. I can’t let myself think about how this video got to Deb, how many people I know saw it before it made it to her. For the first time ever, I’m glad for the quarantine, so I don’t have to face anyone who knows about this. Maybe by the time the quarantine lifts, this will all have blown over too. I can’t help thinking that I’m making two hopeless wishes in one sentence.

I’m just about to close down the video when I see something in the video that freezes me dead. I must be mistaken. I rewind the section and there it is again. It’s just a split second, but there’s no mistake. I turn my back on Ro, further humiliating myself with my “seductive” antics. And when I do, he turns too. And just for a flash of a moment, his eyes meet the camera and he grins. It’s as if to say, “Are you getting this?”

I stare at the face of the person I thought I knew and I see everything through new eyes. All the missteps I’ve pinned on myself, all the excuses I’ve made for him, and now he’s provided me with evidence of his true self. I feel as if I’ve been stripped away from myself and all that’s left is a cartoon skeleton. It stays erect for a moment longer, before crashing down in a pile of useless bones.

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