Excerpt for Grl2grl 2: Blessings and Miracles by Julie Anne Peters, available in its entirety at Smashwords

Readers weigh in on grl2grl: short fictions

(the first collection)


"What is there to say about Julie’s book grl2grl? It goes there, fits quite nicely. From coming out, to dealing with hate, violence, discrimination, self destructive behaviors and abuse. It goes there. Julie managed to hit home on a few topics for me, in just one book! The relationships feel real, as do the situations. It’s an amazingly insightful book into the world of gay, lesbian and transsexual teens, that would be good for LGBT youth and their friends and family, to show what we really go through."


"In grl2grl YA author Julie Anne Peters breaks out of the novel genre for something, well, novel. If you're a fan of Peters' other works, {the first} collection of short fictions…will speak to you no matter what you've gone through, abuse, breakups, volatile relationships, the confusion of cyberspace, clicking with somebody, or hiding who you really are, there's something in grl2grl for you."



Grl2grl 2: Blessings and Miracles

by

Julie Anne Peters


Copyright 2011 by Julie Anne Peters


Smashwords Edition, License Notes


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Blessings and Miracles


Ten twenty-two? I stare at the grandfather clock in the hall, willing it to grow eyes, a nose, a mouth. Spring to life right out of Beauty and the Beast. Chime eleven, dammit. Dad spreads open the tissue paper in his gift box and says, "Terrific." He lifts the silk tie a fraction of an inch so it won't unfurl, won't rustle the paper, won't move air. Blue silk with an embroidered diamond pattern. "Thank you, Laurel."

"You're welcome." I glance at the clock again. Mom picked out the tie, of course. She didn't think the one I chose was appropriate. Glow in the dark skull and crossbones. I thought it might make him laugh. Heaven forbid we should laugh.

Beside me, Anders jumps up and runs to the tree. "Open this one, Mommy." He retrieves a package and dashes to Mom, thrusting it into her lap.

Ten twenty-four. Where's Kat at this very moment, I wonder, on Christmas morning? What's she doing? Is she anticipating today as much as I am? Is she having second thoughts?

"Eleanor Bridgestone is moving her mother to an elder care facility that specializes in Alzheimer's," Mom says to Dad, right in front of Grandma.

A look of sadness crosses his eyes. Grandma doesn't have Alzheimer’s, but last year she had a stroke that left her completely paralyzed on her right side. Her left side is weak, too, and she's confined to a wheelchair during her physical therapy. The worst part, though, is that she can't speak. She’s been living with us, which I don't mind. But I know Mom thinks it's a huge imposition.

Like caring for children.

"It's from both me and Laurel," Anders says. "Go on. Open it."

"Be patient, Anders." Mom sips her tea.

Even I know a five-year-old can’t be patient on Christmas. The clock chimes the half hour. I hunch over in my chair, my stomach growling. Kat's probably at her cousins' by this time. They'd be finished with presents at her house. They're always up by five a.m., Kat says, dragging her dad out of bed, plugging in the lights, putting on the Christmas music.

Anders was up way early. It was pitch black when he snuck into my room, looming over me until I felt his presence and my eyes fluttered open.

"Santa was here," he whispered.

I glanced at my clock. Three a.m. "Did you see him? Because you know that's bad luck."

"No, but I heard the reindeer on the roof."

He's so cute. "Go back to bed and it'll be time before you know it."

We're not allowed downstairs until seven-thirty. Exactly. Until the clock bongs. Until Dad calls up the stairs, "You can come down now."

"Sit up straight, Laurel." Mom's china cup clinks on the saucer, bringing me back to the moment. "You'll get curvature of the spine."

Maybe if I was a humpback they'd release me into the wild. I must betray my boredom, or irritation, because Mom's eyes cut me in two. I straighten. My stomach gurgles again.

Anders says, "Mommy, please. Open our present." He's been ricocheting off the walls all morning. Not literally, of course. Mother abhors blood and body parts on her alabaster walls.


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