Kicking Eternity

by Ann Lee Miller

Overview

Stuck in sleepy New Smyrna Beach one last summer, Raine socks away her camp pay checks, worries about her druggy brother, and ignores trouble: Cal Koomer. She's a plane ticket away from teaching orphans in Africa, and not even Cal's surfer six-pack and the chinks she spies in his rebel armor will derail her.

The artist in Cal begs to paint Raine's ivory skin, high cheek bones, and internal sparklers behind her eyes, but falling for her would caterwaul him into his parents' life. No thanks. The girl was self-righteous waiting to happen. Mom served sanctimony like vegetables, three servings a day, and he had a gut full.

Rec Director Drew taunts her with "Rainey" and calls her an enabler. He is so infernally there like a horsefly--till he buzzes back to his ex.

Raine's brother tweaks. Her dream of Africa dies small deaths. Will she figure out what to fight for and what to free before it's too late?

For anyone who's ever wrestled with their dreams.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940014441759
Publisher:	Ann Lee Miller
Publication date:	05/14/2012
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
File size:	582 KB

About the Author

Ann Lee Miller earned a BA in creative writing from Ashland (OH) University and writes full-time in Phoenix, but left her heart in New Smyrna Beach, Florida, where she grew up. She loves speaking to young adults and guest lectures on writing at several Arizona colleges. When she isn't writing or muddling through some crisis--real or imagined--you'll find her hiking in the Superstition Mountains with her husband, meddling in her kids' lives or at AnnLeeMiller.com.

Ann says: Every year in elementary school the teachers wrote, "daydreams too much," on my report card. Like Ty Pennington, no doubt, put his, "can't sit still," to good use on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, I cashed in my bad behavior writing novels.

However, sometimes the daydreaming didn't work out so well in real life. When I was twelve, my job was checking the depth when we sailed near shallows. I jabbed a pole at the bay floor and yelled out how many feet of water we had by reading the notches on the stick. One day the pole stuck in bottom, and the next thing I knew, I clung to the pole, suspended a couple feet above the water, and my family sailed away.

Of course, I didn't waste all my hollering about mud and barracuda and cold water as I sunk into the seaweed waiting for Dad to lumber the motor-less, forty-foot hulk back around to fetch me--I wrote it into one of my books.