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Overview
Beth Michaels isn’t sure when it all began, but she’s pretty sure that the pink dots came first. Pink dots everywhere in her vision, clouding the people who stood before her. And then little movie screens started to play, telling her more than she ever wanted to know about their lives. Now she can’t even eat a hamburger without seeing how the poor cow met his maker. As Beth approaches her eighteenth birthday, her visions just keep getting worse. And when a little gold envelope shows up proclaiming the words, “You are more than you think you are,” she starts to do the super-freak. What does all of this mean? It means she’s in for a loooong senior year….
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781416997399 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Simon & Schuster Books For Young Readers |
| Publication date: | 11/24/2009 |
| Sold by: | SIMON & SCHUSTER |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 336 |
| Lexile: | HL660L (what's this?) |
| File size: | 2 MB |
| Age Range: | 14 - 18 Years |
About the Author
Jessica Bendinger is a movie writer, producer, and director who lives in Los Angeles who has written such screenplays as Bring it On and Stick It. This is her first teen novel.
Jessica Bendinger is a movie writer, producer, and director who lives in Los Angeles who has written such screenplays as Bring it On and Stick It. This is her first teen novel.
Jessica Bendinger is a movie writer, producer, and director who lives in Los Angeles who has written such screenplays as Bring it On and Stick It. This is her first teen novel.
Read an Excerpt
The Seven Rays
YEAR AFTER YEAR SISTER MARY PERFECTLY TIMED the mailing of the gold envelopes, patiently sending them on precise dates from the headquarters of 7RI. The process was always the same: Mail a gold envelope with a specific message and wait for a response. Replies could take days, months, sometimes years. Sometimes they never came at all.
Mary took in the unobstructed view of the East River through her large office window. The new decorator had painted the walls an expensive shade of slate. The floors were polished to a high shine. The archives were securely protected by both manual lock and digital code. Fingerprint and voice recognition had been installed, and Mary delighted in the ease of inserting her finger and saying her name versus the cumbersome use of key and code. These precautions were there for a reason, and she had nothing but the greatest respect for protocol. But Mary was tired of waiting. Someone’s life was in danger.
As she made her daily journey across the river to All Saints Hospital, Mary fidgeted. One of the biggest alignments in centuries was just around the corner. The legacy of the Seven Rays—an inevitability that had been promised before promises existed—was finally about to play out. She peeked out the back of her chauffeured town car, hoping the sunlight would relax her. Mary didn’t get giddy, but this excitement was positively overwhelming to her. Nothing short of everything was at stake. Mary needed Sarah to hang on.
All Saints Hospital was not renowned for its successes. A small, private hospital serving up third-rate care, it employed an underpaid staff and served dissatisfied patients. The facility had faced bankruptcy on more than one occasion. All Saints didn’t fit anyone’s idea of first class, and it showed. Which is why it was so surprising when the cancer ward started releasing cancer patients. Without cancer.
Word about the “miracles” at All Saints spread quickly through the Catholic community. Some claimed there was a weeping Madonna in the mosaic tiles; others said the hospital had been built on a sacred burial ground. Some said it was the nun in the plain brown habit who sat with Sarah David every day.
“Good afternoon, Sarah,” Mary cooed. “How are you today?”
“Sister Mary. Thanks for coming. I’m tired.”
“I know, dear. But we’re getting closer. Any day now.”
“I don’t know. If I can do it—” Sarah had survived months of IV feeding tubes, mechanical respiration, dialysis, and several bouts with deadly infection.
“Come now. Recite for me, dear.” Mary took out her large knitting needles and began knitting a purple scarf.
“‘Canst thou bind the sweet influence of the Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion?’” It pained Mary to hear the effort in Sarah’s tone.
“Silly girl. You know I prefer the Tennyson, my dear.”
“‘Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro’ the mellow shade, glitter like a swarm of fireflies tangled in a silver braid.’”
“Lovely. Thank you.” Mary noticed some unfamiliar faces outside the intensive care unit.
“They’re from the Department of Health,” Sarah wheezed. “Verifying the remission statistics.”
“Again?” Mary shook her head. “Scientists hate the unexplained. I don’t know why they get so worked up.”
“They think the staff is fudging the figures.” Sarah’s voice was evaporating. Mary let her rest a moment, considering what lay ahead for the Seven Rays.
“List the names for me, Sarah.”
“Matariki, Makali’i, Tianquiztli, Kilimia, Subaru, Krttika, Al-Thurayya.” Sarah’s accents were perfect.
“Always so good with languages,” Mary purred. “The sites, please.”
“The Temple of the Sun in Teotihuacán, Chichén Itzá in the Yucatán, Machu Picchu in Peru, the Great Pyramids of Giza, the Parthenon in Greece, Mateo Tipi...”
As Sarah recited the list, Mary nodded to herself. The seven days of the week, the seven colors of the rainbow, the seven seas, the seven major planets, the seven notes on the scale, the seven glands in the body...
Sarah’s lists all owed a debt to the Rays. One or more of the Seven Rays had always been murdered or slaughtered before the Great Work could be completed. Destiny always had its detractors. The Rays were no exception.
The Music of Sevens was about to be played again. For the first time in centuries these human stars were aligning, and providential dominion would be reclaimed. The imbalances and atrocities from centuries of patriarchal rule were about to be righted. The masculine had grown out of control. The feminine was about to take its rightful place. This planet was called Mother Earth for a reason. Yes, the Seven Sisters had been born before. This time they’d be protected. Mary was startled out of her contemplation by a familiar orderly.
“How are you, Sister Mary?” She loved the sweet Catholic boys. They were so respectful.
“Vince. If the doctor asks me to sign that do-not-resuscitate order again, the answer is still no.”
“I don’t know why they bother you, ma’am. The bills are paid; she’s not hurting anyone. I guess it’s the rules, when...” Vince trailed off, embarrassed.
“When what, Vince?”
“When patients are in, um, a persistent vegetative state, ma’am.” Vince quietly adjusted the tubes coming out of Sarah’s otherwise motionless body. A body that had not moved, blinked, or taken an unassisted breath in more than eighteen months.
“Vegetables are alive, Vince,” Mary said sweetly, as Sarah’s machines clicked, pumped, and beeped, “and so is Sarah.”
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