Jahrys Grent, now King of Astenpoole, is faced with restoring Astenpoole and cleaning up the Junkland. While King Jahrys reshapes the kingdom, dealing with lords and knights, word of another sorceress, Emilia Danell, reaches Astenpoole. Preparing for another fight, Jahrys worries that Emilia comes for the same reason as the previous sorceress, Nadia Danell.
Once Emilia reaches Astenpoole, Jahrys quickly realizes things are not as they seem. With nightmares plaguing him, and a power he doesn’t understand, The Lost Soul takes Jahrys on a quest beyond the Western Mountains and into his destiny.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted a book review, and I am honestly honored to be part of this book tour. It was actually a bit challenging for to do reviews lately since my job could go insane and I literally don’t have time for everything, but joining in this tour made me more focused on reading again which I enjoyed. Reading the two books reminded me on how fun it is to have other things to do aside from work and I’ve got no regrets on stopping work just to read this.
This book have three (3) character point of view and a lot of other character names involved on each chapters. Readers will know each and everyone of them eventually as they go along and read the book *wink*. Each characters are interesting and they have a fair contribution in the story and the readers will love them, some will be hated but, that’s how books goes right? Focusing on the main characters: Jahrys, Emilia and Piller these three makes the book interesting and worth reading. Their stories makes the book alive, the flashback makes the book interesting, that makes you understand the characters more. Jahrys, being the new king of Astenpoole, a new role and responsibility for him, is he the sorcerer they expect him to be? Emilia being the Sorceress who wanted to revive a lover, will she be successful bringing Belvadere to life? and Piller, the captain of Knights of the Poolesguard, will his worries about Astenpoole fades away, will he turn his back?
This book has it’s big twist and it gave me chills! Like for real though! It makes me even more excited for the third book! Tell me there’s a third book… I can’t wait for this one. The return of one person from the previous book changes everything! This makes me want to reveal!!! But.. I can’t, I just can’t, LMAO.
I’ll end my review here now before I spill some more spoilers. Once again, I’m glad to be part of this book tour. I’d love to be part of the tours again and read more books on free time. I also want to congratulate the author for doing Junkland and Lost Souls, both books are amazing and I can’t wait to see those in a local bookstores specially here in the Philippines.
Readers, enjoy The Hoarding series! No regrets on this one *winks*
Patrick Johns is a wordsmith who grew up in Ramsey, New Jersey, where he would play for hours in his basement with his dino-saurs, and out back in the woods with his imaginary friends in imaginary worlds. He has been writing since he was young—creating worlds and drawing the made-up characters within them, but his imagination was put on hold while in college.
Patrick is a graduate from Virginia Tech (Go Hokies!), with a degree in Industrial and Systems Engineering and a second de-gree in Mathematics. While he is doing very well, he never forgot his imaginary friends, and always imagined bringing their world to life in a novel.
Upon graduation, Patrick’s wonderful parents took him to see Aladdin on Broadway, one of his favorite childhood stories. And yes, it is his dream to one day soar high into a diamond sky on a magic carpet, singing a beautiful duet with someone he just met and fell madly in love with! After the play, Patrick’s creativity sparked and he started writing again to make this dream come true—as well as his childhood dreams of imaginary worlds.
Junkland is his first novel, now available on Amazon. The sec-ond novel in The Hoarding series is underway, with the third soon to follow.
Remmy grows up with Beth in Bellhammer, Illinois as oil and coal companies rob the land of everything that made it paradise. Under his Grandad, he learns how to properly prank his neighbors, friends, and foes. Beth tries to fix Remmy by taking him to church. Under his Daddy, Remmy starts the Bell Hammer Construction Company, which depends on contracts from Texarco Oil. And Beth argues with him about how to build a better business. Together, Remmy and Beth start to build a great neighborhood of “merry men” carpenters: a paradise of s’mores, porch furniture, newborn babies, and summer trips to Branson where their boys pop the tops off of the neighborhood’s two hundred soda bottles. Their witty banter builds a kind of castle among a growing nostalgia.
Then one of Jim Johnstone’s faulty Texarco oil derricks falls down on their house and poisons their neighborhood’s well.
Poisoned wells escalate to torched dog houses. Torched dog houses escalate to stolen carpentry tools and cancelled contracts. Cancelled contracts escalate to eminent domain. Sick of the attacks from Texaco Oil on his neighborhood, Remmy assembles his merry men:
“We need the world’s greatest prank. One grand glorious jest that’ll bloody the nose of that tyrant. Besides, pranks and jokes don’t got no consequences, right?”
Buckass naked in hot, hand-boiled bathtub suds, playing with his tin New York dairy truck and some
Spur Cola bottles, he heard old Rooney’s brakes set to squelching.
“Aww shit.” He was six years old. “Aw shitty shit shit.”
They didn’t have no school buses back then, you see, just one room schoolhouses dotting the countryside like peppercorns tossed sparingly over a pot of boiled taters. And if you weren’t gonna walk five miles to school one way, you’d better get your ass in line for old Rooney’s flatbed truck when it pulled up to your street corner when them brakes squelched out loud.
Remmy jumped up quick as a cat scared by a cucumber and ran out without drying himself. “Rooney! Rooney!” Momma Midge cried after but it was of no use.
It started to go and all of his classmates and Elizabeth too stared at him with suds all down his naked body as he
sprinted across that hot dirt road and it picked up on his feet till the soles went black and he caught the truck just barely and plopped buckass naked on the back with the rest of them.
The other kids stared. One snorted.
Rooney slammed on the brakes with a fresh squelch and craned his head out the window. “The hell, Remmy?”
“The hell, Old Man Rooney?”
“Don’t you the hell me, boy, you’re buckass nekked!” The kids giggled then. Specially Elizabeth.
Remmy blushed a bit. He was naked, but not quite old enough to be ashamed. Not quite. “So?”
“So you can’t go to Sunday school nekked, Remmy!”
“You can’t go to Sunday school without me, Old
“Well… well you’re nekked though.”
“Well so what? Skin and mind ain’t the same.”
“Don’t get smart with me now. Don’t you start.”
“Honest, Old Man Rooney, I’d rather go to school naked than to stay home covered but dumb.”
Rooney shook his head. “Go put on your britches. I’ll wait.” Remmy scooted off the back of that pickup and got about five feet before he heard the kids pointing and laughing. He looked down — some of the limestone dust in the back of that flatbed had stuck to his butt, and now he had a white ass to offset them black soles. Full white moon and hooves of black. Like a whitetail buck.
But they got him to class, they did. Him and the others. He sat down and tried his best to wink at Beth. He winked and he winked and fidgeted in his chair, the limestone working his buttcheeks like sandpaper.
Beth never did wink back no matter how much work Remmy’d put into winking her way. He’d give anything just to be able to fall asleep in the safety of her older, softer arms and wish the world and its scaffolding and fist fights away. Oh and its hate too, yup. But she didn’t seem fond of that idea, the winking and the kissing and the holding, or even the noticing him, really, busy as she was with her maths.
Maybe she’d seen enough of him for the day, all things in mind.
Remmy’d been in the second grade at the time and learning from Miss Witt in the one-room school. Miss Witt said, “Well it looks like we got six students and four oil people today.”
The children of parents not employed at Texarco laughed and pointed at the rest. The children of oil parents blushed. That included Beth.
“Missing one oil person,” Miss Witt said. “Where’s Jim Johnstone?”
“Probably painting himself black with tar,” Remmy said.
“You quit,” Beth said to Remmy.
Beth being one of them oil people put him in one of them tight spot dilemma problems, it did. Remmy went to school there along with a few other kids, learning his grammars, how to make his thoughts into clean words, but mostly just winking at Beth Donder and hoping she’d wink back.
She was five years older than him, which made her twelve or something. That combined with his oil people comments made it damned near impossible he’d get a wink out of her. He remembered the news came in on a Sunday morning in the middle of the Sunday school and the winking and her age.
Jim Johnstone came running in hot and sweating like a creek-dipped mink in his winter wear, that look on his face like he had bad news nobody else knew about and he’d only tell you once you begged him good and long to reveal his secrets. Except it must have been extra bad cause he said,
“Miss Witt! Miss Witt! Turn on the radio!” She turned it on.
“—C. Hello NBC. This is KTU in Honolulu, Hawaii. I am speaking from the roof of the Advertiser Publishing Company Building. We have witnessed this morning the distant view a brief full battle of Pearl Harbor and the severe bombing of Pearl Harbor by enemy planes, undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours. One of the bombs dropped within fifty feet of our KTU tower. It is no joke. It is a real war. The public of Honolulu has been advised to keep in their homes and away from the Army and Navy. There has been serious fighting going on in the air and the sea. The heavy shooting seems to be—” Static cut off the broadcast. Then the voice went silent. The kids did too.
Remmy didn’t like how quiet it was so he got up and went into the corner of the schoolhouse and dropped his britches — which showed his limestone-white ass — and started peeing in the mop bucket.
Miss Witt shouted, “Good Lord, Remmy, what on earth! Why are you doing that?”
“Cause I got good aim,” he said. “Why else?” The kids laughed.
Remmy turned his aim a bit while they was laughing and sprayed a little on Jim Johnstone’s notebook just cause that boy liked being the bearer of bad news. Miss Witt sent him home early and, though happy that he made the kids laugh instead of thinking about the new war, in later years Remmy would say to me, “I couldn’t believe I did that. I guess I always enjoyed the power of a good prank.”
They had rationing after that. You couldn’t buy sugar or coffee or gasoline or anything without a stamp, which you got from the ration board. It mattered how far you had to drive to work which messed up his Daddy John’s milk jug gathering, since Daddy John had finally saved up enough to ditch the wagon and get a la bumba of a car.
Forced Daddy John to take more time building homes and sheds and things for men in the oil fields. Daddy John wasn’t that close in to begin with, but Remmy hated the government for taking away his dad even further and hated Texarco for keeping him. It took away too his chance of one day having Beth to rock him to sleep safe away from shouting and wars like a good mother, curbing travel like that. See, you had to ride with somebody else wherever you went so you didn’t drive so many cars. If you wore out your tires, you had to get a permit for another one — one at a time instead of a set. Couldn’t get meat, so Remmy’d shoot squirrels and rabbits with his slingshot and cook them, and that’s no lie.
Remmy stole stories from the one room school house — for one, cause they were expensive, books, and for another, cause boys made fun of other boys for reading and so he needed to read in private, and for a third, cause if he didn’t like the book — say it tried to sound smarter than it really was deep down — and if rations got real bad, he could always use the front pages to wipe his ass.
They’d had themselves a farm — a peaceful place out away from the oil fields and out away from the milk driving, where at least one Saturday a month Remmy’d been able to play out in the yard with Daddy John. He missed the smell of that farm — the sweet corn and shitty smell of good fertile soil. But because of the travel curbing, they moved in from the farm. Moved in to the big city: Odin, Illinois. Traffic was awful when you had a twenty-four street town. They sold most of it, his parents and the farm, but they brought a couple pigs along. Them pigs was an anchor for a while, keeping Remmy joined to that heavenly garden on earth. Other people had pig pens in the back. John David — Remmy’s Daddy — raised them so they could have some pork.
When the pig got turned into pork, the anchor was cut loose and he was free floating in Odin. Midge — Remmy’s Momma — kept chickens so they could have those, but they weren’t half the people pigs were. The chicken coops went in the side yard, and those chickens never really settled down either after the move. Remmy got it: foxes everywhere.
Shoes was hard to get all of a sudden. Hell, when he was on the farm he’d loved going barefoot, and as soon as he needed shoes to walk around town on account of moving into town on account of the war, he couldn’t get good shoes also on account of the war, which wasn’t fair no matter how he looked at it. Had to sole them and put heels on them over and over again, wishing he had Moses’ shoes that never wore out. Couldn’t buy hardly anything. So everybody dug in and did what they could do.
They had paper drives. Remmy took his paper around to people’s houses and tied it in bundles and stuck it up on the wagon and sold it, hoping the money would help Daddy John not work so hard and then maybe have some time to the family. Never really worked, though. What’d they sell the paper for? Well for cardboard, for shipping crates for the war. Some of them crates had munitions, stuff for the war. Oh, yeah, they had a pants factory. Pants for the army. Cause you can’t go to war with your horse running loose out of its barn, the other seven-year-olds boys all said. Specially the streakers.
Remmy had to admit that he knew something about that.
Yeah it was the big plant that’d done the bottled cola there, Spur Cola from Bellhammer, Illinois? Remmy watched that plant close one day in the war for the pants and watched them take all of those bottles — just a bunch of them — and he followed them out and saw people dump them into a specific mine shaft. Yeah, that cola plant’d shut down and turned into a place for making pants that kept the horses of the respective army men in their respective barns. That and saltpeter.
Well when they abandoned that coal mine around the same time, everybody dumped their trash down in there, down in the mine. So it seemed right when the time came to do so to lower all those full and sealed Spur Cola bottles down that shaft. Remmy watched them do it just to make room for the pants, and he was just a little boy, so he wasn’t strong enough to go down in there and get them bottles, but he reminded himself of the place: the old railroad, the groundwork of the truck stop, the shoe factory, and the bottle factory near the mine. He did. Because he asked The Good Lord, “Good Lord, will you help me remember this place?”
And The Good Lord said back, “Remmy, I will.
Remember me, Remmy.”
And Remmy said, “Good Lord, I will.”
So Remmy memorized it and The Good Lord both. Some days he’d come back and mark the spot with his toe or a flag made of a stick and a rag or write his name in the dirt there with his piss just to make sure he still knew all them bottles were hid down in there. And one day he’d come back and dig up all those bottles, cause there wasn’t another Spur Cola in the world but in Bellhammer, Illinois, and therefore one day those Spur Cola bottles would be prime rare antiques, and so he’d dig up all of them and sell them one at a time on the big city auction block. A regular old Sotheby’s, yes sir. And then he’d have enough money to buy his Daddy John a vacation for just the two of them in some castle somewhere in Ireland or Germany or Camelot — somewhere where they have those old castles and throw jokes like jesters at all the dumb tyrants around the world. He wanted to build the biggest castle out of the world’s greatest joke. Best part about throwing jokes and pranking tyrants is that there ain’t no consequences for a good joke, and yet they change people’s minds. Kind of like the joke he’d told about the castle he’d built the year before out of the Lincoln Logs in the back of the horse wagon, back when he’d gotten lost and Daddy John had shouted. That was before they’d moved in from the safety of the farm — their Little Egypt castle. Before everything went to hell and they’d treated each other like Bloody Williamson.
Sixteen-year-old Bri wants to be one of the greatest rappers of all time. Or at least win her first battle. As the daughter of an underground hip hop legend who died right before he hit big, Bri’s got massive shoes to fill.
But it’s hard to get your come up when you’re labeled a hoodlum at school, and your fridge at home is empty after your mom loses her job. So Bri pours her anger and frustration into her first song, which goes viral . . . for all the wrong reasons.
Bri soon finds herself at the center of a controversy, portrayed by the media as more menace than MC. But with an eviction notice staring her family down, Bri doesn’t just want to make it—she has to. Even if it means becoming the very thing the public has made her out to be.
Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book in exchange of an honest review. No payments made between me and the publisher.
I’ve been planning to read this book for months, I have the copy since last year but I can’t find the time due to work stuff. My job can be that crazy, lol. Anyways, I’m glad to finally find time read and finish this. What made me push through as well is when there’s the #blacklivesmatter movement and I would love to support in a way that I know of, so yeah, reading their works. And, to be honest this book is so relatable. It breaks my heart when I read this. What’s happening in the world right now is almost the same as what is written in this book. It opened my mind on this kind of political issues.
I love the book in every way, I enjoyed every part of it and how the author Angie Thomas, written every single scenario. It got me hooked. I don’t want to stop reading the moment I started it, if I had to stop? What I’ll do is to make sure there’s no other house chores so that I can peacefully read without hindrances. LOL. The main character in the story is someone people can look up to. She’s a strong young lady, a fighter and a person who really cares for people who matters to her. She fights for what is right instead of being silenced by the people around her. She fought until her voice is heard and I think, that’s the mind set that we needed nowadays. We need to speak louder so that people can hear us, right?
More people should read this book. We were given a chance to take a peak on what’s happening because of discrimination in our society. I think, this book can help us in some way. And I do hope, that one day, our world will just be a place with full understanding. That each other’s lives matter no matter what they’re ethnicity or color.
I will surely suggest this book to anyone. Not just here on my blog but also to my friends who I talk to everyday or, to someone who is asking for a book recommendation. I assure you, this is worth it.
Angie Thomas was born, raised, and still resides in Jackson, Mississippi as indicated by her accent. She is a former teen rapper whose greatest accomplishment was an article about her in Right-On Magazine with a picture included. She holds a BFA in Creative Writing from Belhaven University and an unofficial degree in Hip Hop. She can also still rap if needed. She is an inaugural winner of the Walter Dean Meyers Grant 2015, awarded by We Need Diverse Books. Her debut novel, The Hate U Give, was acquired by Balzer + Bray/HarperCollins in a 13-house auction and will be published in spring 2017. Film rights have been optioned by Fox 2000 with George Tillman attached to direct and Hunger Games actress Amandla Stenberg set to star.
It’s summer 1977 and
closeted lesbian Tammy Larson can’t be herself anywhere. Not at her
strict Christian high school, not at her conservative Orange County
church and certainly not at home, where her ultrareligious aunt
relentlessly organizes antigay political campaigns. Tammy’s only outlet
is writing secret letters in her diary to gay civil rights activist
Harvey Milk…until she’s matched with a real-life pen pal who changes
Sharon Hawkins bonds with Tammy over punk music and
carefully shared secrets, and soon their letters become the one place
she can be honest. The rest of her life in San Francisco is full of
lies. The kind she tells for others—like helping her gay brother hide
the truth from their mom—and the kind she tells herself. But as antigay
fervor in America reaches a frightening new pitch, Sharon and Tammy must
rely on their long-distance friendship to discover their deeply
personal truths, what they’ll stand for…and who they’ll rise against.
Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book in exchange of an honest review. No payments made between me and the publisher.
Music From Another World is another interesting read from Robin Talley. I don’t know who was Harvey Milk before I read the book, I had to Google search him and boom… things become clearer from my end. I had no idea he got a big name during this time and I think, I’m gonna thank him now for fighting what he knows was right. These days if he’s still around I could say he’s gonna be happy for the results.
Being a Catholic and having a strong belief, reading the book somehow made me question things before people get the idea of “open mindedness”. While reading, I was like does this really happen before? but deep inside I knew these things happen until now that’s why some people are so afraid to “out”. Some treat them like a curse or worse. I’m not sure where and how did they get that idea. But, in my personal opinion, straight or gay, you’re still human. You might be different from others but so what? People should value the humanity more. I think now is not the time to discriminate gays or bi. Acceptance is the answer to these issues. It may not be written in the holy book or any book before that gay exists because that term doesn’t even exist before, right?
I think the book taught me a lot of things, I really had a great time reading it. It was intense on some parts, there were lots of what ifs in my head like; what if their parents found out? what if someone tells their secret to others? – I feel afraid for them, I feel afraid for people who’s in a close minded family or environment, who knows what will happen to them? I like this phrase from the book and I one-hundred percent (100%) support it.
“You are who you are, and you don’t care if other people don’t like it.”
One more thought before ending my review, maybe people experiment on lots of things because they don’t feel accepted on who they really are. Some change because they feel neglected. Maybe, that’s what we need to understand from here. I hope, as the days go by, people will accept more what kind of society we are in nowadays. To be honest, I’m happy that there’s pride celebrations, but some countries doesn’t accept that yet. I hope one day, they all do.
“I want to be proud of who I am, the way you are, but how? How do you make yourself feel something when everyone around you believes the exact opposite?”
I live in Washington, D.C.,
with my wife, our baby daughter, an antisocial cat and a goofy hound
dog. Whenever the baby’s sleeping, I’m probably busy writing young adult
fiction about queer characters, reading books, and having in-depth
conversations with friends and family about things like whether
Jasmine’s character motivation was sufficiently established in Aladdin.
Welcome to another random thoughts post. I believe, we’re all experiencing the enhanced community quarantine due to Covid-19. No schools, employees are on work from home mode, no one should get out of their homes unless getting your necessities (e.g. groceries, medicines, etc.) but all of the malls are closed. Is it just me or anyone here thinks it’s also a relief for the environment? and for our tiring social life? I have this introvert side soooo I am so much affected and relieved, thanks to social distancing (kidding).
On a serious note, I am worried for most people specially the affected ones. I’m having this anxiety every time I go out of the house until I return. I keep on telling myself that I can’t be sick since I am prone to asthma and allergies. I think, this virus is not just affecting our lungs or physical aspects of life but also mentally. I hope and pray that people like me, specially those mentally challenged people are okay. This will all be temporary. You guys will be fine. Just stay at home and always practice the proper hygiene and every thing will be alright. I may not be in a proper position or an expert to tell all these things but, at least just a reminder for some, I could help.
So, for this blog entry, I’ll share my routines as well on how to fight my own anxiety. Some might not be applicable to others but at least you’ll have some ideas.
READ BOOKS – since I started working at home, all I’m thinking was, finally I could get some time with reading. I have a lot of pending books to read and my TBR is very long so maybe this is the time to read them one by one. I also made a list specifically for this quarantine days.
CLEAN YOUR BOOKSHELVES – during this time, I am putting this task as one of my priority because I really can’t remember when was the last time I had my shelf cleaned up. Aside from that, it’s a sad thought but I need to let go some of my books so I have to sort them out.
WATCH ON NETLIX – do you have some movies or tv series that’s been added to you list for a long time? I guess now is the time to start watching those. I did the same thing and during my free time that’s the only thing I do.
DO YOUR JOURNAL – have ever think of making a journal? to some it’s called diary and yes I still do that. There are plenty of guides or ideas in the internet (e.g. Pinterest & Instagram). If you’re artsy, there’s a pretty type of journal that could be your guide.
DO YOUR HOUSE CHORES – this, I think is really important. I guess it’s time for some of us to throw those old clothes, old items from our home. Aside from that, it’s time to sanitize things around the house and make time to rearrange things based from your perspective.
So far, aside from work, I’m doing #1 and #3 and over the weekend I could finally focus on the other things. I still have work stuff to do and that’s an 8:30 AM to 5:30 PM kind of work, I just do breaks if I feel tired or something.
Anyways, may you have a good health always and please, take care. If you’re sick, make sure to get it checked right away. Don’t wait for it to get worse, okay?
When Chris Schweitzer
takes a hit of whippets and passes out face first on the cement, his
nose isn’t the only thing that changes forever. Instead of staying home
with his friends for the last summer after high school, he’s shipped off
to live with his famous physicist but royal jerk of a father to prove
he can “play by the rules” before Dad will pay for college.
Or . . . not.
an alternate time line, Chris’s parents remain blissfully ignorant
about the accident, and life at home goes back to normal–until it
doesn’t. A new spark between his two best (straight) friends quickly
turns Chris into a (gay) third wheel, and even worse, the truth about
the whippets incident starts to unravel. As his summer explodes into a
million messy pieces, Chris wonders how else things might have gone. Is
it possible to be jealous of another version of yourself in an alternate
reality that doesn’t even exist?
With musings on fate, religion, parallel universes, and the best way to eat a cinnamon roll, Me Myself & Him examines how what we consider to be true is really just one part of the much (much) bigger picture.
Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book in exchange of an honest review. No payments made between me and the publisher.
I’ve seen this book from Facebook and Twitter so, when I got the chance to request this on NetGalley, I really didn’t think twice and try to get a copy and, it’s an honor to have my request granted. I was really curious about this book since from the start, as far as I remember, I haven’t read a book with an alternate universe yet (and if I do, it’s not a lot since I can’t remember LOL). Anyway, this book was a good read. It made me realize some things personally especially when I’m thinking about life and what’s the worse thing that could happen…right?
I like the characters, especially Chris. I feel like you really traveled to his world and how he thinks. It’s sort of confusing at some points but everything is good. I somehow can relate to his life about his dad though. I knew how hard things are and how to pretend everything is okay but it’s not, and one day, it will just feel like everything is alright and things are working well. I think, there’s no such thing as permanent when it comes to this. Good things happen, yeah?
“A problem is a problem, and when it’s not addressed, it gets worse. Sometimes, that’s not about the substances, but about the way our choices impact our relationships with other people. Everyone’s here for their own reasons.”
I really enjoyed reading this book, a parallel universe where you have other possibilities yet, both endings could turn out good or it could be the opposite but whatever is the outcome, I think, it all points back to the decisions we made.
Anyways, I am looking forward for more books from Chris Tebbetts. I really had a great time with this one and the book cover is interesting. I loved it. Once again, thank you to the publisher and NetGalley for the opportunity.
“I don’t need every little thing to be predictable,” she went on. “I know God has a plan for me, and that’s very comforting.”
A fresh, irresistible rom-com from debut author Emma Lord about the chances we take, the paths life
Meet Pepper, swim team captain, chronic overachiever, and all-around perfectionist. Her family may be falling apart, but their massive fast-food chain is booming ― mainly thanks to Pepper, who is barely managing to juggle real life while secretly running Big League Burger’s massive Twitter account.
Enter Jack, class clown and constant thorn in Pepper’s side. When he isn’t trying to duck out of his obscenely popular twin’s shadow, he’s busy working in his family’s deli. His relationship with the business that holds his future might be love/hate, but when Big League Burger steals his grandma’s iconic grilled cheese recipe, he’ll do whatever it takes to take them down, one tweet at a time.
All’s fair in love and cheese ― that is, until Pepper and Jack’s spat turns into a viral Twitter war. Little do they know, while they’re publicly duking it out with snarky memes and retweet battles, they’re also falling for each other in real life ― on an anonymous chat app Jack built.
As their relationship deepens and their online shenanigans escalate ― people on the internet are shipping them?? ― their battle gets more and more personal, until even these two rivals can’t ignore they were destined for the most unexpected, awkward, all-the-feels romance that neither of them expected.
can lead us on, and how love can be found in the opposite place you expected.
Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book in exchange of an honest review. No payments made between me and the publisher.
This review has been a week late since I was having an issue with my blog plus I got tons of work last week so I didn’t get the chance to go online and draft my review. Anyhow, I still want to thank the publisher for accepting me to be part of this blog tour. The moment I saw the book, I knew I’d like it instantly and it would be a good first book to read for this year 2020. And yes, I wasn’t wrong at all. The first few chapters got me hooked already. The flow of the story was too cute to ignore, I couldn’t stop reading. I love the Twitter war, the Weazel app and of course the friendship made outside of those two. It’s funny how two people meet in unexpected ways. Aside from the story, I love the book cover, it is really catchy.
I will never dislike young adult books especially books with a story like this. It’s been a habit of me to read this kind of genre, it lessens the stress around me. I love the characters a lot. Pepper is some kind of a rich kid who’s dealing with her own family issues and Jack, is the same thing. These two are already inseparable since they officially met during the swim team meet (At some point, I’d like to thank Jack’s brother Ethan, for making him do some of his work. LOL) Their charisma is something you’ll enjoy watching, it’s like watching a love team bloom. Jack is such a smart kid yet shy, imagine having self thought on coding and building amazing apps? It’s a real talent. Pepper is such a great baker though, I honestly imagine all her and her sister’s (Paige) dessert invention, I wonder what’s the taste of a Monster Cake. The way they described it, it was really delicious! ALSO, they’re fighting for Grilled Cheeseburgers… OMG every time I read that, I am craving for burgers instantly!
I do recommend this book to other readers. I’m sure they would instantly love this. I can’t wait to have a physical copy of the book. I must search the local bookstores around, seriously can’t wait!!! I am really honored to be part of this. I do enjoy doing book reviews like this, it’s fun and worth it.
“It’s weird, how you have no idea how far you’ve come until suddenly you can’t find the way back.”
Emma Lord is a digital media editor and writer living in New York City, where she spends whatever time she isn’t writing either running or belting show tunes in community theater. She graduated from the University of Virginia with a major in psychology and a minor in how to tilt your computer screen so nobody will notice you updating your fan fiction from the back row. She was raised on glitter, grilled cheese, and a whole lot of love. Her sun sign is Hufflepuff, but she is a Gryffindor rising. TWEET CUTE is her debut novel. You can find her geeking out online at @dilemmalord on Twitter.
Falkier Inalumin has
spent the past six years imprisoned by the king whom he had served under
as a scribe. He hadn’t attempted to escape even when the opportunity
arose until one night when a stranger comes to break him out of prison
After his escape, he is granted the power of the
Dragon Sword, a weapon imbued with the power of one of the Ancients who
created the world. He is also tasked with assembling a suit of armor
imbued by the rest of the Ancients so that he may kill Rakar Gorxand, a
man who had been granted a set of armor by the Ancients which was
corrupted by the evil he was chosen to eliminate.
On this first
leg of Falkier’s journey, he becomes a mercenary, learns a sword style
which allows him to fight without sight, and faces off against a man
with the power to weave the fabric of the universe.
The men woke early the next morning. Swagin had drunken himself stupider the night before, so Falkier and Jofalk had needed to haul the Dhorn into a room above the tavern. They doubted that he would notice they had paid their bill from his pocket with an additional small fee for themselves. The burly man’s face showed the wearying effects of the previous night as he and Jofalk saddled their mounts in the light of early dawn. Falkier would have offered to help out except that he had no idea how to prepare an Aoun for travel, and the tavern owner’s young son was helping Jofalk with his bay.
Watching the men get ready to leave, Falkier pondered over all that had happened in the last two days. He’d been rescued from prison by a mysterious man, became an accomplice to the deaths of six men, been saved from being captured or freezing to death in the woods twice, joined a band of mercenaries, and received a sword from his dreams. The sword was slung over his shoulder, a weight that was becoming more familiar than when he had woken with it the previous morning. He was still unsure how it had gotten there. If his dream was to be trusted, it was a sword given to him by the Ancients, but for what purpose? And why had they picked him? Though his imprisonment had been unjust, he was still an escaped prisoner and far from the most moral person in the world to deserve such an honor.
The cloth wrapped around his hand was stained with blood. The X-shaped wound had started to scab over, but he kept the cloth on it in case it opened again. He had been perturbed when he discovered that it had been ultimately unnecessary and would mean nothing if he was rejected by The Archer, but Swagin had been adamant that Falkier would be accepted since he needed to repay a debt. Jofalk had asserted that, as Archer’s protégé, he could convince their leader to accept a new member. The Archer could be very welcoming to people when he wanted to be, and Jofalk knew how to hit his soft spot. Falkier held onto that idea as he mounted Olorn with Swagin.
The Bronze Bulls mercenary guild was located in an abandoned stronghold a day’s ride northeast, so they hoped to get there by nightfall to allow The Archer to evaluate him. According to Jofalk, Archer had started the Bronze Bulls not long after Falkier had been imprisoned following a botched assassination attempt. After narrowly escaping with his life, Archer’s reputation as the perfect assassin was marred and nobody would hire him. He had been training Jofalk for years and decided to expand his horizons by bringing together a group of young non-nobles who had shown the potential to be great warriors. Swagin had been the first recruit and had been initially paired with Jofalk to help him acclimate to the mercenary life. Upon seeing how well they complemented each other, they were permanently made a team, and The Archer modeled his following choices after them. Since then, the Bulls had slowly grown to a point where it could compete with other mercenary guilds.
The Bulls competitive edge stemmed from their ability to be customized to the task at hand. Whereas most mercenaries were simply strong-arming fighters, every member of the Bulls had a skill that they specialized in, like spying or robbery. Jofalk’s specialty was assassination at range while Swagin’s skill was unarmed combat. As a unit, they could handle most combat situations, which is why they were given their escort mission. The two were also sent on missions where the employer seemed unlikely to pay, as both made more than adequate debt collectors.
Swagin had revealed, while deep into his drink the previous night, the real reason they had not escorted their employer back was that he’d failed to pay, so Swagin beat him bloody, took the gauntlets, and left him in the woods. Falkier had been taken aback by that revelation but didn’t find it unexpected considering their line of work. Their sharing of this information had actually made him more comfortable trusting them.
As they reached the crest of the hill out of the valley, Swagin turned his head to Falkier. “Prepar’ fur a hasslin’. We got sum king’s boys comin’ dis way.” Three men were riding towards them. Falkier could pick out black tunics bearing a silver crescent moon, the royal sigil of Grent Corine. Surely they were looking for the escaped prisoner. He pulled his shirt up to cover his nose and shrank down behind Swagin. Maybe they wouldn’t notice him and they wouldn’t bother stopping the mercenaries. If only he could be that lucky. The rider in front, a thin man with a groomed dark brown mustache, raised his hand to halt them.
“Good morning, men.” The man’s comrades, one with hair black as coal and the other a shaved head, fanned out to his sides, further blocking the road. Falkier could see each had a sword hanging from his hip.
“Marnin’.” Swagin nodded his head to the man. “We dun’ want any troubil. Jus’ travla’s minin’ ar businuss.”
“A man escaped from the prison west of here a few days ago. We are searching for him so that he may be captured and brought to justice.” Falkier could feel the men’s eyes staring at him. They know. They’ve got to know it’s me.
“Dun know anathin’ ‘bout anathin’. Jus’ headin’ home afta’ visitin’ a friend o’ ars in Tise Dews.”
“There is a reward for anyone who has any information about the man or his whereabouts,” the blackhaired man added. “Three bronze spades for information, six iron marks for turning him in.”
“Six iron marks?” Jofalk cocked his eyebrow. “The price an escaped prisoner is usually only a few spades. What did this man do to deserve such a reward?” Falkier was hoping that this reward wouldn’t sway the mercenaries to turn him in. His heart in his throat, he tried to shrink himself even farther, trying to avoid the rider’s attention.
“The man’s crime was sedition, but during his escape, he killed six guards,” the mustached rider answered. “This is a dangerous man we’re dealing with.”
“Pris’ner showed up yer guards? Boy, does that make m’feel like m’taxes er spent well.”
“Your taxes?” The mustached man’s voice carried restrained anger. “Neither of you sound like you’re Corinian. If I had to guess, I’d say Dhorn and Sadetian.”
“Thas right. Ah was born in th’ mowntuns o’ Dhor Isten, but me ‘n Jofalk work ‘ere in Grent Corine.” Swagin reached into a pocket in his vest. “’Ere’s m’ papers t’prove it.” He handed a folded piece of paper to the man. Jofalk did the same.
The riders paused to look at them, nodded, and handed it back. Falkier couldn’t help but think that it would have taken far longer for them to have read foreign workman’s permits. Though the five countries of the continent held an alliance, you had to get the permission of a foreign government to work outside of your native country. Falkier had crossed paths with those documents as a scribe for Lord Siphem, and he knew they were very wordy. Either the riders did not care that Jofalk and Swagin had permits, or they were unable to read.
“Now, as ah said, we know nuthin’ ‘bout nuthin. If we see yer boy, wull b’ sher t’let ya’ know.” Swagin kicked Olorn to continue on, but the riders continued to block the way. “Hold on a second. What’s the deal with your friend here?” The mustached man gestured towards Falkier. Falkier raised his head to look at them. If they hadn’t arrested him yet, they probably didn’t have a description of him. “Why have you been so quiet?”
“I figured that Swagin and Jofalk were more than capable of giving you men all the information you required. As you can likely tell from my accent, I am Corinian, and so I don’t have any work or travel papers to display.” Falkier managed to keep his voice confident and calm, despite the pounding of his heart.
The mustached rider nodded. “You are right. As a Corinian, you don’t need to show us foreign work or travel forms.” The two men at his side drew their swords in unison. “However, as of three years ago, Corinians are required to carry identification with them at all times to be presented immediately to any law official. You wouldn’t know that, though, since you’ve been in prison until yesterday.” He gestured to his men. “Seize him!”
Falkier found himself rolling off the back of Olorn as Swagin leaped from his seat, bellowing, “No king’s boys er gun’ take m’ blood brotha’ Falkeer while Ah’m livin’!” He threw himself at the shaved man, completely ignorant of the piece of iron the man brandished. Falkier got to his feet in time to watch as Swagin knocked the sword away with his forearm and slammed his other fist into the man’s face. Olorn’s heads hissed as they snapped at the black haired man with long, razor-sharp fangs. Jofalk directed his horse away from the commotion, nocking an arrow to his bow. The mustached man dismounted and drew his sword, ducking an arrow in the process. He dived away from the rampaging Dhorn and Aoun, locking his eye on his prey, Falkier.
Falkier pulled the sword from its scabbard, the weight foreign to his hand. If it really was a sword meant for him as the dream said, shouldn’t it be more comfortable to hold? The knuckle-bow on the thumb side of the hilt seemed out of place and close to unnecessary. Why make them bladed to begin with? The only time a bladed knuckle-bow would make sense is if you were hitting someone with it, and isn’t the point of a sword to keep a little more distance from your opponent?
Falkier would have other times to question how functional his Ancient-given weapon was for him, as the mustached man swung his sword at Falkier’s feet, causing him to step back out of the way, barely blocking the follow-up swing. He swung at the man, who easily parried and struck at Falkier’s leg. Clearly, he’d been trained in swordsmanship.
Falkier winced as the blade sliced across his thigh, blood soaking the leg of his trousers. He struck back, stabbing at the man’s stomach. The mustached man moved the blade out of the way with a flick of the wrist and smacked Falkier’s wrist with the flat of his blade. Falkier’s grip faltered for a second, but he recovered enough to pull his sword back in front of him. All the while, the mustached man watched him, smirking. Was he playing with Falkier? The man blocked Falkier’s next couple swings with ease, retaliating with a few nicks on Falkier’s arms and legs. This is pointless. He could kill me without breaking a sweat. He must need to take me in alive, so he’s just letting me wear myself out.
Falkier looked at the longsword in his hands, a supposed gift from heaven he was destined to wield. He was no great warrior, how could he ever do anything with this piece of metal. He couldn’t even find a comfortable way to hold it.
Touch the black gem in the pommel and say ‘Vatinp, yqab’, a voice growled in his head. It was the voice from the woods before he blacked out.
Falkier obeyed, putting the fingers of his right hand on the pommel. Despite the freezing air around it, the gem felt slightly warm. “Vah-tinp, ee-cob?” Falkier said, the words feeling odd in his mouth. Whatever was supposed to happen, didn’t.
No! ‘Vatinp yqab!’ Say it with more confidence!
Falkier took a breath and focused. “Vatinp, yqab!”
Warmth flooded through Falkier’s body, and his wounds stopped bleeding. He watched in amazement as the sword transformed in his hand. The leather of the hilt took on a scaled appearance. The blade broadened into that of a falchion, the end becoming rounder and the top edge becoming blunted. The thumbside knuckle-bow disappeared, while a hook grew downward from the hilt over the blunt edge. The hook bore a jagged edge that gave it an appearance resembling the jaw of some sort of carnivorous beast when paired with a matching adornment that extended along the bladed edge. Falkier’s eyes and mouth felt strange, almost like they were also going through some sort of transformation.
The mustached man’s eyes widened in terror. “Are you some sort of demon?” His stance quickly became more aggressive as he began striking at Falkier.
The newly-transformed sword felt easier to handle, and Falkier was able to protect himself, catching the man’s blade across the blunt edge. After a few more swings, Falkier managed to hook the man’s blade. He twisted his wrist and wrenched the sword out of the man’s hands. The sword clattered to the ground, and Falkier rushed him, punching the knuckle-bow that still remained on the bladed side of his sword into the man’s throat. The man wheezed as he collapsed to the ground. Falkier put the point of his sword to the man’s throat.
“So this is how you managed to kill six men on your own,” the man croaked. “Demon magic.”
“I was not alo-“
The man spat at Falkier. “Kill me, you worthless cheat. I would rather die than listen to you try to corrupt my ears with your lies.”
Falkier drew the sword back to deliver the final blow and stopped. He’d never killed anyone before. Swagin and Jofalk had already finished the other two men off and were rummaging through their possessions. He looked into the man’s eyes, defiant and prepared for what was to come. The sword descended, opening the man’s throat. Watching the man’s body collapse in a pool of blood, Falkier ran his tongue across his teeth and was surprised to find all of them sharp and pointed. He raised his sword and looked at himself in the blade’s reflection. His eyes were the color of polished brass with slits for pupils. Smiling confirmed that his teeth had all grown to sharp points. I really do look like a demon.
Not a demon, the voice growled, a dragon. Touch the black gem again before your comrades can see.
Falkier obeyed, and the warmth rushed out of his muscles. The sword remained a falchion, but the leather hilt lost its scaliness and the hook lost its jagged edge. Falkier looked at his reflection on the blade again and was relieved to see that his eyes and teeth had returned to normal as well. What is going on? What happened? Who are you? There came no response.
“Gud wark, Falkeer.” As Swagin approached, Falkier could see that his hands were bloodied and his handwraps hung tattered from his wrists. “Strip ‘em o’ his valubuls quickly so w’can git goin’ ‘gain. Gotta be quick if’n we wan’ t’be home by night.”
Falkier sheathed the sword and kneeled down to the man, careful to avoid the blood pooling around the body. Falkier dutifully searched the man’s pockets and found a purse full of tarnished bronze coins bearing the image of a shovel. Spades were the second least valuable coin after the copper penny, so the purse wasn’t an amazing find. Falkier also stripped the man of his swordbelt and a chainmail byrnie he’d worn under his tunic. Falkier strapped on the swordbelt, replacing the man’s scabbard with his own, and put the byrnie on underneath his two layers of borrowed clothing, leaving the prison shirt underneath. He stood to see Swagin sitting on Olorn rewrapping his hands and Jofalk putting an arrow back into his quiver.
As Falkier remounted Olorn, he saw the bodies of the other two men. Falkier’s opponent lucked out getting away with just an opened throat. The man with the shaved head’s face was broken and bloodied, while the other man had his throat ripped out and a hole through the side of his head where an arrow had been ripped out. These three men had only been doing their duty, trying to seize a prisoner, and they paid with their lives.
“Why didn’t you two give me over to them?” Falkier asked his companions. “Surely, you figured out that I was the person they were looking for. You could have made some money from it.”
“We knew you were a prisoner from the moment we met you,” Jofalk replied. “It wasn’t our job to hunt you down, and you clearly needed help.”
“Yah, you was ah pitiful thin’, you was,” Swagin added. “An’ now tha’ yer one o’ us, der ain’t no price we’d take fer ya’.”
“Then all I can do is thank you.” All the worrying that Falkier’d done had been for nothing. They’d known all along that he was a wanted man, so he’d had nothing to worry about by trusting them. It would have been nice if they had given him a sign they were on to him sooner, though, but that’s the past now. He touched the cut on his hand they’d given him. “Maybe I’ll stay with the Bulls even after I manage to save your lives.”
The three men turned their backs to the bloody scene and continued riding down the road. The sun had not yet reached its peak, but they still had a way to go. Falkier couldn’t help but think to himself that his future laid ahead somewhere down that road. He looked at the Dhorn and the Sadetian he rode with. If they were any indication of what his future as a mercenary was going to be like, the future was bright as the sun in the sky above them.
Nicole Janicek already
has stared down a high school shooter, a cult of criminal
ex-Scientologists and six months of frigid darkness at South Pole
Station in her young life, but now she risks it all attempting to ride a
rocket to Mars in 2022. After the Red One mission quickly aborts in the
skies over the North Sea, Nikki gets a surprise phone call from Elon
Musk, CEO of SpaceX. What follows is a euphoric, historic, tragic and
heroic mission to establish Mars Colony A, dubbed by some in the media
as “Mars Colony Agatha” when misfortune strikes. While doubters predict
the perilous mission will morph into “And Then There Were None” by
Agatha Christie, Nikki and her crew are determined to write their own
story. Through it all, Nikki is surprised to learn how strong her
connection to those she loved on Earth remains despite the chasm of time
— EXCERPT —
CHAPTER 4 THE LINK
September 11, 2022 — Launch-Minus-11 Day
Kennedy Space Center, Florida
Cruising stealthily in a black Musk-designed Tesla sedan from Cape Canaveral Air Force Base toward nearby Kennedy Space Center, Nikki stared out the tinted window at the Atlantic Ocean and recalled her last disastrous visit to Florida in August 2019.
It began with her defying The Bridge leadership’s orders in Fort Lauderdale and nearly ended when she was struck by flying debris as Hurricane Felicia raged in Miami Beach.
But she lived.
And now she was back, and free, and here by her own choice.
She was ready to leave Earth on her own terms; saddened by her parents’ objections, but determined to blast her life so far past the ordinary.
Thirty-eight Raptor engines, quietly waiting on iconic Launch Pad 39A, would propel her beyond her imagination and into a cold, beautiful and deadly reality.
Dozens of Space Shuttle liftoffs had cleared that same pad; two missions had ended in explosions, deaths and parental heartbreaks.
But Nikki truly believed she would survive to see Mars up close.
Her extensive training in Antarctica had steeled her spirit for this all-in mission to deep space, and now Musk’s unexpected lifeline after the Red One splashdown only convinced her further that she was destined to actually land there in 2023 at age 26. Wow.
KSC headquarters rose about 10 stories in the foreground with massive American and NASA flags draped down one side. The boxy building was surrounded by sprawling parking lots dotted with palm trees, but Nikki’s eyes initially were drawn to the sleek, futuristic SpaceX sign on an adjacent rectangular building. The left leg of the X in the logo shot up diagonally and arced away, like the trail of rocket smoke.
Beyond all of that, at the edge of the ocean, the stainless steel Super Heavy Starship gleamed as it aimed toward the bright blue sky. From Nikki’s vantage point more than a mile away, it looked like a child’s toy, and in a way it was. Musk had been experimenting with rockets of all sizes since his aloof engineer father literally left Elon to his own devices during a rough South African childhood split from his mother and siblings. In reality, the full SHS stack stood 387 feet, 82 feet taller than the Statue of Liberty.
This was beyond freedom.
Where this rocket would take her, there would be nothing but red dirt, ice and murderously thin air. No government. No police. No trees or animals. No streets, with or without names. Just a brand new, very old and very empty world, apathetic to the arrival of six human beings, one of whom remained an 11th-hour, L-minus-11 stranger to the other five.
Nikki scrolled through their names on her phone one more time:
1. Commander Xander Vermilyea. Really? Internal rhyme? Nikki still dabbled in poetry, but that name in the email Elon’s assistant sent her sounded more like a Muskian prank.
2. Pilot Jo Guigere. Not Joe. Not Josephine. But female, Nikki presumed. Awesome.
3. Engineer Ulysses Parker. She wondered if his middle name started with an S. like the old Civil War general and president who now graces $50 bills.
4. Dr. Susan Wilkes. Nikki tried to suppress her brain’s urge to stick with the 1800s theme, add “Booth” to her name and charge her as an accomplice in the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.
5. Specialist Edward Etergino. “E Squared” immediately came to her mind as a possible nickname.
And what would they think of Specialist Nicole Janicek, the late and unexpected wildcard crew member with the red streaks in her hair?
If I can find a way to get along with the person who shot me for six months at South Pole Station, I’ll find a way to get along with these people, Nikki vowed.
But first, she was scheduled to meet face to face with the visionary who designed the car she was riding in and the spaceship that would drive her to Mars.
Jane Rushmore, blonde and personable, ushered Nikki into an eighth-floor suite where Elon Musk, hipster-techno-casual in a black short-sleeved shirt and jeans, quickly looked up from his phone and grinned. The SHS pierced the blue horizon in the massive window behind him.
Still star struck, Nikki hesitated for half a beat before crossing the surprisingly drab, outdated carpet to shake his hand in the large, rectangular room.
“Welcome, Nikki. How was your flight?” he asked, guiding her toward a pair of recliners. “Come relax. Can I get you anything?”
“Good, no, I’m fine,” she replied as they both sat down across from one another.
“Most people I know try to avoid flying on September 11th out of, you know, extremely warranted superstition, but we’re L-minus-11, so …”
“It was no problem,” Nikki said, struggling to form more than simple sentences in this surreal moment.
“How old were you in 2001?” he asked, still grinning.
“Four,” she said, finally allowing herself to exhale.
He nodded as if he already knew that. “Back then I was one year away from launching SpaceX in a California office about the size of this room and look how far we’ve come. I’m still renting space … this time from NASA.”
“But now you’ve got a rocket on that launch pad right there ready to take six people to Mars,” Nikki pointed out while gesturing toward the window.
“Can you believe you’re one of them?”
“No … this all seems like a dream.”
“I’m glad you said dream and not a nightmare.”
“Oh, I’m scared,” she admitted.
“So am I. Perfectly normal. This is gonna be big … truly the start of something monumental in human history. Deep space travel and establishing a human base on Mars.”
“What do you see as my role in this mission … other than trying not to die?” Nikki asked, smiling as she realized she just echoed Thomas’ parting words to her.
Elon fed off her smile and practically bounced in his chair as he talked, with his hands in constant motion.
“I really see you as the link, the communications link between Starship and Earth on the burn to Mars, and then between Colony A and Earth from Sol 1 on,” Musk said, referring in space jargon to the crew’s first day on the Red Planet. “You’re considerably younger, more charismatic and less of a technical person than the rest of the crew, so I really see you as the person to help tell the story of this mission, human to human.”
“Wow,” Nikki beamed.
“It’s an important role … getting on camera, wearing GoPros, shooting videos and sending video emails — v-mails — to interact with especially young people and children in classrooms on Earth,” he continued. “Think of yourself as the first travel guide on Mars, encouraging the next generation to want to help set up a city there some day. Because this mission will be far more effective and inspiring if we maintain that human connection with Earth every mile and every step of the way.”
“What can I say? I’m humbled and amazed to do that,” Nikki said.
“Fantastic. Now when I say interact, as you know, there’s about a 20-minute delay in communications between Mars and Earth, so the videos will be more like a one-way video letter, if you will, and then you’ll receive the reply from Earth.”
“The less glamorous role for you would be to get extremely involved in keeping the common areas and cabins clean aboard ship and in the Martian hab environment …”
“Housekeeping?” Nikki asked with a smirk.
“Your word, not mine,” he replied with a laugh. “But essential either way.”
She nodded, biting her tongue and smiling. “Anything else?”
“Oh, there’ll be many other tasks, I’m sure, but one very real thing to keep in mind is you are the most expendable crew member. I know. I’m shamelessly blunt. But that’s a fact.”
Nikki picked up her jaw, tilted her head and understood.
“I know. I totally get that.”
“It just means that when there are dangerous situations or choices or truck runs to be made, you should be the first to raise your hand.”
Nikki’s eyes met Elon’s and didn’t blink.
“I will do that.”
“Good. Even if any of the other five tries to be the hero and insist, you remind them what I’ve told you here today. This mission is all about sacrifice. It has no chance of succeeding without it.”
“I’m so ready,” Nikki told herself and the leader of SpaceX. “You have no idea how awful it felt to come crashing down and lose that opportunity.”
“On the contrary, I know exactly how it feels. I’ve seen my share of exploding rockets. And that’s why I reached out to you … someone who would appreciate this second chance like no one else.”
Nikki took a deep breath and grinned. “I do appreciate it and I thank you for tracking me down. I’m truly blown away by all of this.”
“You’re welcome,” Elon said, standing up and offering her a hug. “And officially, welcome to the mission.”
Nikki accepted his embrace and smiled.
“Thank you. What’s next?” she asked.
“Dinner with your commander and crew. You better enjoy real Earth food while you can get it. And after that, I have a little surprise movie for all of you. It should be an inspirational and bonding experience.”