[Here Official Blog Tour] An Excerpt from Here by Denise Grover Swank

Denise Grover Swank stops by The Fairytale Nerd to share with us an excerpt from her book Here.

Denise Grover Swank lives in Lee’s Summit, Missouri. She has six children, three dogs, and an overactive imagination. She can be found dancing in her kitchen with her children, reading or writing her next book. You will rarely find her cleaning. Denise is represented by Amanda Luedeke of MacGregor Literary.

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Here (On the Otherside #1)

by Denise Grover Swank

Sixteen year old Julia Phillips buries herself in guilt after killing her best friend Monica in a car accident. Julia awoke in the hospital with a broken leg, a new talent for drawing and false memories of the accident, in which she dies and Monica lives. The doctors attribute this to her head injury, but no one can explain how a bracelet engraved with her name ended up at the scene of the accident. A bracelet no one has ever seen before.

Classmate Evan Whittaker paid Julia no attention before the accident, let alone after. Now suddenly he’s volunteering to tutor her and offering to drive her home. She can't ignore that his new obsession started after his two-day disappearance last week and that he wears a pendant she’s been drawing for months. When the police show up one night looking for Evan, he begs Julia to run with him, convincing her that Monica is still alive. Julia agrees to go, never guessing where he’s really from.

Excerpt #1

I enter the quiet house, bypassing the kitchen and head straight to my bedroom. My backpack hits the floor where I toss it. I throw myself on the bed and grab a pillow to curl around. A picture frame on my nightstand catches my attention.

The frame is a curse. I hide it in my drawer, but after a few days it’s back on the nightstand. My mother sets it out, calling it a precious memory. I call it a reminder of my guilt.

Against my better judgment, I reach for it, my fingers curling around the edges of the cold silver frame. I pull it closer, studying the photo, and a lump forms in my throat. An image of Monica and I last spring at the annual school picnic fills the space. Our heads are bent together, her long blonde hair a sharp contrast to my thick, brunette waves. She smiles for the camera, a cheesy grin that most people found infectious. My heart aches and despair clouds my head.

My eyes well with tears. What would Monica tell me now? What sharp-witted barb would she have used to shake me from my melancholy?

Perhaps if I hadn’t killed her, she would be here to help.

Then again, if I hadn’t killed her, I wouldn’t need her help.

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