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I wish, occasionally, my gut would be wrong. Misfit purrs and sort of nudges it a little closer to my bed. A tiny spot of blood mars the brown fur of its tiny stomach. “Crud,” I mumble as Misfit thumps off the bed, thudding to the ground, right by a dead mouse. He left at midnight, off for a three-day trip to a con in Boston, a science fiction con, because he has this little side job where he self-publishes his own graphic novels. Then I remember that Dad doesn’t ever feed her because he’s one of the most forgetful humans of all time, and then I remember that he’s not even home. Misfit refuses to let me go back to the dream and pushes against my face again. Alexis is alive and well and now best friends with Samantha, and not me. We had been jumping off the dock into the river, giggling, and then the dream shifted so that Alexis was drowning in the water, blood coming out of her belly button.
I’d been dreaming about Alexis and me when we were little and still best friends. “What is it, buddy?” I mutter, blinking hard against the morning light as Misfit moves across the bed covers and up to my face. 75 cups of cat food in their dish that is spaced exactly one inch out from the northeast corner of the bathroom wall. Be like Misfit.”īecause right now Misfit’s mewling the way cats do when they are freaking out about something terribly important in the kitty world like whether or not there is exactly. He was making vegan gumbo and waved his wooden spoon at our cat who was passed out belly-up in the kitchen sink. You have to believe in yourself, in the power of your own brain,” Dad told me last night when I was stressed about potentially not getting into any colleges. It’s like all my worries have become reality. This morning, when my cat Misfit wakes me up, I know something is wrong right away.
It’s like I’m always expecting something bad to happen, and I’m terrified of being caught off guard and not being prepared for when it does. I always expect the worst case scenario for myself but never for other people. I’m neurotic and obsessed with psychology terms because of my own sad toddler years. ? Sort of?Īn intense feeling of fear or anxiety that usually has to do with personal persecution or belief in threats and conspiraciesĮverything people say about me is true. I hope you’ll read it, like it, and buy it! That’s me marketing. To find out more about the series, click here.īut here’s an excerpt. The next Book comes out in September and it’s called INCH WORMS.
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Join New York Times and internationally bestselling author Carrie Jones in the first book of the Dude Mystery Series as it combines the excitement of a thriller with the first-hand immediacy and quirky heroines that Jones is known for. Someone is picking off Dude’s classmates, one by one. Quirky and psychology-obsessed high school senior Jessica “Dude” Goodfeather isn’t having her best time senior year after her best friend and boyfriend both dump her, but when she finds the dead and mutilated body of Lucas Landry? Things get a whole lot worse. They aren’t the wealthiest, but they are the smartest and as the kids in the ‘gifted’ program move through their senior year, they have their lives all ahead of them. Her dad calls her Dude and that means everyone else does, too. The lead character in this is Dude Goodfeather. The Dude Goodfeather Series – YA mystery by NYT bestseller Carrie Jones On July 1, I’m releasing my young adult novel, THOSE WHO SURVIVED, which is the first book in the the DUDE GOODFEATHER series.