google-site-verification: google935433b691795853.html KRISTY BERRIDGE: Diary of a Teenage Zombie: Excerpt "Chapter Two"

Saturday, 4 May 2013

Diary of a Teenage Zombie: Excerpt "Chapter Two"

Hello my wonderful blogger friends and pledges! Since the pledging is coming along swimmingly (I'm at 35% which you can see on the left side of the page), I thought I'd reward you all with a short excerpt from the novel. Bear in mind my editor is still looking this all over so there may be a few minor changes here and there, but it's still just a little slice into the life of Katie Palmer, zombie extraordinaire.
Your continued support is greatly appreciated, I have less than two months to go, and honestly, if everyone that reads this post donates even just $5 - $10 I am in with a chance, plus anyone who donates $10 or more gets a copy of the book anyway, so pledging = good karma and prizes!
Thank you again!! 

Dear Diary,
I found a tiny padlock on Jack’s bedroom door last night. I suspect Mum and Dad are a little worried about my flesh eating tendencies bad temper. They must have found the Nelson’s cat in our backyard.
But my complexion looks awesome today and that’s a good thing, because Connor called me yesterday and organised a date training session for this morning. I couldn’t exactly think of a reason not to, considering my armpits smelled okay and Mum double-washed my jogging gear in preparation.
Bless her.
I’m also going to meet up with Nikki after classes this morning to organise the classroom lock-in, the first stop on our social calendar for the year. Right now I think it’s a great idea, but I’m well fed in a good mood. Who knows how I’ll feel at the end of the week when my skin starts peeling away from my face?

Katie xo

Connor was already waiting for me on the back oval by the time Mum dropped me off at school. Being awake at such an ungodly hour meant I was still yawning, scratching at my belly and rubbing pockets of dried sleep from the corners of my eyes.
I know I paint a pretty picture. I’d have rather worn a low-cut top and slapped on some make-up, but it was only just after six and running a few miles would make me sweat like a pig. Practicality was key.
‘Palmer,’ Connor greeted me, a broad smile plastered across his face. ‘I’m not keeping you up, am I?’
‘I usually train in the afternoon,’ I complained, covering my mouth as another yawn threatened to escape. Suddenly my tired brain remembered that this was the hottest guy in school and that he’d woken up early especially to go running with me. I quickly changed my attitude.
Happy dance.
‘Boo-hoo,’ he teased, blonde hair flopping in front of his eyes. Connor smoothed his fringe back from his forehead and continued to reach up with the one motion, stretching his arms high above his head.
‘Let’s just hope you can keep up.’
Small wonder that I found words at all given my current distraction. A quick glimpse at Connor’s toned abdominals and exposed Calvin Klein briefs had my imagination overflowing with unladylike, erotic thoughts.
‘Is that a challenge, Palmer?’
‘Take it how you want,’ I said, shaking my head in an effort to break the spell his underwear apparently had over me. Languid scenes of our sweaty flesh pressed together stirred my desire, threatening to weaken me at the knees.
Connor’s knowing grin suggested he was more than aware of my eyes on him, plotting the possibilities.
Embarrassed by my open gaze, I sniffed and rolled my shoulders, reaching back to grip an ankle and stretch out my quadriceps, then hamstrings and calves. I didn’t need the preparation but I wanted to look anywhere but at Connor, certain there was a flashing neon sign above my head screaming ‘desperate’.
‘You ready?’ Connor asked, patting me on the back.
Was it wrong to savour that casual touch, deciding to embellish upon it in my fantasies later on? As far as I was concerned, that innocent gesture would be re-counted as brazen fingers grazing my spine, warm palms flattening against me, and sliding down my back until they cupped my ass. Connor would tell me he could crack walnuts on it.
Yes. That would be how inaccurately I’d remember this moment.
I took a deep breath, inconspicuously sniffed my armpits and then nodded. Connor had already bolted from the starting plate with a hiss and a roar, setting an unsustainable pace in his eagerness to impress. An oxygen tank loomed in his foreseeable future, as several laps at this speed would lead to him to undoubtedly coughing up a lung.
After circling the track a few dozen times and nabbing the five kilometre unspoken goal, I slowly realised that Connor was not built for endurance. Keeping pace with his frenetic stride was almost too easy, yet he struggled on and tried to match my predatory gait. Sweat trickled down Connor’s face and saturated his shirt. He was puffing like a geriatric chasing a big-breasted blonde; his face was rose-tinted and his blue eyes were bulging.
‘Palmer!’ he gasped. ‘What kind of stride do you call that?’
‘The one you set?’ I felt a little bad. I was breathing easy and had just lapped him for the second time in five minutes. Nikki had made it clear that in order to win Connor’s affections I had to embrace my athleticism but also not show him up. Something about damaging his ego, which she’d likened to kicking him in the balls.
‘You’re not jogging, you’re running!’ Connor panted. He was tripping over his own feet, his arms windmilling to keep himself upright.
I slowed, my inner predator rolling her eyes as I fought to contain a hysterical outburst. ‘I’m sorry. Do you need a rest?’
Connor was well behind me now. He had regained his balance but was swaying, perhaps on the verge of passing out. Bent in half and with hands propped against his knees, he attempted to draw in great gasps of air but instead started to cough like he’d just contracted emphysema.
I doubled back, concerned by the sudden pale sheen of his skin. ‘Are you okay?’ I asked, tentatively smoothing my hand across his back. The muscles bunched and tightened under my palm, but Connor was inconsolable, shoving me out of the way. Seconds later he was emptying the contents of his stomach onto the field.
‘Wow,’ I yelped, jumping free of the partially-digested debris, ‘I guess we know who’s going to win this upcoming marathon, huh?’
The contemptuous glare Connor shot me while wiping his mouth suggested I was not doing my best to lure him in with my feminine wiles.

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