The Shadow
Copyright © 2011 Backlit Fiction, LLC
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Borrowing Abby Grace
Episode 1: The Shadow
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Copyright © 2011 Backlit Fiction, LLC
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Cover Designed by: Arsonal Design, LLC
Published by: Backlit Fiction, LLC
ISBN:
978-1-937704-01-8
The Borrowing Abby Grace Series
Episode 1: The Shadow
Episode 2: Girl Steals Guy
Episode 3: Teacher’s Pet
Critical Acclaim for
Borrowing Abby Grace
“
Borrowing Abby Grace
is a clever, intelligent page-turner with a strong, likeable, witty female character that’s sure to turn young adults into life-long mystery lovers. Highly recommended” –Claudine Wolk, author,
It Gets Easier and Other Lies We Tell New Mothers
“
Borrowing Abby Grace
is what you get when you take a dash of the paranormal fiction, a handful of detective fiction, and a healthy dose of intrigue. The main character is compelling and fully realized even when she isn’t sure who she is. …I can’t wait to read more in this wonderfully written series. Kelly Green’s book is one of my favorite reads of the year.” –Jill Przytarski
“In
Borrowing Abby Grace
, Kelly Green proves herself to be a Young Adult author to watch. Green’s writing combines humor with an effortless style that is eminently readable. She holds your attention from the first word to the last. There are some laugh out loud moments mixed with a wonderful mystery.” –Dena Martin
“
Borrowing Abby Grace
is a fast-moving book with realistic and attractive characters. What a fast and fun read!” –Anne McKenzie Hunter
“There is a fun
Nancy Drew
aspect to this story! There is enough action to keep the reader hooked and they won’t be intimidated; this story is perfect for the younger YA crowd too. Kelly Green is an author to look out for! I eagerly await the next adventure that Abby is sent on.” –Brittany Moore
“
Borrowing Abby Grace
is a most unusual story that provides thought-provoking reading for young adults; the author demonstrates an agile mind and shows much promise.” –John H. Manhold, award-winning novelist
“
Borrowing Abby Grace
is a modern day
Quantum Leap
for teens and tweens that boasts a fresh now voice, and which grabs you from the very first word. I dare you to stop reading once you’ve started.” –Angela Felsted
“
Borrowing Abby Grace
stands out because of its fresh, fun and unique concept. …I would love to know what’s in store for Abby next and that’s saying a lot considering the huge number of series books I’ve simply dropped after reading the first book!” –Violet Crush
“The tale is clever, humorous, suspenseful, supernatural, and fun reading for adults and youngsters.” –Israel Drazin
“As you fall deeply into
Borrowing Abby Grace
, you’ll find yourself hooked and yearning for more. Suspenseful, thrilling, and exciting! You’ll find yourself sitting on the edge of your seat.” –Jodie Baker, Uniquely Moi Books
“Kelly creates a wonderfully fun, short story for ages 12+. This is a modern day
Nancy Drew
with a paranormal twist. Very funny! …The story is fresh and different … Now, I can’t wait to find out more about Abby. Looking forward to book 2.” –Maria Gagliano
Contents
Chapter One: Wednesday, 9:56 PM
Chapter Two: Wednesday, 11:34 PM
Chapter Three: Thursday, 6:15 AM
Chapter Four: Thursday, 3:22 PM
Chapter Five: Thursday, 7:00 PM
Chapter Six: Thursday, 9:12 PM
Chapter Seven: Friday, 7:15 AM
Chapter Eight: Friday, 3:13 PM
Chapter One
Wednesday, 9:56 PM
T
he first thing I realized when I woke up in the back of the van was that I had no idea at all how I’d arrived in the back of a van.
The second thing I realized was that I couldn’t remember anything at all. It was as if my whole universe had Big-Banged itself into existence right there on the dark seat, and before that moment was nothing but swirling, empty space, like a screensaver.
The third thing I realized was that I knew what a screensaver was, meaning that I hadn’t just been born. The concept of “trapped in the back of a van,” though unpleasant, was familiar to me, although the particular van I’d arrived in was entirely foreign.
I looked at my wrists, which were tied together with some kind of tape, and recognized them as the wrists of a teenage girl, and for some reason that seemed about right. It was clear to me that I had walked the earth before, though I had no idea where, or as whom. I tried to form a memory in my head, to crystallize the image of a face, or a house number, or anything, but it was as if everyone traipsing through my memory had a paper bag over their head, and I’d also lost my glasses. Had I ever worn glasses? No idea.
I probably have temporary amnesia from a head injury, I thought. This seemed like the best explanation, even though my head didn’t hurt at all.
I sat upright in the seat and saw two men sitting in the driver and front passenger seats, both wearing navy-blue ski masks. At that point, I figured that whatever had led to me waking up in the back of the van with no memory probably wasn’t a good thing, and that it was about time for me to leave.
The van was rolling lazily around the dimly lit curves of a suburban street with excellent landscaping. If you were ever going to jump out of a moving car, this would be the place to do it.
I saw a man in shorts and knee socks standing at the end of his driveway, walking a Boston terrier. It occurred to me that I’ve always thought that Boston terriers look like a cross between a Dalmatian and an alien. Clearly, I had an identity, if I had opinions about dog breeds.
Silently, I bit through the tape that was binding my wrists and unzipped my hooded sweatshirt. I latched my fingers around the handle of the sliding door of the van and pulled, like I was starting a lawnmower.
“Where are you going!” hollered the driver, and he reached back with one arm and grabbed onto the hood of my sweatshirt. The passenger reached around and grabbed onto my sleeve.
I threw my arms back, slipping right out of the hoodie, and dove out of the van and onto the street.
This makes me sound like a superhero, which, clearly, I am not. Let me amend this: It was all a little more clumsy than that. I awkwardly managed to get the sweatshirt off a
s
they were tugging at it and cursing at me, and then I hopped, not dove, out of the van.
I landed on my feet on the dimly lit, suburban street, then winced at the pain in my heels and fell to my knees. The man in the shorts with the Boston terrier ran over, as did several of his neighbors and their children, who’d been playing an evening game of badminton on a front lawn.
I watched the van screech away. I squinted to see the license plate number, but someone had taken off the license plate. Blood was hurtling through my veins so fast that it felt like I was still lunging out of the van.
The man in the shorts reached down and helped me up by the elbow. “Geez, Louise!” he yelled in my ear. “Are you okay?”
I was surrounded by nice moms and dads. “Do you need a ride somewhere? Where do you live? What’s your name?” they asked.
A chorus of questions rang in my ears, but I knew the answer to none of them. “She’s got a head injury,” said the Boston terrier man. “She can’t talk.”
“I can talk
fine
,” I managed.
A police siren blared from up the street and the car came to a halt right next to me. Two officers stepped out of the squad car and approached me from either side. Police officers always seem tall, even if they’re short, and they always seem rough, even if they’re gentle.
“What’s your name?” Male Officer demanded.
“Where do you live?” Female Officer barked.
I had no idea. I surveyed the scene around me—the concerned faces of concerned citizens staring at me a little too intently, the sticky tape residue on my wrists, the flashing of the red police light slapping me across the cheek over and over again. The police siren sang out in a low moan, heralding my mysterious arrival into this quiet, cricket-filled night. I crashed into this neighborhood like a meteor from somewhere else in the galaxy, but I had no idea where I belonged in it. It was all too much.
“This your wallet?” the police asked, snapping me out of my reverie. The woman officer was holding up a zipper wallet of quilted green leather. I didn’t know if it was my wallet or not, but it had been in my pocket, so I figured chances were good that it was, and I nodded.
The officer unzipped the wallet and took out what appeared to be my driver’s license. “Let’s get you home.”
Female Officer stopped the squad car in front of a nice brick house on a different, dimly lit, winding suburban street, and Male Officer escorted me from the car to the front door.
