YA Contemporary: Water Down My Walls

35 Word Pitch: British teen is thrown into rocky waters when she’s sent to a small Florida town to recharge. Without her mum or bestfriend, she must navigate through her anxiety and depression before she sinks for good.

Genre: YA Contemporary

Title: Water Down My Walls

Word Count: 76,000

Special Question (If your main character could be any Star Wars character, who would they choose and why?): My MC would choose to be Rey. Five words — she pilots the Millennium Falcon. She’s determined, self-sufficient, and more courageous than brave. That said, even though my MC would choose Rey, she would connect most with Finn. Whether it’s the First Order, depression or anxiety, Finn and my MC are pulled into an adventure without their consent. Their resulting mission might not be as explosive as blowing up a Death Star, but their mission is to survive and look out for those they care about.

First 250 Words:

I save Cooper for last.

Shivering, I trudge into his oil-stained garage and wring my hair. He’s right in front of me. His skinny self is hunched over the engine of his car, wearing only jeans and sandals. The biggest fool in Manchester, my partner-in-crime, my only real friend, even has a cig hanging from his lips.

I tighten my jacket around me and clear my throat. Cooper looks up.

“Hey, you,” he mumbles around the cig and the dark hair falling into his face. When I don’t move or speak, he pulls his hands away from the car. “Don’t tell me it’s time already.”

I shrug and scuff the toe of my combat boot against a tire mark. “Coop.” I had a speech prepared, but now . . . I stare at his black smudged hands and dangling Marlboro.

Beats of silence pass between us. A drop runs down my forehead. Rain, or sweat?

“Listen.” My eyes lock onto his green ones. “I suck at this sort of thing, so let’s just make believe I’m saying something smashing and heartfelt, so we can move on with our lives.”

He snorts. “You’ve always had a wicked way with words.” His sandals slap against the floor as he strolls over to the table next to me, squishes the cig down in the ashtray, and tugs out a rag to wipe his hands. “I reckon this is when I get to hug my best friend and tell her to keep in touch . . . ?”