Zillah
Anderson
Remember when everyone else thought
they knew you? Remember when everyone else thought they knew better?
Layla’s a small-town teen trying to
be herself and is misinterpreted at every turn. She’s not popular
because her dad’s a minister and her interests never seem to match
those around her. She’s learned to keep to herself and her music –
big mistake. When her love of classic rock makes her parents wonder
if she’s “getting ideas” she finds herself shipped off to
church camp. There she’s faced with horrible food and her day is
planned out by the millisecond. To make matters worse her bunkmate is
the cheery, tow-the-line sort and Donna, her nemesis, is at the same
camp and is determined to make things hard for her. The only thing
Layla has left to cling to is her music, but when her interests and
character are challenged will her faith in herself and her shaky
trust in something more be strong enough to see her through?
About the Author:
Never one to run from uncomfortable or
unusual subject matter, Zillah Anderson is an author of the
speculative, the dark, and the sexy – and sometimes all three at
once. She is the author of The Inheritance and the young adult title
Knocking Down Heaven’s Door with No Boundaries Press, the erotic
short Power Chord with Rebel Ink Press, and has also had her work
included in the Wicked East Press Anthology Halloween Frights vol.
III. She resides in the Midwest, loves all things crafty and nerdy,
and writes while she bides her time for her true purpose: total world
domination.
Excerpt:
After getting checked in, I headed out
to my cabin to dump my gear before orientation. No, cabin was an
optimistic word. I can still see that building in my head: an
enormous brown wooden structure that looked more like a workhouse or
a barrack than a happy little camp house. Like the main buildings my
home away from home could have used a coat of paint and some
insecticide. It was amazing that the wooden structure hadn’t rotted
away from being stuck back in the damp forest so long.
The inside of my cell didn’t give me
a reason to be any more optimistic. Besides the obligatory sections
of bunk beds there were wooden chests of drawers and a couple wobbly
tables and chairs. It was all very Berenstain Bears meets Camp
Crystal Lake. Still, it wasn’t like I had a choice in the matter.
All I could really do was make the best of it and wait things out.
Common sense ruled that most of the
beds in the room were occupied, or else they’d grown their own
bedding out of boredom. Sighing, I dragged my stuff to the one empty
lower bunk and began to make myself at home. I was so wrapped up in
self-pity that I was only interested in getting my bed made so I
could escape the humid, musty-smelling place.
“Wow, you’re new aren’t you?” a
perky voice chirped. I jumped hard enough to slam my head into the
rickety bunk above mine.
“Wild observation,” I hissed
through the throbbing in my skull. A girl the size of my forearm slid
gracefully off the top bunk and dropped to the floor without a sound.
I’d been in high school long enough to be an expert profiler and
there was no doubt in my mind that she was a cheerleader. The summer
just kept getting better.
“I’m Missy; I’ve been coming here
ever since I was nine,” she added then beamed a smile any dentist
or orthodontist would probably be tempted to frame. I was tempted to
ask if she wanted a medal for the accomplishment but held my tongue.
I’d been around youth group enough to know that if there was
something to count attendance for, there were pins and badges to
commemorate it. Sure enough, on the crisp white polo shirt she
sported was a small gold pin with a series of added bars to show off
each year she’d returned to the asylum.
“I’m Layla,” I managed as I
gracefully slammed my stuff onto the bottom bunk in an effort to
encourage her to leave me alone.
“Isn’t that Hebrew for something?”
she asked with a tilt of the head that was probably meant to show off
her blonde locks. It just made her look like a curious Labrador
retriever.
“Dunno. I think my parents’ gave me
the name because they were listening to Derek and the Dominoes when I
was conceived,” I said as I busied myself tucking clothes away and
dutifully slid my Bible under my pillow. It was an outright lie, but
it was worth seeing Missy’s baffled expression. Having an unusual
name meant you got tired of explaining it really quick. I’d already
come to the conclusion that as soon as I was old enough to get a
tattoo I would get my name, its pronunciation, and its meaning inked
someplace really visible so I’d never have to have that
conversation ever again.
“Are you planning on wearing that to
the orientation?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject,
and nodded to my Led Zeppelin shirt. As she stared her expression
grew dubious. I wasn’t a size zero blonde cheerleader, but I wasn’t
anything to sneeze at. Still, it seemed she was more interested in
the strange, presumably satanic writing scrawled across my chest than
my chest itself. At least I hoped so.
“Sure, what’s wrong with it?” I
asked, my raised eyebrows practically daring her to say it. In those
days, I had fun antagonizing girls like Missy. They were all for
preaching peace and acceptance and knew they should lead by example.
Despite that philosophy, quite often the synapses just didn’t
connect the saying to the doing, especially once Sunday was over.
“Well, it’s just that…we don’t
really wear stuff like that here. What’s ‘Stairway to Heaven,’
anyway?”
“You’ve never heard of that?” I
blanched and slid my bag under the bed. “Oh, wow, Missy; you’ve
never heard that song? I mean, it’s ‘Stairway to Heaven!’ It’s
like one of the best Christian rock songs ever, all about God’s
forgiveness and salvation and stuff! You have to climb the Stairway
to Heaven if you’re gonna be saved, right?”
I could see her ticking through her
mental Bible retention in the silence that followed. Luckily, most
Sunday school lessons focus on the same ten to twelve stories over
and over again. It was one advantage of being a pastor’s kid – I
could do far more than hold my own in a fight over the Bible, though
I hated to get into those types of arguments. No one ever won and it
wasn’t about the book or spirituality, itself, but about proving
that you were right. No thank you. “Yeah, I think I remember
reading that somewhere. I’ll have to go looking for that
song…though Led Zeppelin doesn’t really sound like a Christian
group.”
I shook my head in pity. “C’mon
Missy, you’re forgetting where it talks about the absence of faith
causing one to descend from salvation with the strength of a zeppelin
crafted from lead,” I went on, more and more amazed when she nodded
somberly. That was the trouble with all the new, watered-down
translations; for all I knew there was a verse that had been
retranslated as such.
“You’re so right, Layla. You’re
so, so right,” Missy nodded and placed one of her
perfectly-manicured hands on my shoulder. She looked like she was
nearly in tears, moved as she was. “I’m so glad you’re my
bunkmate.” I followed her numbly towards Harmony Hall.
This sounds good! Thanks for the excerpt
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