Publisher: Sourcebooks Fire (May 1, 2012)
Publication Date: May 1, 2012
Praise for THE SUMMER OF NO REGRETS
"Brigitta...was incredibly unique" Blogger Ambur, Burning Impossibly Bright " —Burning Impossibly Bright
"This is an utterly sweet, captivating book that will charm you, make you think, and maybe even make you shed a tear." —Cupcake's Book Cupboard
"an interesting look at all that can change in the summer of a young woman's life." —YA Bibliophile
"The story line immediately captured my heart " —Charming Chelsey's
"...a novel of identity, true love, and the meaning of death; all told in the voice of a bright, thoughful, and passionately self-contradictory teenage girl." —Book Talk
"...fun summer read with a little bit of a serious twist...You'll laugh, you'll tear up, and you'll be on the hunt for a celebrity lookalike crush in no time" —Fiction Folio
"...the sort of book that should top your "to reads" list." —Letters Inside Out
"...a delightful tale of self-discovery and of burgeoning romance." —Allison Can Read
"The meaningful relationship that is created only makes you want more" —Books With Bite
"Readers can expect romance, drama, and incredible emotion" —A Cupcake and A Latte
a Rafflecopter giveaway
The summer Luke came into my life, I decided to keep him a secret. Even from my celebrity-obsessed best friend. Maybe he *was* a dead-ringer for notorious Hollywood bad boy Trent Yves. And it was possible that everything he told me was a lie. And yes, I was probably asking for trouble. But all I saw was Luke--sweet, funny, caring--someone who would let me be the real me.
But which was the real him?
You can purchase The Summer of No Regrets at the following Retailers:
Ten quotes from THE SUMMER OF NO REGRETS
1. I had looked at that face and it had looked back at me, and seen—what? Poet-and-violinist Brigitta? Seeker-after-Truth Brigitta? Brigitta-who-knows-the-origins-of-hundreds-of-words? No. He'd seen vapid Brigitta. Easily-entertained Brigitta. Sellout Brigitta.
2. “Ahhhh,” said Natalie. “You sure you don't want him?
“That is so cheap,” I said. “Can't you see how cheap that is?”
“Do I care how cheap that is?” said Natalie. “Look at him, Brigitta! You want a religious experience? There's your god.”
3. Mom talks about past lives and karma. When Dad was an atheist, he talked about how the body’s decay feeds the planet. Now he talks about the spirit world. I don’t like to think about any of that. Even if you go somewhere, everything familiar ends: no more birthday parties, no more brushing your hair. I shivered. The cougar's vacant face gazed
from the photo. She'd been so alive. And in that moment of her aliveness I'd been about to die. How could death and life be sisters like that?
4. “Don't you remember convincing everybody at Camp Eagle's Nest we were sisters? From a remote island off New Zealand?"
"We were twelve!"
"So? Who said you couldn't act goofy anymore? Who said you had to go all Grim Reaper? Who said you had to spend all your time up in a treehouse studying the mystical whatever-it-is you're after? We're sixteen, Brigitta. We don't have to be dead."
"I'm not dead."
"Yeah, well," Natalie made a zombie face, "you're doing a pretty good imitation."
5. It had been a long time since I'd followed the animals' movements. I could be uninhibited when I was little, but it's different now. People see you; they make judgments. And pretty soon you find out you're alone. Maybe that's why I hadn't sensed the cougar when she was alive. Yet when I'd finally called her, Onawa had led me to her babies. Or rather, she had led Luke to her babies.
6. "I didn't think you were afraid of anything."
Luke looked away from me and out to sea. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I am."
I moved the drapery behind us, so that we were between it and the outside glass encasing the lantern room. "What?" I asked him. "What are you afraid of?"
I thought he wasn't going to answer. Maybe I'd pushed him too far.
"Myself," he said.
I searched his face. "You're not frightening," I said.
7. On the bedside table were Luke's car keys, a handful of agates we'd found on the beach, his wallet. I willed my mind to stop whirling. Downstairs, Liza was probably calling the press. Silly. Just like Natalie.
Still, the parallels between Luke Geoffrey and Trent Yves were hard to ignore: the unexplained absences, the crazy mom—and especially his looks. Even he knew he looked like Trent. I sat down on the bed and fingered Luke's wallet. If I opened it and pulled the
card out, would it say Luke Geoffrey?
8. I swallowed a lump in my throat and faced him. "Why do you go along with them like that?" I said.
"Go along with who?" He wound the laces absently around the carving.
"Kids with Nerf balls and girls in shopping malls? Is this just an ego trip for you—'looking like a movie star?'"
Luke surveyed the blackberry bushes. He sighed. "Do you know how many times a day I would have to say, 'No, I am not Trent Yves' if I didn't do that? And I'm not going to disappoint little kids."
"So you just lie to them? Or was that really you taking your clothes off on David Letterman?"
9. "These are the gods we worship," Dad mused softly.
"You mean Hollywood actors?"
"The American pantheon," said Dad. "Better than Zeus and the boys."
"If that was my pantheon, I'd be an atheist."
Dad clapped me on the back with a burst of laughter. "That's my girl," he said.
10. He punched three numbers into the phone and waited. "A burglary," he said. "In progress."
The man herded Luke and me to the couch and stood over us with his poker. In his other hand, he had the phone on speaker, the police dispatcher still on the line. Luke held my hand, his face white as beach sand.
Photo Content from Katherine Grace Bond
Katherine Grace Bond wants to heal the rifts in our culture and in ourselves. She writes on writing, race, family, and relationships on Medium, and is at work on a time-travel fantasy, for which she spent a couple of months in France trying to chase down Manet. Her books include The Summer of No Regrets, about finding the meaning of life and death when the boy next door may be a movie star in hiding, and The Legend of the Valentine, illustrated by the awesome Don Tate. Her poetry collections include Considering Flight, about the uneasy dance between father and daughter on the razor’s edge of mental illness. When she’s not writing, she plays fiddle in an Irish band called The Scuppermonkeys.