THE SWEET SPOT - YA contemporary realistic, 73K words. Currently querying.
Pitch:
With the family golf course on the verge of bankruptcy, Kate needs to be the first girl to win the Junior State Championship to draw the crowds back, but her plans are derailed when her best friend and crush is accused of vandalizing the course with a blowtorch.
First two pages:
The
roar of the engine breaks the early morning silence and I drop the golf club in
the middle of my back swing. My ears pound as I scramble to pick up the club
and position myself so it looks like I’m casually hitting balls off the first
tee and not about to have a heart attack at the ripe old age of fifteen. I don’t
want him to know he makes me nervous.
I
tug the bottom of my work shirt. Dad insists we all wear logo shirts that only
look good on old men and my brother. And even that’s a stretch. It’s too bad a
fashion miracle in the ten seconds before Scott will drive the golf cart around
the corner of the building is impossible. Like the cutest boy I know needs
something else besides my no-style haircut and plain-Jane nose to treat me like
his kid-sister.
Shielding
my eyes with my hand, I gaze out over the first fairway like I’ve just hit a
perfect shot over the hill even though I haven’t hit the ball. Just before he
skids to a stop, I realize he’s driving a different cart—earlier this morning he
had the new one. Now he’s driving the old beater. The one with the missing
bumper you can hear halfway across the course. The only reason it still runs is
because Ed Douglas, the greens keeper, is a genius with engines. He hits the
brake and gravel sprays everywhere. I know I should let it go, but I just can’t
resist the opportunity to give him crap.
“What’d
you lose now, your sense of direction?” I look over my shoulder, expecting him
to laugh. I’ve already spent ten minutes with him this morning scouring the
office for a tape measure he swore was on Dad’s desk. Not that I care about
spending time with Scott, it just takes forever for my heart rate to get back
to normal after he leaves.
Only
when he jumps off the cart and leaps the three rotten steps to where I stand do
I notice the panic on his face. Sweat beads on his forehead and his legs and shorts
are splattered with mud. “Kate, you’ve got to help me.”
His
turquoise eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot. And he’s gasping for breath like
he’s run all the way from the other side of the course. Not at all like the
Scott Turner who gave me crap about my burnt coffee forty-five minutes ago. He
leans over and puts his hands on his knees.
“You’re
scaring me.” I reach out to touch him, but can’t find a clean spot on his
shoulder. And he smells like a dead body. Which, believe me, is not his normal soap-and-fabric-softener
scent.
He
takes a deep shuddering breath. “I changed the cup on seven. Instead of going
the long way around by the fourth hole, I decided to make a bee-line to the
eighth green, to save time.” He holds his palms up, like I’m supposed to fill
in the gaps of his story. I don’t have a clue—we always take that shortcut.
Fourteen-year-old Audrey is on the fast track to high school superstardom when she makes the junior varsity girls tennis team, but her path to glory is blocked by a vision—a dead-ringer for her best friend Zach—who insists she is the only one who can save his life.
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