Teaser Thursday?

I'm currently at home, working on my WIP. Yay! Remember how a couple days ago I was at a stalemate, unsure of which direction to take, or how to slow down the pace? An idea came to me. One that I'd actually advised another writer do I'd beta'd for. I figured I'd take my own advice. I switched up the persepctive. See, here's the thing. Cam has a cool storyline. The whole mystery of the cuts, the bullying, the bracelet... It's all pretty awesome. But her best friend has a cool storyline too. He's a Chippewa, but wants nothing to do with his heritage. His grandfather is forcing him to go on a spirit quest, which is where he has to survive in the wilderness for 2-3 days with only water and a few odds and ends like blankets. It's about fasting, doing a lot of soul searching, and supposedly seeing a vision, which will direct you on your path in life. So, how terrible would it be to completely miss out on this spirit quest because the book is told in Cam's perspective? It would totally be terrible. Plus, honestly, the whole cut thing is interesting, but don't you think it would get old after a couple chapters. It'd be like "Oh, look at that, another cut."

So here's my plan. The first few chapters are in Cam's perspective. Then a few will be in Migizi's, and back and forth. This allows the reader to have the opportunity to see Cam through someone else's eyes (which I think is always cool!) And you get a couple storylines going at once from different angles. Obviously, I'll need to tie them together at the end and I've got a pretty good idea how I'm going to do that.

Here's the introduction to Migizi's chapter. Let me know what you think about changing perspectives. Too confusing for middle grade? Or do you think they'll be able to catch on okay?

Migizi

I watched the second-hand tick tick tick, like the thumping of my heart. It was two am and I couldn’t sleep. Not with Cam mad at me. She hadn’t returned any of my calls. The last time she gave me the silent treatment was when I told Kyle Nolan she liked him...and that lasted for almost two weeks. The girl acts like a waaboos, but when she’s mad she can be spiteful as heck.

Anyway, why was she mad at me? It wasn’t like I pulled the prank on her. I bit my tongue, remembering the hurt look on her face. But I had encouraged her to go up there.

The sound of gasping for air cut through my thoughts. Grandpa was snoring again. The walls were so thin he might as well be in bed with me. I growled and tugged the covers off, feeling the cool air kiss my skin. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.

Tiptoeing down the hall in my bare feet, I dropped into a heap on the couch and dangled my legs over the arm. Ginger took the opportunity to jump onto my lap. The orange ball of fluff kneaded my stomach for five minutes, finally settling into a position on my belly button.

SMASH. I jolted upright, sending the cat flying. She looked at me as if offended, her ears pulled back and eyes wide. “Sorry,” I said.

I looked around for the source of the noise but all was still. Not even Grandpa’s snoring could be heard. SMASH. The sound of broken glass echoed through the silent house. It was coming from outside.

My heart racing in a beatbox rhythm, I padded to the front window and peeked out the curtain. Two figures dressed head to toe in black were running from our driveway. Shattered glass lay beneath Grandpa’s truck, the moonlight’s reflection making it look like diamonds.

“It’s just a window,” said a gruff voice behind me. I turned, startled to see Grandpa standing there.

“But it’s your truck.”

The man shrugged. “They think they can break my spirit by breaking my window. They can’t. Nothing is changed.”

“You know who did this?”

“Yes.” Grandpa squeezed my shoulder. “It is nothing for you to worry about. Go to bed now. It’s late.”

I watched him glide down the hall, confusion swirling in my mind. It was always the secrets. Did he not trust me? Did he think I was just a kid still? That I couldn’t handle it? Even with Cam’s bracelet, he wouldn’t say a word about it no matter how much I prodded. All he said was to stay away from her. That there was nothing I could do.

Well, I couldn’t just stand and watch from the sidelines. She was my best friend. And I kind of felt like her protector. I guess ever since that day in first grade when I caught her before she could smash her face on the hopscotch court. The shocked look on her face as she gazed at me in wonderment had made me feel like a super hero.

The memory caused a warm tingling sensation to form in the pit of my stomach. I was unique to her and it wasn’t because I was Native American or lived on a reservation. It was just because I was me.

My throat tightened as I remembered she was mad at me. Honestly, I was only trying to help her. She’s an awesome girl but too afraid to let others see her like I see her. It bothered me she didn’t stick up for herself.

Ginger weaved around my ankles, rubbing her face against my skin. “Okay, okay, I’m going back to bed.” I stole one more glance at the glittery diamonds scattered across the driveway then picked up the cat and resumed my position on the couch.