The Perfect Blindside by Leslea Wahl

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About the Book

He’s an egotistical snowboarder with a silver medal.

She’s a judgmental honors student with a flair for photography.

Slashed tires…. False accusations…. A coded message…. When all they can see is each other’s flaws, how can Jake and Sophie work together to figure out what’s really been happening at the abandoned silver mine?

Follow Sophie and Jake into secret tunnels as they unravel the mystery and challenge each other to become who God wants them to be.

Book Excerpt

 

Chapter 2 

“Take me out to the ball game. Take me out with the crowd . . .”

Uhh . . . what? I slap at the alarm.

The tune continues. Not the alarm.

Through squinted eyes I search the grey shadows of my bedroom. The music seems to be coming from my desk.

Sam.

Note to self: Kill him later.

Ten-year-old little brothers and cell phones don’t mix. Sam’s always messing with my settings. Ringtones are apparently his newest discovery. At least I was spared the total humiliation of anyone from school hearing it.

Before the singer begins to call the strikes, I stumble out of bed and lunge toward my desk, but manage to slam my toe into the chair. Grimacing, I yank my phone from its charger. As I answer it with one hand, I grab my throbbing toe with the other and hop back to bed.

“What?” I grunt as I flop onto my mattress.

“Sophie?” chirps my best friend.

“Kate . . . I was asleep. What do you want?” I don’t know why I ask. I already know what she’s calling about.

“What are you going to wear today?”

It’s too early for this again. “I already told you five times yesterday, I. . . don’t. . . . know.”

“Come on, it’s the first day of school. We’re finally juniors. We’ve been looking forward to this for like — forever! How can you not be excited? Today’s our chance to meet him.” She finally stops for a breath.

“Joy,” I mutter.

“Soph, you’re being irrational.”

“Irrational? What are you, a shrink?”

“Hey, don’t change the subject. This is going to be the best year ever. Come on, you’re usually as excited as I am. Don’t you remember in fifth grade when we met early before school so we could braid each other’s hair?”

“I remember.” I say pulling the phone further from my ear. Her bubbliness is too much to take.

“What about seventh grade when we did extra chores and earned enough money to buy matching outfits?”

“We looked like dorks.”

“And then before ninth grade when we stayed up all night texting each other?”
“I fell asleep in class.”

“Come on, Grumpy, I know your inner excitement is hiding in there somewhere.” She sounds like she’s about to burst into a cheer at any moment.

“What’s the purpose of this trip down memory lane?”

“To help you remember you love going back to school.”

She’s right, which I hate to admit. The first day of school is usually one of my favorite days of the year. Not today though. This one is going to be very different. This one I’m dreading.

“So, what are you going to wear?” she probes, her decibel level increasing. “We need to look good when we finally meet him. First impressions. . .”

“Good-bye Kate.” I interrupt as I hang up grumbling.

Falling back asleep is probably impossible now, but I’m determined to try. I burrow deep beneath my covers hoping to avoid the dread of this day.

What do I care what “he” thinks of me? He’s an arrogant jerk. And because of him I’m completely broke, spent a week of my summer break grounded, and nearly lost my precious car.

I ponder how my opinion of him has changed over the last few months. Eight months ago I had never even heard of Jake Taylor. No one had. Then came the Winter Olympics. Amazing how such an awesome international event could end up ruining my junior year of high school.

 

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About the Author

Author Leslea Wahl enjoys writing fun, adventurous Christian Young Adult mysteries. She hopes her books encourage teens to grow in their faith. Her debut novel, The Perfect Blindside, was awarded an Illumination Christian Book Award and a Catholic Press Association Book of the Year Award. She lives in beautiful Colorado with her family.

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