Careers, Occupations, Internships

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Bonjour Girl
Excerpt

@Clementines blog, Bonjour Girl, is a total fake-ass disaster. Don’t bother reading it. It’s a waste of your precious time.

The nasty tweet hits me like a wall of vintage boots, handbags, and boho dresses. Or like a hurricane that goes on a rampage in my soul and leaves a gaping wound in my heart. I fight back tears while absentmindedly chewing on my nails. I cringe, knowing how many Twitter followers she has. Her malicious post has lots of retweets, too. Like, far too many. Somebody please shoot me now. This is dredging up old, unwanted emotions, all the pain and worry that nearly destroyed me last year. That’s why I came here, why I escaped to New York.
I want to crawl into the nearest hole and lie there until the school concierge finds my decaying remains.
Okay, I’m being gross and melodramatic. I take it back. I just want to hop on the next flight to Paris and never set foot in America again.
I feel nauseous and dizzy at the thought that the entire Parsons student body has probably seen this awful tweet and is now laughing at me. To make matters worse, I think of a Latin proverb I learned at my private school in France: verba volant, scripta manent. It literally means “spoken words fly away, but written words remain.” This totally sucks.
My mind goes into overdrive:
My chances of making any more friends are nil.
My existing friends will think I’m a complete loser and will desert me.
My chances of ever making it as a fashion journalist are ruined.
My transfer to Parsons will get revoked.
My parents will then kill me and ship me back to France on the next flight. (Not so bad an option considering the circumstances. Actually, that might be a good thing.)
Again, my eyes well up, but I’m too angry to cry. My classmate’s biting words sting to the bone. Especially after all I’ve already endured in my personal life.
What did I do to deserve all this?

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Sleight of Hand

Sleight of Hand

edition:Paperback
also available: eBook
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Powerslide

Powerslide

edition:Paperback
also available: eBook
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Excerpt

I had to think fast. The 720° wasn't going to happen. I no longer had the speed or the correct angle. I hit the coping on the other side and launched into a 360° cannonball. A 360° cannonball is a full rotation in the air while holding the front and back of the board. I was fully around the 180° when I though of something I shouldn't have.

What if I didn't land this?

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Los Pandemónium

Los Pandemónium

(Thunderbowl)
edition:Paperback
also available: eBook
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Excerpt

Tocamos por diez minutos, sin saltamos ni una nota. La voz de Al apenas se oía, mientras Drek y yo hacíamos las segundas voces, y creo que el micrófono estaba apagado. Al final, terminé con un acorde improvisado y largo en la guitarra. Y ¿saben qué? me salió super bien. Sonó mejor que nunca.
   Era como si la guitarra y mis dedos hubieran estado haciendo todo el trabajo mientras yo observaba desde afuera. Mis dedos se movían como pólvora. Las luces creaban una sensación mágica en todo el lugar. Llegamos al punto más alto y justo como lo teníamos practicado, paramos la música de pronto, de forma perfecta.

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Thunderbowl

Thunderbowl

edition:Hardcover
also available: Paperback eBook
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Excerpt

We played for ten minutes and drove home every last note. Al sang a barely audible lead and Drek and I tried to do backup vocals, but I don't think our mikes were even on. Toward the end, though, I had a long, crazy riff to play on my guitar. And you know what? It sounded good. It sounded better that I had ever played.
It was like my guitar and my fingers were doing all the work. I just stood there and watched. My fingers danced like fireworks. The lights sent mirror blasts of magic to the four corners of the room. And when I cranked the heat up to the absolute boiling point, we cut the song. Right on cue. Just like in practice.

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