An Agent's Inbox #19

Dear Ms. Marini,

Because of your preference for edgy YA, and also books with a supernatural bent, I think you might be interested in GHOST LIGHT.

After a heart transplant saves seventeen-year-old Natasha Bassett from the genetic disorder that killed her twin brother Nico, she adopts his lifelong goal of landing the lead in the Richard McAlister Shakespeare Program’s production of Hamlet.

The program only accepts boys, so Natasha takes off for London armed with Nico’s clothes and her survivor’s guilt. She’s banking on her broodiness to send her straight to Hamlet since she’s up against Britain’s most ebullient eighteen-year-old. Alleyn Edwards is so chipper that even his wheelchair radiates enthusiasm. Unfortunately, he’s the best actor Natasha has ever seen, and her feelings for him quickly become harder to hide than her B-cups.

Also, her brother’s spirit is trapped on the physical plane until she gets the role, and he’s willing to do anything to ensure his own return to the grave. Vengeful as he is, the ghost retains the essence of the boy Natasha desperately misses, but if she doesn’t find the strength to let go before the final cast list goes up, she and her rival/crush will become the victims of an increasingly sinister shade.

GHOST LIGHT is a dark Twelfth Night complete with boy-girl-girl love triangle. It is complete at 76,000 words.

I am a member of SCBWI and an MA/MFA candidate in children's literature at Simmons College. My blog, "Sense and Disability" chronicles my misadventures as a young woman with a disability.

Thanks for your consideration,

C.B.


GHOST LIGHT

Upon seeing loved ones appear at the Heathrow Airport arrivals gate, most people show increased excitement--shouting, jumping, tears, etc. At my approach, the bespectacled man in tweed stopped jumping around yelling, “Oi! Bassett!” He gaped like he’d seen a ghost.

In a way, he had.

The sensation of ghost-seeing didn’t have to be sparked by having an ephemeral being appear in front of you. It could come from tripping over a pair of abandoned shoes in the foyer, catching a whiff of cologne on an old coat, or reading a name printed on an official-looking letter on a Wednesday in October. I should have been desperate to escape those things. Instead, I’d charted a course that would inflict them on others.

The closer I got to my godfather, the paler he became, until his skin tone matched the crisp white paper of the acceptance letter in my bag. My luggage trolley fought to list to the left, preferring to join an Indian family reuniting at the end of the ramp. I didn’t blame it.

 

“Hi, Willis,” I said. Maybe I should have waited to make my transformation. I’d ducked into the family restroom on the way to customs to eliminate any chickening out opportunities. I’d been too focused on my own anxieties. Typical of my post-Nico mindset.

 

Next to us little girl shrieked and threw herself into her father’s arms. This snapped my godfather out of his catatonia and he held his arms out to me. “Well met, gentle Natasha.”