But there is one bright spot: Mark Connelly, her very cute, very off-limits 28-year-old calculus teacher. She falls hard for him—a ridiculous schoolgirl crush headed nowhere. She can’t help it. He’s the only good thing at Crestview High. She doesn’t expect him to reciprocate her feelings. How inappropriate, right? But he does. And he shows her.
And that’s when her life goes from bad to good.
Good is the first book in the Too Good series.
I do not approve of much older men with younger women. I just don’t; and I think that 28 can be defined as much older when you’re talking about a girl who is 17/18. When a 50 year old and a 40 year old are together, 10 years doesn’t mean quite so much, and I say more power to them; but 10 years to a teenager is a lot of rings on a tree. Those years are vital years in terms of development. Honestly, older men with much younger women tick me off. I think it’s wrong to get your hooks into a girl who doesn’t really know who she is yet, so you can make her be who you want her to be (and the same goes for much older women with younger men).
Now that I’ve made my position clear, I’ll step down from my soapbox and continue with my review.
S. Walden is good. This book is good. I probably wasn’t halfway through this book before I tossed my moral compass into the Chesapeake. I’m not proud of that but it’s true. I was reading this book, relaxing on the boat, and I thought, “Screw it! I’m going with you, Ms. Walden!” And splash! My morals sank to the bottom. I think your morals will take a flying leap, too; so, if you think you want to fight this older man/hot-for-teacher thing, then you better get a death grip on them!
We open this book to Cadence, a 17 year old stuck in juvie. She’s schlepping trash on the side of the highway and--whammo!—she runs into Mr. Hottie, or as she calls him, “Midnight in a Perfect World (you’ll understand when you read it).” She’s feeling it, seems like he might be as well, until they’re rudely interrupted and it’s back to work. Then, we flash forward to Cadence’s first day back at school, or, if you will, her return to Hell. She walks into her very first class, and who does she see? Midnight in a Perfect World. And we’re off!
I won’t spoil it for you and give you a blow by blow, but if you’ve ever been to high school then you know what kind of hell a girl who’s just returning from juvie faces. It’s not pretty, and I can honestly say that, judging by this book, kids are just as mean and stupid in high school as they ever were. It’s this exact thing that turned me to the Dark Side and made my morals take a swim with the fishes. I have a pretty vocal inner teenager; we’ll call her Little K. Little K was probably just about as unhappy as Cadence (but for very different reasons) way back in high school, and she would have given just about anything to have someone, anyone, pay attention to her, to treat her like she was someone who mattered. So, when Mr. Connelly started in with his small, kind gestures, I’ll admit it, Little K went full throttle for him (and she’s not easy to hold back). There’s a scene with a Wet Wipe that sounds totally unsexy, but Little K was holding back tears. Little K would have killed for a man with a Wet Wipe. Seriously, girls, it’s a tender moment. After that, all I could see of my morals were bubbles.
I spent the rest of the book in a tizzy fighting Little K for emotional control. I mean, I’m a grown-up and I know the signs of a sexual predator, right? This girl is the perfect target, so I was constantly on guard and freaking out about Mark (see, now that the morals are officially gone, he’s Mark) exposing himself as a creep in the end. And honestly, it is a little creepy. I mean he’s her teacher and he’s got ten years on her; and then there’s the whole issue of her sexual inexperience! This girl’s been no where, and suddenly they’re discussing oral sex and he’s saying he wants to go down on her--eventually. He’s not pushy, I’ll give him that, but the jaded, reluctant grown-up in me, thought, “Uh huh. I see what you’re doing, mister! A little reverse psychology, Jedi mind trick!” Point is: I was worried, but not Little K. She said, “Screw it! Better yet, screw him!” See what I’m dealing with here?
Our main character, Cadence, is so likeable. Clearly, Little K and I felt for her. She’s so 17/18. I mean, this girl is real. She’s emotional and dramatic, and she so badly wants to be grown up. She’s also needy and rather easily led. When her father tells her to go to her room, she goes. I mean, she actually tells Mark things like, “My dad took my car away.” She’s a kid. As a bonafide grown-up, I found myself wondering how a grown man could find this attractive in a serious way. If some hot, young guy said this to me, I’d want to pat him on the head, you know? Cadence is a kid-- but she’s on the verge, and maybe Mark’s more willing and able to look ahead.
I think Ms. Walden does this age so well. If you’ve read Going Under (which I reviewed and recommend—go look it up!), then you remember Brooke, and just how fully realized she was as a character. Both of these girls embody that teenage girl, that brain, that body, that time. Cadence gets jealous and throws a fit, an irresponsible, damn-near-going-to-get-them-caught fit at school, for the love of Pete! She cries and screams and hides in bathrooms! But for all of that, she’s waking up to something new, something she’s never felt before and something that is just too big for her to fully get her mind around. Give Cadence some time, and she’ll get it together, I have no doubt.
On to Mark. Oh Mark. It’s possible that Little K maybe got a hand from me when she tossed the morals once the image of Michael Vartan snuck into my head. I know he doesn’t look as Ms. Walden describes Mark, but he’s my Mark. My brain made a Never Been Kissed/ Josie-Grossie jump and I was powerless against it. At any rate, I adore Michael Vartan, so every time I pictured Mark—BAM! There came a point though (remember girls, every book needs drama), where Michael Vartan or not, I wanted to punch Mark. I wanted HIM to grow up and I was really, really scared that he was a creep. He seriously made me doubt him, but I say to the readers—keep going!
If you haven’t read a book by S. Walden, you should and here’s why: She never lets you off easy. She pushes the limits—always—and I love that about her. The only other time I’ve tossed my morals out for a much older man and youngun of a girl was in Fortune’s Rocks by Anita Shreve, which is a favorite of mine. I tossed them whole-heartedly, without reservation. I tossed them in the belief that there was no way that story was going to go wrong. The beauty of Ms. Walden’s work comes in the reality of it, I think, not the fantasy. This could all very well go wrong. You hear about it every day. Mark could decide he’s tired of dating someone so much younger and less mature and leave poor Cadence with some serious issues to overcome. Cadence could get pregnant. Maybe Mark could get thrown in jail. Honestly, there are a lot of ways that this story could implode and any one or all of them would be completely believable, but isn’t that life? And isn’t that the beauty of life? Anything could go wrong at any time, and yet we keep going; and sometimes things actually work out. Whichever way Ms. Walden takes these two in the future, I’m certain I’ll believe her.
angel on the highway
I was out on Highway 28 dressed in my juvie garb finest—orange jumpsuit with bright yellow vest—walking along the shoulder picking up garbage tossed out of the car windows of other lawbreakers. I’d been assigned to a community service-based juvenile detention center. I guess I wasn’t hardcore enough to make it into the locked-down facilities. And I should have counted myself lucky: I actually got to leave the building on work assignments.
Yeah . . . whatever. I was freaking embarrassed. I was embarrassed every time they dumped me on the side of some road to pick up trash. My long blond hair was pulled up in a required ponytail highlighting flushed cheeks that turned a darker shade of red when a truck passed by slowly, honking obnoxiously, its passengers hanging out of the windows yelling at me.
“Cadence!” one shouted. “Nice outfit!”
I looked down at my jumpsuit. It was unflattering, clinging to my petite body like a baby onesie, but I could get over that. What I couldn’t get over was the hideous color that washed out my fair skin.
“Do not respond,” Officer Clements ordered.
“I wasn’t going to,” I mumbled, stabbing a Styrofoam cup with my trash stick.
“What was that?” Officer Clements asked, towering over me.
“Nothing, ma’am,” I replied, and continued my work. Just one more month, I thought, walking and jabbing, walking and jabbing.
I didn’t realize I had walked and jabbed my way down the road next to a car parked on the side, hoisted up on a jack. It was an old black Volkswagen, its owner a young man bent over changing a flat tire. Trash was littered about his work area, and I wasn’t sure if I should pick it up. But he seemed so wholly concentrated on screwing in the bolts that I was positive he’d take no notice of me.
I speared a burger wrapper near the back of the tire, and his face shot up.
My immediate reaction was to turn and run. I was afraid. I remembered a discussion in youth group a while back about angels and how every time they’re mentioned in the Bible, the first thing they say is, “Do not be afraid.” My youth pastor said that this was because angels were scary looking—eyes all over their bodies and under their wings. First of all, how did he know what an angel looked like? And second, why would God make his angels look like a bunch of freaks?
No. I didn’t think angels looked like that at all. I thought they looked like perfect symmetry, and that’s what scared the hell out of people. A form too beautiful to look upon. Like this young man bent over his tire, staring at my orange jumpsuit and trash stick, wondering what a little girl like me could have done to land in juvenile hall. Because I was little, after all. I stood at 5-foot-2 and weighed 100 pounds.
“I’ll be out of your way in a minute,” he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
I nodded and watched him finish tightening the bolts, then stand and stretch his back. He wore the male version of skinny jeans and a black T-shirt that read “Midnight in a Perfect World” across the front in stark white letters. He sported red Converse All Stars, and a bunch of braided bands of various colors were wrapped around his left wrist. His black wavy hair stuck out in all directions, and I couldn’t tell if it was by nature’s blessing or hair product. I hoped it was natural. I didn’t want to think he spent a lot of time styling his hair.
He smiled at me, revealing soft dimples on both cheeks. I smiled back. His eyes were light. Good combination, I thought. Dark hair, light eyes. He was sexy. No doubt about that. Tall and lean. He looked like an intellectual. I figured he was some scholarly Emory University boy. Probably a philosophy major, I thought, smirking. I imagined he sat around chatting about existentialism with his hipster friends in some dive coffee shop (never Starbucks) sipping cappuccinos.
I giggled.
He stood at the trunk of his car putting away his tools and turned around when he heard me.
“What’s funny?” he asked. The smile still lingered on his mouth. “Did I split my pants or something?” He strained his head to look behind him at the butt of his jeans.
I laughed harder. “No. You didn’t split your pants.” I tried not to look at his butt.
“Phew!” he replied. “You know, I’ve done that in the past. Squatted on the ground to change a tire, and rip! Right down the middle. I happened to be on a date at the time.”
“No!” I cried, feeling just the slightest bit sorry for this stranger.
“Well, the date was on shaky ground once the tire popped. The pants-splitting sealed the deal, though. I guess she equated both of those things with ‘loser’ or ‘no money’,” he said.
“That’s awful,” I replied.
“Atlanta women are tough,” he went on, leaning against the trunk of his car. He looked me over and grinned.
“No, I’m not tough,” I replied to his unspoken question. “Don’t let the jumpsuit fool you.”
He shook his head. “What in God’s name could a little thing like you have done to wind up in juvie?”
I tensed. His demeanor. The way he talked to me. Like he’d known me for years. And he used “little thing” like a term of endearment. I knew I wasn’t imagining it. He did.
I opened my mouth to reply then shuddered at the sound of my name.
“Cadence Miller!” Officer Clements yelled.
“Shit,” I whispered, and turned around.
She loves her fans and loves to hear from them. Email her at swaldenauthor@hotmail.com and follow her blog at http://swaldenauthor.blogspot.com where you can get up-to-date information on her current projects.
Blog: http://swaldenauthor.blogspot.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/swaldenauthor
Twitter: @swaldenauthor
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/swaldenauthor
I am totally looking forward to reading Good by S. Walden!!!! Thanks for the giveaway!!
ReplyDeleteI'm really excited for this book!!! IT looks really good.
ReplyDelete