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today 6/2/16 on aobibliosphere™ [aobibliospotlight™: A Boy Made of Blocks by Keith Stuart]

Friday, May 15, 2015

aobibliospotlight™: Phantom's Dance by Lesa Howard

*collage by piZap
    
book description:
Christine Dadey’s family uprooted their lives and moved to Houston for her to attend the prestigious Rousseau Academy of Dance. Now, two years later, Christine struggles to compete among the Academy’s finest dancers, her parents are on the brink of divorce, and she’s told no one about her debilitating performance anxiety and what she’s willing to do to cope with it.
   
Erik was a ballet prodigy, a savant, destined to be a star on the world’s stage, but a suspicious fire left Erik’s face horribly disfigured. Now, a lonely phantom forced to keep his scars hidden, he spends his nights haunting the theater halls, mourning all he’s lost. Then, from behind the curtain he sees the lovely Christine. The moldable, malleable Christine.
    
Drawn in by Erik’s unwavering confidence, Christine allows herself to believe Erik’s declarations that he can transform her into the dancer she longs to be. But Christine’s hope of achieving her dreams may be her undoing when she learns Erik is not everything he claims. And before long, Erik’s shadowy past jeopardizes Christine’s unstable present as his obsession with her becomes hopelessly entangled with his plans for revenge.
   
excerpts:
excerpt one:

When I reached the back corner of the four-story, brick building, I hesitated. The sun had dipped below the adjacent structure, leaving the alley in a gray haze and giving it a creepy vibe. My heart sped up as I replayed all the horror stories Mom had drilled into me. Though we tell everyone we’re from El Paso, the truth is we lived in a small suburb outside the city. So Mom filled my head with tales about the dangers of living downtown in a city the size of Houston—muggings, assaults, drug deals, she’d warned me repeatedly, and now those cautionary tales were hammering through me with every beat in the music spilling from behind the building.
Pressing my back against the bricks, I felt the heavy thump of the bass in my chest. The music issued out, echoing around me, like a rhythmic call to battle. I stood there long enough for one song to end and another to begin. Then, clutching my bag to my side, I peeked around the bend and was surprised to see a group of about a dozen people gathered in a loose circle. A mixture of ethnicities, some shuffled and shimmied, while others bounced and popped to the music’s time.
When their formation shifted, I could see into the ring of figures. A young African-American man danced there, arms snaking in and out and legs nimbly swirling. After several steps, he twitched his head toward someone in the surrounding group, and a woman laughed uproariously before jumping into the center as he sauntered out. She jiggled and jolted to the music in a way that was captivating. It was as if the music emanated from the dancer, rather than the big boom box sitting on the trunk of a car.
Their laughter was exhilarating, and I could see that taunting and bragging was a part of the performance. Completely engrossed, I became careless and before I knew it, I’d drifted from the safety of the building’s shadow to stand in the open. Then someone spoke, and I knew I’d made a horrible mistake.

excerpt two:

After pacing a while, I went to the edge of the stage to sit down, hang my legs over the side, and look out on the pencil-straight rows of burgundy theater seats.
Several minutes passed when I heard, “Christine—I’m over here.”
I whipped my head to the left and my mouth fell open. Erik was standing on the stage for me to see, dressed in black warm-ups and arrayed in an elaborate costume mask that concealed his face.
With effortless grace he approached me, every step revealing his nimble dancer’s body. When he stopped he extended his open hand to me and I took it, allowing him pull me to my feet with a strong arm.
Mere inches from me, he waved a hand in front of the mask. “I know this is strange. But it was the only thing I could think of. And it didn’t seem right for me to be behind the curtain and you out here crying all by yourself.”
Still surprised to see him on stage, I stared open-mouthed at the mask. Full-faced, it was white with angular, almond shaped eyes. The upper half was stippled gold, with raised filigree swirling across the forehead and down the sides of each cheek. The lips were of a softer, more buttery, shade of gold. The face-piece connected to a length of black knit that was swathed in an Arabian style across the top of the mask, draped under his chin and wrapped back up to be pinned high on the other side. It was stunning.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
I closed my mouth and shook my head.
He was still holding my hand in his, and lifting it between us, he placed his other on top so that he held my hand warmly between his, and asked, “Then will you let me dance with you?”

buy links:
about the author:
Lesa Howard
Lesa Howard lives in the greater Houston area where she works as a writer-in-residence for the nonprofit organization Writers in the Schools, but her students know her as Lesa Boutin. Lesa was passionate about writing for teens before it was ever labeled Young Adult, and her latest YA novel is PHANTOM'S DANCE, which is a modern retelling of Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera. she has two books written under the name Lesa Boutin: Amanda Noble, Zookeeper Extraordinaire and Amanda Noble, Special Agent.
please visit Lesa at www.lesahowardboutin.com or contact her at lesaboutin@gmail.com

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