A Pain Less Ordinary
by L.V. Pires
Release Date: September 2017
Becca's life is anything but ordinary.
At fifteen, she's already experienced her share of pain. With a mom who drinks too much, a revolving door of father figures, and struggles at school, Becca wonders if she'll ever have a chance at a normal life. The only thing that keeps her sane is her little sister, Chloe; that is, until her mother's breakdown leads to her sister's disappearance.
A PAIN LESS ORDINARY follows Becca as she figures out life on her own while searching for her family and her new role in the world.
In this powerfully moving novel, L.V. Pires explores Becca's struggle with abandonment, drug abuse, homelessness, relationships, and how pain connects her to others.
ExcerptIt takes us a good ten minutes to back out of the driveway. Mom yells at me a few times to hurry up. My pulse speeds up. A throbbing pain pluses at my temple. There’s a kid in the street. How am I supposed to not hit him? I scream out and slam on the breaks.
Mom taps at the window, ignoring I just nearly killed someone. She drinks the clear liquid from her water bottle. I bite back tears.
I go about a half a mile from the house, speeding to a cool fifteen miles an hour, so we’re in a smooth glide, but keep my foot hovering over the brake sure we’re going to collide with a tree, fender, or small child any moment. Finally, the light turns yellow and I slam my foot down on the brake bringing the tires to a screech.
“Cut it out,” Mom says.
Right as I’m about to get the courage to tell her I don’t know what I’m doing, she moans as if I just ran over her foot.
I follow her gaze straight and suck in a breath. Arthur pushes the stroller ahead of us in the pedestrian lane. I can’t believe it. He’s got the phoniest smile on his face. He looks over, directly into our car. His plastic expression cracks. Mom’s face turns red. Her eyes fix on Chloe.
“Mom?” I try to redirect her. The light turns green.
Mom’s eyes are filling with rage. She watches him scurry to the sidewalk.
The car behind us honks.
“We have to go,” I say, gently, releasing the brake.
“Don’t move,” she says, cold and serious.
I slam down on the brake again.
She unbuckles her seatbelt and flings open the car door.
“Mom!” I yell, but it’s too late.
She is a recipient of the Eileen Spinelli Award, a finalist in the Saturday's Child Press Fiction Contest, and a graduate of Spalding University's MFA program in Writing for Children and Young Adults.