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Quote by Lynne Ewing

“She grabbed the mouse and scrolled down through the health files marked CONFIDENTIAL until she came to the one for Tianna Moore. Her heart beat rapidly when she read her own name. She opened the file, then studied the information on the screen. Born 1986 in Los Angeles, California. Normal immunization records and illnesses. The last line surprised her. Habitual runaway. Paranoid tendencies. Recommend counseling at Children's Hospital.”

Quote by Lynne Ewing

Book:The Lost One
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The Lost One

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Author

Lynne Ewing
Lynne Ewing

Lynne Ewing, born in 1938, is an accomplished author known for her works in both children's literature and adult fiction. Her writing is celebrated for its rich imagination and emotional depth. more

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“Wow," she whispered. The clothes definitely looked like something she would wear. Scoop-neck tops and slinky skirts, hipster flare jeans and a leopard camisole. Even the shoes were perfect. Mary Janes with thick, chunky soles, bungee sneakers, and boots. She slipped off her leather jacket, tore off the tag on a fuzzy hooded sweater, and pulled it over her head. She liked the way the sleeves came down to the tips of her fingers. Automatically she poked her thumbs through the weave and smiled.”

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“At that moment Tianna spied a skateboard. Her hand acted on its own, and before she knew what was happening she had grabbed the board, sent it rolling, and jumped on. Two strokes with her right foot, then she pumped, moving her knees from side to side. She curved down the front sidewalk, bumping over the bricks, and just before reaching the front steps, she turned a high ollie and landed on the thick iron banister. She tail slid down the rail, then bent her knees to cushion her landing and kept going. "Awesome," she breathed, impressed with herself.”

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“Minutes later the waitress brought back a cup the size of a soup bowl filled with steaming chocolate-flavored coffee and topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Tianna realized she hadn't eaten anything since the bite of muffin early in the morning. She sipped the brew, enjoying the rich, sweet taste, and listened to Serena recite a poem about her demon lover. It made Tianna think more than ever that Serena was some kind of witch or worse. How could she know so much about temptation and choosing between good and evil? The words sent chills through Tianna.”

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Book:The Lost One
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“An hour later Tianna was walking toward Planet Bang, wearing a sweater shell with sequins and an ankle-grazing skirt slit up the sides to the top of her thighs. She glanced at the waning moon and stopped. There was something important she had to do before the moon turned dark and it was in some way connected to Justin and Mason, but what? She stared at the sky as she continued, hoping the memory would come to her the way soccer and skateboarding had. When she rounded the corner, the music grew louder. A neon sign throbbed pink, blue, green, and orange lights over the kids waiting to go inside. She recognized some of them. It seemed as if everyone had come with a friend or friends. Their heads turned and watched her as she walked to the end of the line. She spread her hands through her hair and arched her back. As long as they were going to stare, she might as well give them a show. She twisted her body and stuck one long leg out from the slit in her skirt. Guys smiled back at her as she stretched her arms in a sexy pose. The girls mostly turned away, pretending they hadn't been checking out their competition.”

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“You are a Goddess, a Daughter of the Moon." But, now more than ever, Tianna was certain it had been a mistake. She felt like a fraud--- just a girl, not a goddess. Besides, she was the outsider; she hadn't been born a Daughter, like Serena, Vanessa, Jimena, and Catty. Selene, the goddess of the moon, had looked down and decided to make her a Daughter because she had saved the others from the Followers of an ancient evil called the Atrox.”

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“I swung around downtown and slowed down to miss a solitary drunk emerging blindly from the Tripoli bar and out upon the street in a sort of gangling somnambulistic trot, pursued on his way by the hollow roar of the juke box from the ghastly lit and empty bar. 'Sunstroke,' I murmured absently. 'Simply a crazed victim of the midnight sun.' As I parked my mud-spattered Coupe alongside the Miners' State Bank, across from my office over the dime store, I reflected that there were few more forlorn and lonely sounds than the midnight wail of a jukebox in a deserted small town, those raucous proclamations of joy and fun where, instead, there dwelt only fatigue and hangover and boredom. To me the wavering hoot of an owl sounded utterly gay by comparison.”

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