By Laura McNeal
Fifteen-year-old Pearl DeWitt and her mom dwell in Fallbrook, California, the place it's sunny 340 days of the yr, and the place her uncle owns a grove of 900 avocado bushes. Uncle Hoyt hires migrant employees frequently, yet Pearl doesn't pay a lot awareness to them . . . until eventually Amiel. From the instant she sees him, Pearl is attracted to this boy who retains to himself, fears being stuck by way of los angeles migra, and is mysteriously not able to speak. And after discovering Amiel's makeshift hut close to Agua Prieta Creek, Pearl falls right into a precarious friendship--and a forbidden romance.
Then the wildfires strike. Fallbrook--the city of marigolds and fingers, blood oranges and candy limes--is threatened via the Agua Prieta fireplace, and a compulsory evacuation order is issued. yet Pearl is familiar with that Amiel is within the direct direction of the fireplace, with out one to warn him, no option to get out. Slipping clear of safeguard and her kinfolk, Pearl strikes towards the darkish creek, the place the smoke has develop into air, the air smoke.
Laura McNeal has crafted a gorgeous and haunting novel packed with peril, desperation, and love.
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Extra info for Dark Water
I didn’t. My time was up. Just then, the door opened, and the two men came into the room. My heart would’ve sunk when I saw them, except my heart had already sunk so low there was nowhere left for it to go. But these two—these men—you could see it in their eyes: they were the worst kind of enemies to have. Not even evil—just obedient to evil, just dead in their hearts and minds and following blindly whatever orders they were given. Right now, their orders were “Kill him”— that meant me. One look at them, and I knew no matter what I said, they would follow those orders to the end.
I said—and he stopped. I turned back to Rat Face. “One . . ” I said. Rat Face’s frantic hands fumbled their way to the strap on my right wrist. It took him a second to steady his fingers enough to do the job. A second later, the strap came loose. Heaving the right side of my body up off the chair, I hurled Rat Face across the room. He smashed hard into the chest of drawers and collapsed to the floor. He lay there, panting, clutching his throat with one hand and his midsection with the other.
It wasn’t easy. In my terror, I found it hard to get my eyes to keep still, to train them on things and take them in. I had to force myself to do it. I looked at my left wrist first. At the chair arm it was strapped to. Nothing. The strap was strong and secure. The metal of the chair was smooth. Same with my right wrist. My hand extended over the arm of the chair. I could open and close it into a fist. But there was nothing within reach, nothing I could get hold of. What about my ankles? I had to lean forward in the chair as far as I could to get a look at the front of them, then lean over to the side to get another angle.