High school teacher Emma Lovett is finally recovering from her first year of teaching when she discovers another dead body. As if that wasn’t bad enough, this time, someone has killed a student, Kisten Hollis. Emma and her best friend, Leslie, are desperate to solve this murder. But suspects abound. The perpetrator could be a teacher, an administrator, a member of Kisten’s zealous church community, or even another student. Emma must juggle her teaching responsibilities, her new romance with handsome Hunter Wells, and interest from a hunky second suitor, all while searching for evidence to bring a killer to justice before someone else dies.
Guest Post by Kelley Kaye
A former student of mine shared this article with me:
I’m pretty sure, no, I’m totally sure, if you asked anyone who knows me to slap a label my way, it would unquestionably be extrovert. I am annoyingly extroverted, in that I start conversations with complete strangers just for fun, and I love speaking in front of people–put me in a room with 200 people, and I’m all over it.
But this article made me reconsider the definitions, or the way the terms “shy” and “introverted” seem to be so often synonymous.
But what if they’re not?
I am most definitely a homebody. I’d much rather curl up with a book than go to a party–would rather put on a pair of slippers than a party dress, and much prefer sitting in front of a movie screen as opposed to a chat room.
Maybe I’m just “not shy.” Small talk gets on my nerves, and I have been known, on occasion, to pretend I didn’t see someone I knew at the mall or whatnot, just because I couldn’t bear another ‘let’s do lunch’ from somebody I KNOW, for a FACT, has no intention of asking me to lunch. Or for those friends who would maybe want to have lunch with me at some time, but whom I know are way too busy to do that, I just feel like why bother saying stuff like that? Drives me nuts– because I mean it. If i say I want to do lunch, I’m literally ready to break out my calendar. When we tell people to come visit us in San Diego, because it’s the finest city in America (the on-record motto of San Diego? “America’s Finest City” Just sayin’.) and because we have room for four guests AKA wall bed and pull-out couch, we mean it. But no one ever does. Small talk.
Sheesh. So I try to avoid it altogether, even if it means sometimes pretending I am an undercover
operative who cannot be recognized at any cost.
Maybe I really like performing but I don’t like relating? Like, put me out in front of people and I love it, but start a conversation…?
No, that’s not true either, not exactly. I had two very interesting conversations at an end-of-the-season baseball BBQ: one with an ER nurse (did you know some men shove small objects up their urethras for sexual pleasure? I did not know that.) and one with a new friend who is on the cusp of another interesting life journey, in the midst of a life full of interesting journeys. But see, I wouldn’t characterize either of those as small talk. Major life changes? Not small talk. Small objects stuck up the yahoo…not small talk. BBs are small, but…��
At the other BBQ, which was just last night, I had a really nice time talking 80’s music (best decade EVER), holding an adorable 7-month-old-baby girl who never stopped smiling or wiggling (practically unclothed me in public climbing up and down my shirt), and finally having an ULTRA-IMPORTANT conversation with the baby’s mommy about which Stephen King book was appropriate to introduce her 12 year old son to adult books (he was interested in horror). No joke, in my book (no pun intended) this is a life-altering decision,: finding the books that will turn another person into a reader for life. Not upsetting their parents, that’s important too . . . �� Anyway, it matters. I finally sent her a text last night with my decision: start him with THE SHINING. Am I right? Don’t start a beginner with an 1,100 page tome (he was asking about IT), so, relatively short, super scary, consummate King. Not small talk at all. Momentous.
I will say this, though—that party exhausted me. I came home and crashed into bed like a fallen tree at 8 p.m. That may argue the point of me as an introvert, though.
So that is the question: am I a closet introvert that just happens to be not shy? Or am I the extrovert people have always called me?
It’s a mystery.
I’d love to hear your thoughts! Until then…Stay Mystified!
About The Author
Kelley Kaye taught High School English and Drama for twenty years, but her love for storytelling dates back to creating captions for her high school yearbook. Maybe back to the tales she created around her Barbie and Ken—whatever the case, the love’s been around for a long time.
Kelley is married to this amazing man who cooks for her, and they have two funny and wonderful sons. She lives in Southern California.
Sounds Interesting? Good Luck In The Giveaway! 😉