Today is the Release Day for WEIGHTLESS by Sarah Bannan and I’m so excited to be able to celebrate it with a peek inside the book and a giveaway.
I am currently reading this awesome book and am in love with the author’s writing. I was immediately drawn into her story by her use of imagery which instantly captivated and transported me. And I am at the point where I’m holding my breath, anxious for the emotional hit I know is to come.
If you haven’t yet heard of WEIGHTLESS or have a copy on reserve at the library or on order to arrive on release day, now’s the time to get to know it and add it to your TBR pile or your collection. This is one of those must-read books that will make an impact.
The book’s description is immediately below, along with places to find it online. The excerpt, which will leave you wanting to read that next sentence, follows. And some information about Author Sarah Bannan follows after that.
And if you’re in the U.S. and you’d like the chance to win a copy, you can enter in the Rafflecopter at t
Author: Sarah Bannan
Release date: June 30, 2015
Publisher: St. Martin’s Griffin
Formats: Hardcover, paperback, audio, eBook
When 15-year-old Carolyn moves from New Jersey to Alabama with her mother, she rattles the status quo of the junior class at Adams High School. A good student and natural athlete, she’s immediately welcomed by the school’s cliques. She’s even nominated to the homecoming court and begins dating a senior, Shane, whose on again/off again girlfriend Brooke becomes Carolyn’s bitter romantic rival. When a video of Carolyn and Shane making out is sent to everyone, Carolyn goes from golden girl to slut, as Brooke and her best friend Gemma try to restore their popularity. Gossip and bullying hound Carolyn, who becomes increasingly private and isolated. When Shane and Brooke—now back together—confront Carolyn in the student parking lot, injuring her, it’s the last attack she can take.
Sarah Bannan’s deft use of the first person plural gives Weightless an emotional intensity and remarkable power that will send you flying through the pages and leave you reeling.
They came out in groups of three, wearing matching shorts and T-shirts, their hair tied back with orange and black ribbons. Their eyes were wide and they yelled and clapped and turned, precisely, rehearsed. They smiled and their lipstick was pink and smooth, their teeth white and perfect. They sparkled.
We sat in the bleachers, towels underneath our legs, trying not to burn our skin on the metal. We wore our Nicole Richie sunglasses and our Auburn and Alabama baseball caps and our Abercrombie tank tops and shorts. The scoreboard on the left of the field displayed the temperature—97 degrees—and the Adamsville morning news said that the heat index made it closer to 105. This is something we had learned to get used to, to air so hot and sticky that you felt like you were moving through liquid, to summers so hot you moved as little as humanly possible, and even then, only to get into air-conditioned air. The temperature flashed away and the time appeared—5.24 P.M. The sun would set in two, maybe three hours, but the sky was already turning a deeper orange; some clouds gave a little shelter, softening the glare. We sat and we let the heat do what it had to; sweat collected underneath our knees, between our legs, on the backs of our necks.
Three more moved to the field, all spirit fingers and toe touches and back handsprings. Thin, tanned and golden: they were smiling and they did not sweat. They looked fresh and impossibly clean and their mascara didn’t run and their foundation didn’t melt and their hair didn’t frizz. We clapped and we cheered and we watched and we waited. The marching band played in the bleachers across from us: brass, drums, Adams High’s fight song. We sang along to the parts we knew, we screamed during the parts we didn’t. And it always ended the same way:
“ADAMS HAIL TO THEE.”
The pep rally would have been indoors, would have taken place in the gym on the basketball court, like always, like we were used to, only a bunch of seniors had vandalized the walls the day after graduation, and they hadn’t turned up to do their punishment, to remove their spray paint with paint thinner and methyl chloride: the administration couldn’t do a fucking thing now, until the day before the school year began. But Mr. Overton refused to give in, refused to have the janitors paint over it. So, here we were, a week before that, a gym full of expletives or some kind of soft core porno crap or something. Our parents had been told that the whole school was being fumigated for asbestos, but we knew better. We knew the real story. We’d heard it from Taylor Lyon, and she’d told everybody, and eventually, it was something that everybody knew. Or everybody who was anybody.
We watched the girls run to the side of the track, but Taylor Lyon stayed in the center and we watched her cheer. All on her own. The faculty sponsors sat in the front row—Miss Simpson, Mr. Ferris, Coach Cox—and we watched them watch her, watch her as she jumped and clapped and touched her toes and yelled. She yelled so much louder than you could imagine, a deep voice from an almost invisible body:
“Jam with us! You’ve got to, got to, got to jam with us! Go AHS!”
Taylor had hair that was just a little red—mostly brown, but with fiery glints—and when the sun hit it, the little glints looked supershiny, like something out of a Crayola box. When we were in kindergarten, Mrs. Cornish picked her for everything: to be Snow White in our end-of-year production, to be the line leader, to be the Pilgrim who said grace at Thanksgiving. Mrs. Cornish loved Taylor, and said her red hair was her “crowning glory.” And when she said that, or when she picked Taylor for another honor, for another role, Taylor’s face would burn deep, a red that looked like it stung her cheeks, like it ran through her whole body. It was strange to watch her now, and we wondered if she thought it was strange too, how much she had changed.
The heat was still unbearable, and we took out bottles of Gatorade and tried to focus on Taylor as she did her back handsprings, as she tumbled across the track. She came back to the center again, gave us spirit fingers and a smile, picked up her pom-poms, and she ran to the side. Her solo was over.
About Sarah Bannan
SARAH BANNAN was born in upstate New York and moved frequently growing up, living in Texas, in Florida and in Alabama. She graduated from Georgetown University in 2000 with a degree in literature and literary history. Following college, she moved to Ireland, working in various roles in the arts and, since 2007, she has been Head of Literature with the Irish Arts Council. Sarah lives in Dublin with her husband and daughter.
Courtesy of the publisher, St. Martin’s Press:
- ONE (1) winner will receive a copy of WEIGHTLESS – US ONLY
- Must be 13 or older to enter
- There will be ONE winner
- Giveaway is US ONLY
- Giveaway ends on July 13th at 11:59 p.m. Pacific
- Winner will be chosen by Rafflecopter, announced in the form and contacted by email
- Winner has 72 hours to respond
- Prize will be sent by the publisher
Enter in the Rafflecopter below…
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