HW: Once you were chosen, who was the first person you told and how did you celebrate?
JH: I told my husband and daughter. I may have jumped up and down a little (or a lot). Publishing a book has been something I’ve dreamed about my entire life, so I’m still wrapping my head around it (and still pinching myself).
“The Writing Life”
HW: When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
JH: I think I was in the second grade. I’ve been writing off and on since then, but it’s only been in the past six years or so that I’ve dedicated myself to writing YA.
HW: Do you have any writing rituals?
JH: Not any rituals, really, but I do write on my phone quite a bit. Sometimes when life gets busy, I have to sneak writing in whenever and wherever possible and that often means ten or fifteen minutes on my phone. I can get a surprising amount done in those ten or fifteen minutes, if I need to.
HW: Where did the idea for Wesley James Ruined My Life start?
JH: I went to a Renaissance Faire a few years ago. I loved the atmosphere, the idea that these people participating in the Faire were so committed to dressing and acting like they were living in England five hundred years ago. I thought it would make a great setting for a book. And I wanted to write about two people who have feelings for each other, but who sometimes rub each other the wrong way, sort of in the vein of Sam and Diane from Cheers. (I know, I know! This totally dates me, but what can I say. I grew up in the eighties.)
HW: Do you ever get writer’s block? How do you get back on track?
JH: I don’t really get writer’s block, at least not for a long period of time. I think it’s because I write in my day job, so I’m used to deadlines and just getting it done. If I’m struggling with a scene, it often helps if I step away and move on to another part of the story and then go back to that scene later. Some days, if I’m tired or just not feeling creative, I take a walk or focus on something else and that usually helps me recharge.
HW: What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever heard?
JH: Write what you want to read. I love YA books, so that’s what I write. I’ve tried to write in other genres, but nothing gets me as excited or seems to fit my voice as well as YA.
“The Swoon Index”
HW: On the site we have something called the Swoon Index where readers can share the amount of Heat, Laughter, Tears, and Thrills in each manuscript. Can you tell me something (or someone!) that always turns up the heat?
JH: A really well-written kissing scene! Jenn Bennett does love scenes very well in The Anatomical Shape of a Heart (one of my favorite books).
HW: What always makes you laugh?
JH: My daughter. She’s a naturally funny kid. Oh, and Ricky Gervais in the British version of The Office. British humor in general, actually.
HW: Makes you cry?
JH: Love You Forever by Robert Munsch. That book, I can’t get through it without crying. And the movie Beaches destroys me every time.
HW: Sets your heart pumping?
JH: Anything that makes me feel connected to the world or another person—usually it’s something creative, like through a book, a movie, or a play.
HW: And finally, tell us all what makes you swoon!
JH: Happy endings!
Wesley James Ruined My LIFE
Discussion Questions
1. When the novel opens, Quinn is reintroduced to Wesley James, whom she hasn’t seen in five years. What does Quinn’s reaction to Wesley tell you about her?
2. If you worked at Tudor Tymes, what character in King Henry’s court would you play and why? What would your costume look like?
3. How would you describe the two main characters, Quinn and Wesley? How do they differ from each other? Do they have any common personality traits?
4. Wesley James Ruined My Life is told from Quinn’s perspective. How might the novel be different if it were told from Wesley’s perspective instead?
5. How would you describe Quinn’s family? How do you think her relationship with her parents—and her parents’ relationship with each other—informs her view of the world?
6. How does Quinn’s relationship with her grandmother shape her feelings about Wesley James?
7. Forgiveness is a theme in Wesley James Ruined My Life. Why do you think it was so difficult for Quinn to forgive Wesley?
8. How does Quinn change over the course of the novel?
9. For Quinn and Wesley, the children’s book The Gruffalo played a role in bringing them together. What book has had an impact on your life? Why?
10. What does going to England represent for Quinn?
From the author of How to Say I Love You Out Loud comes a novel that proves everyone deserves a second chance.
Keep reading for a sneak peek.
Chapter 1
As I park in the lot of the Harborview Nursing and Rehabilitation Center, I realize that, for the first time ever, I’m actually excited to be there. I’m working a short, three-hour shift, and the shift itself won’t be so bad, since I’m filling in on the orthopedics wing, where Jeremiah’s been assigned.
After work, the two of us have plans to check out the end-of-summer party that spans the length of Ocean Isle’s boardwalk. Since I’ve seen it in those mailers that started showing up after the Fourth of July, the phrase end-of-summer has stirred feelings of anxiety, loss, and sadness. But tonight it means it’s time for a party. One final opportunity to eat handfuls of hot caramel corn with the salty breeze blowing across my face. One night to forget about everything else going on, in a crowd large and chaotic enough to get lost in.
I lift my butt off the seat and scrunch my hair as I look in the rearview mirror. Once upon a time, I was a shoo-in for “Best Hair” in the senior superlatives—it’s long and wildly curly, with natural highlights. All summer long I’ve tucked it under a baseball cap with the brim pulled down anytime I’ve been forced to leave my house. But not tonight. I made an effort to look good for Jeremiah. And I want to pretend I’m the girl I used to be.
Walking across the parking lot, I decide this place would be a lot more appealing if there was, you know, an actual view of the harbor. Instead, it’s located miles inland, in the middle of a bleak field. The builders tried to spruce it up with the usual gazebos and flower beds, but the name is still a bold-faced lie. It’s a depressing place to be, for all of us who are here because we have no choice in the matter.
But not tonight! I think, breezing through the automatic doors with renewed energy as I picture Jeremiah’s face. Tonight, it’s a good place to be. I head toward the nurses’ station to clock in, but when I catch a glimpse of Jeremiah through the glass-paneled cafeteria walls, I make a detour, a sudden diet Dr Pepper craving developing.
I feel giddy as I walk in his direction. We’ve been flirting for the past two weeks, since I started my stint at the rehab center. Jeremiah’s a sophomore at Rutgers University, with a long-term plan for med school and a specialty in orthopedics—as he explained it to me, “I want to break some bones and fix ’em up again.” Jeremiah’s got it all worked out, but his plans are on hold at the moment. He’s taking a semester off to help out with some family issues. He hasn’t said what kind of issues, and I haven’t felt right asking; I assume he’ll tell me eventually.
In the meantime, I’m content with the flirting. Jeremiah’s really hot—Abercrombie model hot, with the cool hair, and the scruff, and the smirk. He even looks good in scrubs. “One day women are going to be falling down the stairs on purpose just to end up in your waiting room,” I’ve teased him.
He’s sweet, too, taking the mop out of my hands and pushing it himself, and one time walking me to my car under an umbrella from the lost and found when it started pouring without warning. Then two nights ago, he snatched my phone and programmed his number. “So call me tonight,” he’d said all coolly as he tossed it back. I had, and now we have a date.
Jeremiah turns away from the register and slides his wallet
into the back pocket of his scrubs, and his eyes meet mine. I smile and wave and wait for him to smile back.
But he doesn’t smile. He glowers instead, his brown eyes ignited with a fury that turns them amber.
“I know who you are.” He’s not discreet; he’s loud, pointing his index finger in my direction. “And you can go straight to hell.”
The blood drains from my face and runs cold. I want to vanish, but I can’t move. My feet feel as if they’re stuck in the wet sand left behind when a wave recedes, weighted down and useless.
A few trays clatter against steel, and then the room is deathly quiet. Workers stop serving, midscoops of mashed potatoes. Residents stop talking. The scene unfolds before me in slow motion as people who have had strokes and people in wheelchairs struggle to turn their heads in my direction.
“Nice try, Nicole.” He says my full name, the one I’d used to introduce myself, like an accusation. “Nikki Baylor, right? I know who you are. You forgot your ID badge yesterday. Now let me tell you who I am.” Jeremiah approaches and thrusts his right hand toward me with such force it jams against my rib cage. It’s almost a shove. “Jeremiah Jordan. Taylor Jordan’s my sister. My baby sister, for that matter.”
I hang my head and clench my fists at the same time, the mention of her name evoking the usual combination of shame and regret and a desire to run and hide. Except my feet are still stuck in the damn sand.
He folds his arms across his chest. “Guess it’s my bad. You should really find out a person’s last name before asking her out.” Jeremiah doesn’t say anything else and I look up, but it turns out he was saving one final zinger. “But now I know. And now it makes me sick to look at your face.”
Tears form in my eyes at once. It sort of makes me sick to look at my face now, too, but Jeremiah had changed that for a few weeks. Before I actually start crying, thankfully, whatever’s holding me in place loosens and I run from the room. I dart through the side door and into the central courtyard, the late-afternoon sun glaring down on me like the harsh lights inside the questioning room of the police station.
I choke back my tears, bending over and grabbing on to my knees for support. I’ll never escape this. This is going to follow me forever. I can pretend to be someone I’m not—I can pretend to be the person I used to be—but it’s nothing more than playing a part.
I shake my head back and forth and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, struggling to wrap my head around what just happened, feeling like I have whiplash. Jeremiah had come and gone so fast. The prospect of happiness had been so fleeting. I walked in the door envisioning the warmth of his smile; now all I can remember is the cold hatred in his eyes.
What the hell just happened?
“That was pretty harsh.”
I straighten and turn around … then look down. The boy is in a wheelchair more lightweight than most I see around here, and he can’t be much older than me. But he has a more mature look about him, something about his deep-set hazel eyes and square jaw that makes him look more like a young man and less like a boy. His light-brown hair falls to his chin, and the muscular build of his upper body makes me think he might’ve been a badass at one point.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “I probably deserve it.”
“Highly doubt that.” He wheels a bit closer, shaking his head. “That was a bad scene back there.”
“Well, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stare into the distance and blow out the breath I realize I’ve been holding. “If you did, you probably would’ve stood up and applauded him.”
“Nah, I don’t think so.” A hint of a smile plays on his bow-shaped lips.
“Trust me, you would’ve.”
“No, I don’t think so,” he repeats. He taps his knuckles against the wheels of his chair. “Standing ovations, not really my thing.”
I cringe and want to die. “Oh my God. I’m really sorry.”
“No apology necessary. I’m not easily offended.”
“Still. I’m sorry.”
He nods once in acknowledgment. “’S okay.” Then he tilts his head and studies me. “Anyway, I’ve seen you around here a couple of times. And I think you have a really nice face. I have a hard time figuring why it makes that dude want to puke.”
I smile in spite of everything, just for a second. Then reality sets in again, and I cover my eyes with my hand. “Today officially sucks. And I need to clock in. Like, five minutes ago.” I take a deep breath, trying to imagine how I can possibly make myself go back inside. “But I can’t go back in there.”
about the author.
Jennifer Honeybourn works in corporate communications in Vancouver, British Columbia. She's a fan of British accents, Broadway musicals, and epic, happily-ever-after love stories. If she could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, she'd have high tea with Walt Disney, JK Rowling, and her nana. She lives with her husband, daughter and cat in a house filled with books. Somebody That I Used to Know is her first novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents.
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Swoonworthy Extras
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Honeybourn. Excerpt from HOW TO KEEP ROLLING AFTER A FALL copyright © 2016 by Karole Cozzo.
A Swoon Reads Book
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All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
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First trade paperback edition: July 2017
eBook edition: July 2017
eISBN 978-1-250-12374-9
Wesley James Ruined My Life Page 16