Wednesday, February 11, 2015

"How I Fall" and "How I Fly" by Anne Eliot

How I Fall and How I Fly
by Anne Eliot

Anne Eliot is currently on tour with I Am A Reader, Not A Writer. The tour stops here today for an excerpt from How I Fallmy review of How I Fall, a spotlight on How I Fly, and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

How I Fall
by Anne Eliot

Impossible because she’s Ellen Foster. The beautiful, smart, and possibly fragile photography-girl. You’re Cam Campbell. The guy who plays football 24/7 with no life. But what if during junior year, you decide to finally try for her phone number - until this glitter-crazed new girl ruins your plan. Worse, the girl is Irish, awkward, and insists you and Ellen should become best friends - with her! Only, you don’t want to be friends with a human tornado, and you think Ellen might need to stay a crush. This is because after one interaction you’ve discovered Ellen Foster really is fragile. Your problems and secrets are too big for anyone to understand.
But what if the three of you wind up assigned to a group photography project, where rumors are already circling about the new girl being ridiculous? You know she’s nice but very alone, so you convince your crush to help protect the new girl. Suddenly, working on the project makes hanging out, texting, talking - and even high school - seem fun and completely normal when it’s anything but normal.
What if you kiss Ellen Foster and it’s perfect enough to make you believe in things you shouldn’t. You tell her secrets and share your dreams. You make the kinds of promises and create plans to be together that might be impossible to keep when you’re only sixteen and your parents control your entire future, but… WHAT IF YOU HURT HER?
Editorial Description:
How I Fall, is the first book a two book series, ending with: How I Fly. It can be a stand-alone story, but it’s recommended this book be first. The series is about friendship, boyfriends, taking risks and first love. There’s a photographer heroine who has left-sided cerebral palsy - she falls for a football jock with problems of his own.

I pause at the corner down from the bus stop so I can regain some control. Both legs—the good one and the bad—are quaking dangerously. I’m also breathing like I’ve run a marathon in thick maple syrup instead of simply walking five blocks, but who cares? I’ve just navigated sidewalks covered with snow and ice with no crutches and no cane for the first time in my life. And I did not fall. Not once!
I check my phone to record the time and what I see has me almost gasping out loud.
*Crowd roars. She waves. She bows. She’s got ten minutes to burn!*
Because I have mild Cerebral Palsy, my physical therapist, Nash, would normally get half of the credit here. But it was my idea to pull double workouts all summer and fall. This victory is all mine, but either way, I can’t wait to give him a report. He’s going to be so proud. This will prove to him there is light at the end of my tunnel. The guy is so gloom and doom. He’s always thinking about my future and making predictions based on statistics, while I’m trying to convince him that I can write my own statistics.
Today, I will get to be the one who’s right!
Breath caught up, I straighten my messenger bag and face the bus stop ready for anything and anyone this day might try to throw at me! But two steps into walking the last half block, the calf of my bad leg spikes a surprise cramp.
“Please…no,” I mutter, jerking to a stop as white-lightning fires up my entire leg. The pain’s so harsh I could swear it’s stopped my heart. Scanning for anything that can save me from a public wobble-wobble-Ellen-falls-down event, I veer off the sidewalk and head for the cars parked on the street. Luckily, I’ve locked my hand onto a car mirror just as the knee on my bad leg buckles completely. For insurance, I lean most of my upper body weight on the dripping car hood, happy that my lumpy, hand-me-down jacket is at least waterproof. Only then do I pull in a slow steady breath and test—and beg—and pray—for my still trembling good leg to be okay.
It holds steady, but since I’m not allowed any guarantees with how my body behaves, I keep a death grip on the car any way I can. At least my sudden move has turned me away from the kids down at the stop. If I’m lucky, no one will have seen how I almost just hit the pavement. Even better, while I work out the kinks in my calf, I’ll be able to pretend that I’m simply admiring the snow and taking pictures of random stuff with my iPhone like I always do.
“Come on. Please. Come on.” I twist my bad ankle in a slow circle while more shards of pain pull my calf even tighter. Elation has disappeared, replaced by lead-heavy frustration. If Nash saw me clinging to this car, he’d launch into a thirty-minute lecture about how I’m supposed to have a cane with me at all times. I’ve been ignoring my promise to him and my mom since the first day of school about the cane, but it’s my life. So far, no harm’s been done, only good because I’m doing so well without it. But still…if he tells on me I’d feel terrible. Mom already works and worries so much.
My phone dings with the ultra-quiet bell tone I’ve set for my best friend, Patrick.
Every morning, from his bus stop on the other side of the golf course, he sends me cheesy inspirational quotes as a way to half-cheer, half-annoy the heck out of me. But he’s too late to do either. If I can’t get a handle on this spastic muscle response, I’ll be forced to drag one leg around like plywood until it recovers. A fact that will make me limp awkwardly in front of everyone. A little show people seem to watch with interest when I’m forced off balance. I hate that my limp will feature how I still have CP on the very day I thought I might be able to forget about it for a little while.
I also won’t be able to lift my leg high enough for my foot to gain access to the steps up the bus, so I’ll have to ask the driver to activate the mobility ramp. Something I haven’t needed for two years!
I breathe out a long sigh, forcing my thoughts to calm and my ankle to turn and turn, even though it’s making my eyes water from the effort.
*Vows to cling to this car and limp home before asking to use that hateful, stupid, noisy ramp.*
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.
With the cramp still deciding which way it’s going to settle, I pull out my phone and scroll back to the beginning of Patrick’s messages. I shake my head, unable not to crack a smile despite my dark thoughts. He’s outdone himself with this one. It’s a horrible moving .gif that features a kitten with extra big, extra creepy blinking eyes staring at a ferocious hyena. The swirly font reads: Face Your Fears.
He’s added: I can’t tell which is scarier. Hyena or kitten? Thoughts?
I read the rest of Patrick’s texts, sent after I did not respond: Ellen? U there?
I woke up late. Had no clue about the storm.
Stupid snow. I would have come to your stop but no time.
U ok?...
Don’t make me walk over there. Ellen?
ELLEN. Answer.
While I’m reading, more come in: I’m coming there now and calling an ambulance.
Before he goes insane—and because I know he’s not kidding about the ambulance call—I quickly fire out: Very funny.
Then a few lies to calm down his crazy: I’m awesome. Kitten is scarier than hyena. It’s a perfect beautiful day. I was taking photos, sorry it took so long to text back.
He knows that despite the pitfalls winter storms have brought me, I’m happiest when I’m taking photographs of ice and snow. There might not be much to do when fall closes the small lake front beaches all around our small town of  Brights Grove, Ontario, but for me, living on the shores of Lake Huron delivers winters that serve up ice photos like no other place on earth! This storm’s just a taste. In a few weeks, I’ll wake up to find iced trees, iced grass, iced park benches, iced branches and iced everything.
Heaven. And I’ve waited all spring and summer long for them to come back.
I text him a few more lines because Patrick’s hard to convince. I’m also trying to focus on the few positives I have left: Guess who arrived at this bus stop in record time? Me. I’ve also snapped some awesome shots. Wait till you see.
He replies: Waiting.
I evade: Shh. Busy.
If I mention my spazzed leg it will only make him worry. Patrick’s got a geometry test first period he won’t ace if he’s distracted by my daily CP drama. The guy’s already acting extra guilty about how he’s ditched me to be on the Huron High football team this year. The coaches plucked him out of oblivion and made him something called a Varsity defender. Whatever that means. Patrick says it’s some sort of miracle for a kid who didn’t play JV. It’s also made Patrick so happy I can’t complain one bit for the simple reason that it makes me happy when he’s happy.
He and I have been best friends since he was instantly labeled, too-tall-guy and wound up at the loser lunch table with me, the-handicapped-girl. That was way back when he first moved to town, for grade seven.
And so, there we sat. Together. Alone. For a really long time.
Our first conversations happened while we were both pretending we didn’t hear the snide comments directed at us. He’d crack into my silences saying stuff like, “You got lime Jell-O? I love Jell-O.” And then he wouldn’t give up until I smiled at him or answered. His real progress with our friendship occurred when I found out his mom is a manager at Tim Hortons, what I consider to be the best donut/coffee/food place ever created. It didn’t take Patrick long to figure out that I have a particular weakness for Timbits. But who doesn’t? They’re these fresh little donut hole pastries. At least twice a week, because his mom is awesome and hooks him up all the time, he’d pull out the cute rectangular, Snack Pack cardboard box all kids love, push it across the table, waggle his brows all funny and say, “Want some?”
Of course I always did.
The Timbits generosity alone should have been enough to seal our friendship for good—because those tiny balls-of-addictive substance are that fresh and that good—but Patrick swears he wasn’t sure about my loyalties until the day I faked a spastic-limb-attack to soak a kid with a whole tin of Mandarin oranges after the kid called Patrick the Jolly Green Giant. I think I also shouted something like, “He’s not even green, you dummy, and now you’re the Mean Orange Bully, so there!” I’ve always sucked at fast comebacks.
I finally gave Patrick my permanent trust one week later. It was the day some kids thought it would be funny to take my crutches and leave me on a swing. Back then I couldn’t go across a room without crutches because my good leg was not strong like it is now.
No one noticed I was missing, either. Except Patrick.
He’d dashed back out to the playground while the teacher was calling the office for back up. He found me, dried my tears, and without a word, helped me to the office. They let him wait while the nurse bandaged the scrapes on my hands and knees. My mom, the principal, and Patrick were angry that I’d been stubbornly trying to crawl my way back inside instead of calling out for help. But later Patrick told me he understood. Said he would have done the same.
He’s never left me alone at recess ever again. Of course, we haven’t had recess for years, but the guy still tries to make sure I’m okay no matter where I am or where he is. I endlessly tell him I can take care of myself, but I know that it’s just his way. He’s still trying to keep that promise because that’s who he is as a person. His inspirational quotes and texts are some sort of over-compensating thing he’s developed because he can’t be near me all the time.
Last summer, Patrick got really lucky. He stopped being so clumsy, his shyness disappeared, and his six-foot-four frame makes perfect sense now that some of the other guys have had growth spurts to match. All that, plus the part where his status on the football team has locked him into the popular crowd, has fast-tracked him to a completely different level than where I’m stuck.
I figured it would happen eventually, because he’s awesome and gorgeous and people were bound to discover that. I refuse to let him be slowed down by me for his entire life, so I’m really careful about acting sad or letting him think I’ve been left behind somehow, because that idea would kill him. Besides, I’m not sad or left behind.
I just miss him, that’s all. I’m also doing great, making my own way bit by bit. And when I’m not, like today, I’m a master at faking it. As much as I try to hide my condition and pretend that I’m just like everyone else, I know that people with CP don’t get lucky and transform into graceful swans like Patrick did. It just doesn’t happen.
Testing the pain in my bad leg with half my weight again, I’m relieved to discover it’s fading away. Just in case, I keep one hand on the car and turn to grab a few shots of this long, delicate icicle melting off the bottom of a mailbox at the edge of the driveway. It’s too tempting not to snap it off and drop it in the perfectly round, snow-bordered puddle near my feet. I get a bunch of cool shots when it floats to the top dead center. The narrow tip is pointing outward and it’s going around and around like it’s a nature-made game spinner.
Patrick texts again: Give me a sign that you are perfectly happy and that you aren’t lying to me right now. How’s the snow? Are you really, truly, absolutely okay? Prove it, or I’m coming over there.
I text him one of the floating icicle photos and add: I’ve never been better. Swear. Now get on your bus and study for your test.
His answer: Beauty. You should take up photography or something…you might be good at it. ;)
Me: :)
I grab a few more shots of the snow-heavy, leafed-out branches above, and then force myself out of my photography haze, because I’m supposed to be working on casually getting myself near enough to board the bus.
My heart sinks and twists yet again as I realize what I’ve missed. No wonder Patrick texted me that big-eyed, brave kitten. The crowd down at the stop is huge. I’ve got way bigger problems than the possibility of limping in front of people. I’d totally forgotten—or blocked out—how crowded it was going to be today. In our town, all car keys are pulled by parents on snow days, because the school closes the student parking lots. I let out a long, shaky breath, wishing I could run all the way back home. Today, we are going to be forced to ride three-to-a-seat.
*Ellen Foster prepares to die.*

Praise for the Book
"How I Fall captures exactly how a high school crush feels. You can have endless long days - days that feel exactly the same - and then in one moment a little thing changes, a conversation finally happens, and suddenly there’s a new friend group formed where relationships are suddenly 'on'! I loved this book (How I Fall) and I’ve already read the sequel, How I Fly as ARC. You will laugh, you will cry and you will fall so in love with Ellen and Cam’s story." ~ Becca H. Teen book blogger
"Anne Eliot writes the sweetest first kisses. She also does those book boyfriends you can’t get out of your head. Cam Campbell in How I Fall doesn’t disappoint, nor does the awesome first kiss." ~ Judith, I Love YA Fiction, Blog

My Review

By Lynda Dickson
Ellen is a high school junior with mild cerebral palsy, who has been working hard to walk without a cane. Her one true passion is photography, and she plans to win the scholarship to the Western Ontario Arts School summer program. Ellen's best friend is Patrick, who has just made it onto the school football team. They have been friends since grade seven, when they both started high school as outcasts. Cam, the school's star quarterback, has had a crush on Ellen since grade eight. Turns out Ellen has a long-standing crush on him, too. Only they have never spoken. Now Cam has joined the photography class and is trying to come up with a way to finally talk to Ellen. Then fate intervenes in the form of Irish girl Laura London. But how will Ellen react when she's forced to work on a major photography assignment with Cam and Laura when she's so used to working on her own?
The story is told from the alternating viewpoints of Ellen and Cam, with cute asides from Ellen in her parts (see italicized portions in the excerpt above). I enjoyed the style of writing, however, the narrative is very slow and repetitive and there was a bit too much explaining going on. In addition, the relationship between Ellen and Cam is frustrating, to say the least. They both like each other, but are afraid of saying anything. Even as they seem to be getting closer, neither of them is willing to admit their feelings to the other. The climactic scene towards the end of the book is very unrealistic and over-the-top, as are the reactions of Cam's parents. Irish girl Laura provides comic relief, but her character is a bit of a stereotype. When Ellen and Cam finally do get together, their relationship is very sweet, and I did enjoy those parts.
This story is full of teenage angst, bullying, domestic violence, family dramas, abusive parents, and physical pain. These aspects are balanced out by a sweet first love and great friendships.
Be warned, this book ends with no resolution, and the story concludes in How I Fly.

Book Links

How I Fly
by Anne Eliot

Over six months after an accident that broke her legs as well as removed her boyfriend from her life - because Cam Campbell left town and dumped her - high school senior, Ellen Foster, wants to move past her broken heart. She’s off to attend a summer photography workshop at a real university along with her best friends. Ellen’s determined to find a new love - or at least a summer boyfriend. In the dorm, she meets Harrison Shaw. He’s a handsome photography student, a charmer who likes her, and a perfect way to forget her past.
Ellen thinks she has everything she wants. Her summer program couldn’t be better. She’s half in love with Harrison Shaw, and she’s going after her next scholarship. But when she kisses Harrison, she can only remember how Cam Campbell used to kiss her better, sweeter, and how he used to make her feel like she could fly…
When Cam shows up at the university it’s a shock, especially to Ellen’s new boyfriend. Cam’s distant, different and very afraid to hurt Ellen again. He asks Ellen if they could be friends despite the past and how they’ve both changed and Ellen agrees. But after all they’ve been through, can Cam and Ellen ever be just friends?
Editorial Description:
How I Fly, is the second book in the two-book, bestselling, high school romance series that begins with, How I Fall. Though they can be read as stand-alone stories, it is recommended that readers read this book second. The series is about friendship, boyfriends, taking risks and first love. There’s a photographer heroine who has left-sided cerebral palsy (hemiparesis) that makes her weak on one side and she falls often; all while she’s falling deeply in love with football jock, Cam Campbell. He’s a guy who also dreams to be a photographer like Ellen Foster. But his football life and his parents are out of control. Above all, are they meant to be?

Praise for the Book
"This series is a must-read for teens and YA-loving adults. Anne Eliot is the queen of sweet, clean, YA romances, and she did not disappoint with this book. We get to see Ellen’s continued struggles and triumphs in regards to her disability (cerebral palsy) and her life and love experiences. I loved this group of kids so much in Book 1, and that didn’t change in Book 2. Ellen and Cam are two great kids fighting the odds, and Laura and Patrick are the fiercest friends on the planet. Another job well done, Ms. Eliot! I highly recommend this book, and I look forward to whatever it is this author may write next." ~ Jecca Reads-a-Lot
"After the first book in the this two-part series left us at a huge cliff I spent a lot of time going over the book in my mind and waiting impatiently for this second part to be released. And I have to say that I'm not disappointed now that it's here and I've finished it. Once again Anne Eliot has given us a book that I find absolutely delightful!" ~ Linnéa W.
"Oh my god. I don't know where to begin. I have read all of Anne Eliot's books, and the How I Fall series are some of my favorites. This book picks up exactly where the first book ends, and it's beautifully heartwrenching. The characters become much more developed, and you can really bond with their struggles. I cried 3 times reading this book from emotions, and just all of the emotions. I would recommend this book to anyone." ~ Becca Huerta
"I truly love this series by Anne Eliot. It is so refreshing seeing a book that doesn't capitalize on sex to show a love story. This is a book that I could safely give to my 13 year old niece to read and know that she will see that simple kisses will tell a lot in a love story. I was hooked on this series from book 1. Anne Eliot totally killed me after reading How I Fall because I was hoping for a true HEA. She didn't disappoint when she wrote How I Fly. [...] This is one book that could be read and enjoyed by any age." ~ Lisa A. Markson

My Review

Unfortunately, I haven't had time to read this book yet. However, I look forward to finding out how Ellen is doing and what actually happened to Cam. I hope Ellen finally achieves some of the happiness she deserves.

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About the Author
Anne Eliot is the author of the, How I Fall/How I Fly two book series, and bestselling, young adult teen issue romances, Almost and Unmaking Hunter Kennedy. She loves writing about teens who live outside the ordinary and she’s devoted to stories about teens who live outside the ordinary but who also get to find sweet first kisses and first loves.
Anne resides in Colorado with a very patient husband, two teens of her own whom she adores (an some teens near and far thanks to hosting many exchange students) who are all growing up too fast.

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Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win a $25 Amazon gift card or PayPal cash.