Blind Speed Dating #35 (YA)

Title: THE SIDEWALK’S REGRETS

Genre: YA Contemporary

Word Count: 84 000

Query

Seventeen-year-old Sacha McLeod isn’t looking for someone to rock her

world.  She just needs a new violin string to replace the one she

broke in a tricky section of her audition piece.  But when she hears

Dylan play the guitar, the energy, violence and unpredictability of

the music thrills her and she falls hard for him and his wild,

inventive sound.

Her plans - and her self-confidence – are shattered when she screws up

the audition for a prestigious summer music program. Dylan asks her to

come and spend her vacation with him in the city instead and she jumps

at the chance.  She’s expecting romance, music and passion, but when

she finds herself playing second fiddle to Dylan’s newly acquired drug

habit, she realizes despite what the songs say, sometimes love isn’t

all you need.

Desperate to be close to Dylan, and to understand what’s competing for

her affections, Sacha experiments with drugs on her own, discovering a

well of creativity she didn’t know existed. Her contribution to the

band’s sound brings them into the public eye, but with the extra

attention – and money - drug use escalates. If Sacha can’t figure out

how to leave the band, and Dylan, she’ll lose herself, and her music

forever.

First 250

The notes swim on the page, blurring before my eyes.  My bow stutters

across the bridge and I wince at the piercing noise that squawks out

as the E-string breaks.

“Goddamn!”  I want to throw the bow across the room, but I know

better.  I set it down on the table beside me instead.  I glance at

the clock.  Four fifteen.  Great.  I got an hour in.  Maybe a little

more.  That’s going to get this piece nailed.  Not.  Stupid

Shostakovich.  Whoever picked this to be the compulsory piece for the

summer school auditions deserves a kick in the ass.

I place my violin on the table while I scrabble through the paper

envelopes of strings I keep inside the case’s lining.  I know I don’t

have a spare E because I broke one last week too.  In the same

measure.  There’s clearly something wrong with my technique in that

section.  I have to ask Mr. Dobson about that when I go to my lesson

tomorrow.  I’ll have to get a new E-string before then too.  One

hasn’t miraculously appeared, despite my wishes.

With a sigh, I pack my violin into its case, pausing to run a hand

over the warm, golden wood before shutting the lid.  It’s like locking

away my best friend.  It is locking away my best friend.  God knows I

spend more time with my instrument than I do with anyone else.