Selina Marcille

I’m excited to present the first chapter of LIVVY BAKER’S KISS OF DEATH, a speculative young adult mystery with the sexy charisma of Easy A and the existential dread of Final Destination.  Complete at 88,000 words, it blends the supernatural atmosphere of Cemetery Boys (Aiden Thomas), the teenage angst of The Do-Over (Lynn Painter), and the moral pressure of The Hollow and the Haunted (Camilla Raines).  This novel features diverse voices often marginalized in fiction including a prominent character living with disability, an #ownvoices representation of OCD and anxiety, and an #ownvoices representation of pansexuality.  

I am currently querying literary agents and seeking representation for this novel.

About the Book:

Livvy Baker has a secret.  She can see the future, but only when she’s hooking up with someone.  She rises to popularity by hosting regular “Seven Minutes with a Psychic” sessions in the school’s janitor closet, but she has one rule: absolutely no kissing on the lips.  With prom season drawing closer and her friends pairing off, she feels like something is missing.  She wants to find a real prom date, and maybe something more.  But an even darker secret prevents her from ever making a deeper connection: whenever she kisses someone, she sees how they’re going to die. 

When an accidental brush of lips shows her fiery death and devastation at prom, she’ll go to any lengths to save her classmates from their terrible fate, even it means working with Greyson St. James, the mysterious new boy from her vision with secrets of his own. 

LIVVY BAKER’S KISS OF DEATH was inspired by a session at the 2023 AWP conference that highlighted how writers often shy away from depicting teenage girls as having sexual desire out of a deep-rooted sense of shame.  Concurrently, my town Facebook page was blowing up with a book-ban happy community member who was trying to have 69 books (no joke) removed from the high school library while attempting to sit in on the high school gay-straight alliance meetings to prevent their “gay agenda of turning other kids gay.”  With these two ideas in my mind, Livvy Baker, a sex-positive pansexual psychic hook-up artist emerged.

Enjoy the first chapter!

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Chapter One

The buttons come undone easily.  I slide my nails down his chest, scraping just enough to erect goosebumps.  The shirt falls open, exposing Camden Smith’s pale torso with the lightest sprinkle of chest hair above his right nipple, a “manly” chest bush.

            I guide his hands to my hips.  The deal is always the same.  They can touch, bump, grind, thrust, and lick as much as they want, but absolutely no kissing on the lips.  Ever.  I’m wearing the low-rise jeans from mom’s closet for this exact reason.  Easy access to leave my lips alone.

            Camden’s breath hitches as he begins to feel me up, inching ever closer to my bra.  If I don’t hurry things along, he’d blow a load in his pants and I’d have to avoid his girlfriend for the next month from sheer awkwardness.

            His hair feels soft as I rake my hands over his scalp, giving it a tug that makes him groan.  The noise jolts a small spark of desire in my chest.  There it is– the connection to him that starts everything.  That’s all I need.

            I put my lips to his neck and blow warm air along his jawline.  “What do you want to know?” I ask him, my voice low and sultry. 

            “The game.”  His hips thrust toward me.  I step closer and put one finger on his lips.

            The championship basketball game.  That’s easy enough.  I take my other hand and press it against his chest, my fingers digging in just enough that he lets out another noise deep in his throat.  I concentrate.

            Hazy pictures begin to form.  Camden’s jersey drips with sweat on the sidelines as he looks up at the tied scoreboard.  The cheerleaders, led by my best friend Maia, shake their pompoms in unison as they rock the court with a chant.  He bounces the ball once, twice, three times before looking at his teammates.  Wesley Bolton is behind two defenders, seemingly double-covered.  As Camden bounces the ball a fourth time in signal, Wesley jets to the left and it’s over.  Camden hucks him the ball, the timer starts with 2.6 seconds left, and Wes positions himself and lets it go.  It soars through the air in a perfect arc and swishes through the hoop as the buzzer sounds. 

            “And that’s how it’s done, folks!  Westlake High is your state champion with a buzzer beater from Wesley Bolton!”  The announcer’s voice is drowned out by cheers.  The rest of the team rushes the court and hoists Camden and Wesley to their shoulders as the crowd pours from the bleachers.

            I take a deep breath and come back to myself.  Camden’s eyes are lidded as he looks at me in hunger.

            “Pass to Wesley.  He won’t let you down.”

            “Really?” Camden leaps to his feet and grips my shoulders.  “We win?”

            I nod.  “You’ll win.”

            He wraps me in a hug and spins us both around.  It’s a bold move- the janitor’s closet we’re in is full of haphazard cleaning supplies.  Sensing the impending disaster, Camden puts me down and clasps my face in his hands.

            I jerk away immediately, a surge of panic shooting through my chest that he was going to try and kiss me.  “Nope.  Not even a little.”

He grabs my hand instead and drops a kiss on the top of it.  “I can’t wait to tell Michelle!”

            He buttons up his shirt and flattens down his curly red hair, but one look and anyone would know what we were doing in the closet. 

            Roger, one of my best friends, bangs on the door.  “Session’s over.  Seven Minutes with a Psychic only works if we stick to the time limit!”

            I crack the door and step aside for Camden to exit. He picks me up again in a tight squeeze.  “You are a hero, Livia Baker.”

            “That’s me.  Saving the world, one basketball vision at a time,” I say, sounding more bitter than I intend.  I shouldn’t be bitter.  Being able to help my classmates like this does make me feel good.  But something is missing.  I can see into other people’s lives, but I’m always the observer, never the player.

            Camden puts me down, but his foot slips and we begin to topple.  He grasps my waist to keep us upright before sliding into the cleaning supplies.  I reach out my hand to catch myself on the wall, but as I do, our faces collide.  My breathing quickens and icy sweat breaks out along my back.  With my lips pressed to his it’s too late.  I’m spiraling into the vision, powerless to stop it.

            The bass pounds from the large speakers around the room.  A balloon arch in blue, white, orange, and red spans the length of one wall with a banner proclaiming “Fire and Ice Makes Prom Nice.”  The smell of garlic and oregano wafts from plates of half-eaten Italian food at the empty tables.  Almost everyone is on the dance floor, their colorful gowns and ill-fitting cummerbunds flashing in the strobing lights as a chart-topping pop song blasts.

            I look for Camden with my heart sinking.  Why would this vision drop me into prom?  I see him grinding on the dance floor with Michelle, her blonde hair swept into a complicated updo, surrounded by Roger, Maia, and some other friends.  Everyone is smiling and having the time of their life.  They must not know what’s coming. 

            I spin around frantically, ignoring the retching nausea bubbling up from my stomach.  There are no signs of danger.  My legs shake, coiled with the urge to run but knowing there’s nowhere to go until the vision plays out.  The music shifts from the upbeat pop to a slow number.  Camden jokingly shoos friends out of the way to reach for Michelle.  He takes her in his arms and the look they give each other is so saccharine, I look away.  Their love for one another is so clear in the line of their smiles, the arch of Michelle’s back, and the flash in Camden’s eyes.  I’ve never had that.  I doubt I ever will.

            Looking around the room, I see myself.  I have never seen myself in a vision before.  Vision me is wearing a tight-fitting dove-gray gown with a surprising amount of lace.  I nearly stumble back because vision me stands next to the most gorgeous boy I have ever seen.  He’s almost too tall with a shock of tousled white-blonde hair.  He wears dark-rimmed glasses and his ice-blue eyes are focused on the me.  He nods at something I say and stands taller, like he’s alert and ready for something to happen.  Vision me turns away from him, just as he’s reaching out a hand.  He drops it back down to his side and schools his square jaw into stone as if his move had been an accident.  He follows me with his eyes as vision me walks away, hiking up my skirt so I can move faster through the crowd. 

            The slow song crescendos into the first chorus.  I keep my eye on this stranger.  Do I find a real prom date?  Maybe that’s why I was dropped into this vision; not because something bad is going to happen, but to see part of my own future.  If that future involved that delicious snack of an almost-man, I’ll take it.

            I refocus on Camden, but keep Mr. Delicious in the corner of my eye.  Just as Camden and Michelle are leaning their heads together for a sweet kiss, Mr. Delicious turns around in horror.  I hear it a second later: a whoosh of air and then the explosion.  I whirl and see a fireball on the edge of the dance floor making its way with wild speed through the crowd. 

I shake my head as the janitor closet comes back into stark relief, but the fiery wall of death is burned into my brain.

            My knuckles glow white in the dim light where they’re clenched around Cam’s shirt.  I slowly let go and try to stop myself from screaming.  That vision changes everything. 

I’d seen a vision like this once before and couldn’t change the outcome.  I can’t let that happen again.  I must figure out a way to change it.  I can’t lose my friends like I lost my dad. 

            Camden sets me on my feet with a rueful smile. “I hope I can keep my feet under me at the game.  Sorry about that.” 

            I let out a harsh laugh at his joke.  I move my mouth into a smile, but it is all muscle and no feeling.  Roger pushes open the door the rest of the way before I can say anything else.          

            Camden exits with a whoop and a victory fist in the air.  Roger stands against the wall and holds out his palm, ready for the cash exchange for services.  He tucks the money into his tight black jeans before consulting the clipboard for the next client.

I pull myself back from the brink of panic.  I can do this.  I’ll change that vision.  I have plenty of time.  Prom was still months away.  I force my breathing to even out and roll my shoulders to loosen the tension.

            “Next up is Claudia Stevens. Woah- you okay?  You’re so pale.”

            “I’m good.”  I shake my head to clear my mind.  I’d think about the vision later, but right now, I have a job to do.

I make eye contact with Claudia where she has been sitting with some of the other cheerleaders.  I raise my eyebrows as she walks closer.  With her short cheerleading skirt and tight top… I’m going to enjoy this session, as long as we don’t end up touching lips.  The last thing I need is to see another vision of someone dying.