Blake Nelson is the author of several critically-acclaimed books for children and teens. They include Gender Blender, Prom Anonymous, Rock Star Superstar, and Girl. He divides his time between Portland, Oregon and New York City.

Chapter One

â€œCape Cod! Oh my god!â€ I said quietly to myself, staring out the airplane window. Of course it wasn't Cape Cod at all, it was just Boston harbor, but I was so excited to get there I couldn't help myself. I couldn't wait. I had been trying to concentrate on my summer-reading book, trying to do a crossword, but now I gave up on everything and just mashed my face against the little plastic window.

Soon Boston's downtown appeared beneath the airplane. It was much bigger than Indianapolis. It was much more complicated and tangled and just . . . older, I guess. I could see a stadium. Was it Fenway Park? Probably. There was a river that was brown and polluted looking. The whole city was brown and grimy and smoggy in the June heat. They were having a heat wave; I had been following it on the Weather Channel. As we got closer you could see the highways leading in and out of it, like arteries going to a heart.

We landed with a thump. I got off the plane and went downstairs and there was my dad at the baggage claim, looking tan and summery. I love my dad. It was so great to see him. He gave me a big hug and we carried my stuff to the car. Then, going out of town, we stopped at a Dunkin' Donuts and got delicious iced lattes and crunchy plain donuts.

I was so psyched to be going back to the Cape. My dad asked me about school and Indy and my mom, and we talked about everything. It was so fun to be riding along, letting my head lean back and watching the sun and the highway move past.

Then, after a couple hours, we got to the ocean. It was late afternoon and you could see the water through the trees and the sky was blue and the beach was so white and clean. We stopped at an overlook so I could do my ritual, which is: I get out of the car, take off my regular shoes, throw them in the backseat, and put on my flip-flops . . . and the summer begins!

The first thing I did in South Pointâ€”after I unpacked and had a cheese sandwich with my dadâ€”was run down the street to see Reese Ridgley. Her parents were sitting on their front porch in their beach clothes, having their five o'clock cocktails. I said hi to them and asked them about their summer, but before they could answer I ran inside and up the stairs to Reese's room. She was there, folding her laundry. The minute she saw me she dropped her clothes and ran to me and we both jumped up and down and hugged and then stood back and looked at each other.

â€œReese, oh my god!â€ I squealed.

â€œEmily Dalton! You're finally here!â€ she squealed back.

I, of course, lived in Indiana and she lived in Boston, so during the year we never saw each other. But now we were back in South Point for two whole months of fun in the sunâ€”or whatever it was we did. Reese was not a typical beach-babe type. She was kind of Goth and dressed in black a lot. But I liked that about her. She was seventeen, a year older than me, and an East Coast girl, a city girl. When I told my friends in Indiana about her they thought she sounded like a freak. But I thought she was great!

After we calmed down, our first order of business was to walk into town and see who was around in terms of people our age and boys and the general tone of stuff. Our first stop was the Rad Shack. It was supposed to be a â€œseriousâ€ surf shop, but it made most of its money selling joke T-shirts and trendy flip-flops. We went in and looked around and I bought some sunscreen and a hat with orange flowers on it and Reese bought some sunglasses, which looked very punk, since she was already wearing black cutoffs and a DangerFactory T-shirt.

After that, we went across the street to Antonio's Meatball and Pizza Palace and ordered two â€œspecialsâ€â€”a slice and a Coke for $2.99. We flopped at a booth and breathed in the ocean air and the summer heat and watched a tourist family order different combinations of slices and Cokes (they could have just ordered three specials, but they didn't know how and spent twice as much money on the same thing).

Then Harold and Carl came in. They were local boys who worked at a garage at the edge of town. They had harassed us last summer, making fun of Reese mostly, calling her Miss Scary or Hairy Scary because she wore black and had really black hair on her arms. But they didn't say anything today. Maybe they had grown up and matured a little. Or maybe they just forgot who we were. They flopped at the booth closest to the door and watched the people on the sidewalk.

After Antonio's, Reese and I walked home along the beach. It was so beautiful and relaxing, with the sun on the water and a soft breeze blowing and our toes curling in the sand. Also, there seemed to be some cute guys around. Reese was especially psyched about that. She was determined to get some â€œboy action,â€ as she called it. The summer before, we had blown it in various ways, mostly by being too shy or chickening out. But this year we were older and more mature and more determined. Boys, adventures, falling in loveâ€”whatever was going to happen, we were ready!

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Excerpts

Chapter One “Cape Cod! Oh my god!” I said quietly to myself, staring out the airplane window. Of course it wasn’t Cape Cod at all, it was just Boston harbor, but I was so excited to get there I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t wait. I had been trying to concentrate on my summer-reading book, trying to do a crossword, but now I gave up on everything and just mashed my face against the little plastic window. Soon Boston’s downtown appeared beneath the airplane. It was much bigger than Indianapolis. It was much more complicated and tangled and just . . . older, I guess. I could see a stadium. Was it Fenway Park? Probably. There was a river that was brown and polluted looking. The whole city was brown and grimy and smoggy in the June heat. They were having a heat wave; I had been following it on the Weather Channel. As we got closer you could see the highways leading in and out of it, like arteries going to a heart. We landed with a thump. I got off the plane and went downstairs and there was my dad at the baggage claim, looking tan and summery. I love my dad. It was so great to see him. He gave me a big hug and we carried my stuff to the car. Then, going out of town, we stopped at a Dunkin’ Donuts and got delicious iced lattes and crunchy plain donuts. I was so psyched to be going back to the Cape. My dad asked me about school and Indy and my mom, and we talked about everything. It was so fun to be riding along, letting my head lean back and watching the sun and the highway move past. Then, after a couple hours, we got to the ocean. It was late afternoon and you could see the water through the trees and the sky was blue and the beach was so white and clean. We stopped at an overlook so I could do my ritual, which is: I get out of the car, take off my regular shoes, throw them in the backseat, and put on my flip-flops . . . and the summer begins! The first thing I did in South Point—after I unpacked and had a cheese sandwich with my dad—was run down the street to see Reese Ridgley. Her parents were sitting on their front porch in their beach clothes, having their five o’clock cocktails. I said hi to them and asked them about their summer, but before they could answer I ran inside and up the stairs to Reese’s room. She was there, folding her laundry. The minute she saw me she dropped her clothes and ran to me and we both jumped up and down and hugged and then stood back and looked at each other. “Reese, oh my god!” I squealed. “Emily Dalton! You’re finally here!” she squealed back. I, of course, lived in Indiana and she lived in Boston, so during the year we never saw each other. But now we were back in South Point for two whole months of fun in the sun—or whatever it was we did. Reese was not a typical beach-babe type. She was kind of Goth and dressed in black a lot. But I liked that about her. She was seventeen, a year older than me, and an East Coast girl, a city girl. When I told my friends in Indiana about her they thought she sounded like a freak. But I thought she was great! After we calmed down, our first order of business was to walk into town and see who was around in terms of people our age and boys and the general tone of stuff. Our first stop was the Rad Shack. It was supposed to be a “serious” surf shop, but it made most of its money selling joke T-shirts and trendy flip-flops. We went in and looked around and I bought some sunscreen and a hat with orange flowers on it and Reese bought some sunglasses, which looked very punk, since she was already wearing black cutoffs and a DangerFactory T-shirt. After that, we went across the street to Antonio’s Meatball and Pizza Palace and ordered two “specials”—a slice and a Coke for $2.99. We flopped at a booth and breathed in the ocean air and the summer heat and watched a tourist family order different combinations of slices and Cokes (they could have just ordered three specials, but they didn’t know how and spent twice as much money on the same thing). Then Harold and Carl came in. They were local boys who worked at a garage at the edge of town. They had harassed us last summer, making fun of Reese mostly, calling her Miss Scary or Hairy Scary because she wore black and had really black hair on her arms. But they didn’t say anything today. Maybe they had grown up and matured a little. Or maybe they just forgot who we were. They flopped at the booth closest to the door and watched the people on the sidewalk. After Antonio’s, Reese and I walked home along the beach. It was so beautiful and relaxing, with the sun on the water and a soft breeze blowing and our toes curling in the sand. Also, there seemed to be some cute guys around. Reese was especially psyched about that. She was determined to get some “boy action,” as she called it. The summer before, we had blown it in various ways, mostly by being too shy or chickening out. But this year we were older and more mature and more determined. Boys, adventures, falling in love—whatever was going to happen, we were ready! Copyright © 2007 by Blake Nelson. All rights reserved.

Excerpted from They Came from Below by Blake Nelson
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.