Title: Before Tomorrow (Forget Tomorrow #1.5)
Author: Pintip Dunn
Publication Date: Oct. 31, 2016
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Other Books in this Series: Forget Tomorrow (Forget Tomorrow #1) | Remember Yesterday (Forget Tomorrow #2) | Seize Today (Forget Tomorrow #3)
Prequel to the New York Times bestselling and award-winning novel, FORGET TOMORROW!
In a world where all seventeen-year-olds receive a memory from their future selves, Logan Russell’s vision is exactly as he expects — and exactly not. He sees himself achieving his greatest wish of becoming a gold-star swimmer, but strangely enough, the vision also shows him locking eyes with a girl from his past, Callie Stone, and experiencing an overwhelming sense of love and belonging.
Logan’s not sure what the memory means, but soon enough, he learns that his old friend Callie is in trouble. She’s received an atypical memory, one where she commits a crime in the future. According to the law, she must be imprisoned, even though she’s done nothing wrong. Now, Logan must decide if he’ll give up his future as a gold-star swimmer and rescue the literal girl of his dreams. All he’ll have to do is defy Fate.
About the Author
When her first-grade teacher asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, Pintip replied, “An author.” Although she has pursued other interests over the years, this dream has never wavered.
Pintip graduated from Harvard University, magna cum laude, with an A.B. in English Literature and Language. She received her J.D. at Yale Law School, where she was an editor of the YALE LAW JOURNAL.
Pintip is represented by literary agent Beth Miller of Writers House. She is a 2012 RWA Golden Heart® finalist and a 2014 double-finalist.
She lives with her husband and children in Maryland.
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Teasers
Excerpt
Logan never thought of himself as a stalker, but that’s precisely what he did the next day. Stalked Callie with his eyes throughout the Poetry Core. Hid behind a digital kiosk and spied on her as she dispensed her lunch from a Meal Assembler. And, after school let out, he followed her and her sister, Jessa, to a nearby park.
He sat on a wrought-iron bench and watched them. As always, she made him feel like he’d just swum a hundred-meter race. Her hair was long and wavy, dark with bits of gold that beckoned him like the lights at the end of the pool. Her skin was brown and smooth, her cheeks round and flushed. But it was her eyes that got him—that had always gotten him. Not so much their warm color or lovely shape, but their expression. She had this way of looking at him as if she really saw him. As if he really mattered.
She and Jessa stood under a tree, the colorful leaves falling around them. They tilted their faces to the sky, and Callie laughed. He could hardly hear the sound, but he didn’t need to. He’d heard it enough times at school. And no matter how many people were in the room, no matter how loud they were, he could always pick out Callie’s laugh.
A few words drifted by on the breeze. Color names. Red, orange, brown. Jessa must be calling out the color of the leaves before they fell. Interesting. He never knew the younger sister was psychic, but somehow, it didn’t surprise him.
Callie clasped her hands together. Even from a distance, he could tell she was trying not to fidget. She was probably nervous about getting her memory tomorrow. That’s why they’d always sat near each other in class—because their birthdays were two days apart. It was a blessing when they were friends—and pure torture when they weren’t. The phrase “do something” seemed to march around her like an endlessly repeating scroll of text. Do something. Do something. Do something.
But for the first time in five years, when he looked at her, he didn’t hear the words. He didn’t see Mikey being dragged away, his hands wrenched behind him in a pair of electro-cuffs. Instead, he saw her as she was in his memory. Sitting on the first row of the bleachers, meeting his eyes across the crowd. Mouthing those words, “My red leaf.”
Talk to her, he ordered himself, but his leaden feet refused to move. So much time had passed. She had every right to shoot him down. Any regular girl would.
But Callie wasn’t a regular girl. She was the girl who fell over in her chair because she was trying to see the sun. The girl in his memory who looked at him with acceptance. The girl who saw through the twisted depths of him—and liked him anyway.
And then, she and her sister turned and marched toward the bullet train station, their swinging arms synchronized.
Aw, fike. He lurched to his feet and trotted after them. “Calla, wait up,” he called, using her full name. It had been years since he’d said it, but the syllables sprung to his lips as naturally as if he’s said them every day. Every hour. And maybe, somewhere deep in his soul, he did. Because in that place, Callie never stopped being his friend.
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