Tanya Gupta pinned post. 25 Jul Actions. Report. A Different Blue--Amy abtresdeorebgolf.tk KB. 8. Like Show likes. Share Show shared copies. K. Until I met Millie, and heaven became something different. I became With no mother, no father, no faith, and no future, Blue Echohawk is a difficult student, to say the least. Tough, hard A Different Blue--Amy abtresdeorebgolf.tk Blue Echohawk doesn't know who she is. She doesn't know her real name or when she was born. Abandoned at two and raised by a drifter.
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File name, Amy Harmon - A Different abtresdeorebgolf.tk File size, KB. File type, epub. MD5, 6b9acfeefb1afe9aef9abcfaa9. File Compatibility, Amy. Amy Harmon is a USA Today and New York Times Bestselling author. Her books are now being Amy Harmon Author (). cover image of A Different Blue. Prologue AUGUST The heat was stifling, and the little girl tossed in the back seat. Her face was flushed, and the blanket she laid on had ridden up and her.
She's got a few priors, mostly drug related. Got a name, an old address. Just turned nineteen. August 3 was her birthday, actually.
Detective Martinez could be pretty close-mouthed. But when the coroner rolled her, the back of her head was bashed in.
Now they were looking for a murderer, too. It looked like she'd taken a little bit of everything from some of the paraphernalia at the scene. She was a cheerleader at a little school in Southern Utah. It was in the police report. She apparently shared some Ecstasy with her teammates and was caught and charged with possession.
Only reason she wasn't locked up was because she was a minor and it was her first offense. And she was sharing, not selling. We've touched base with local authorities there. They're going to notify the family. Just as plain as can be.
We have her walking into the lobby about midnight and climbing through the reception window, over the front desk, right into the office area.
Desk clerk claims she usually locks everything up when she has to step away from the desk, but she had the stomach flu and rushed to the bathroom without buttoning things up. They still use the actual keys, you know.
No modern key cards for the Stowaway. Desk clerk says the key had been pulled and set aside because of the air conditioning problems. There was a work order with the key. Girl wasn't a dummy. She took the key knowing she could probably hang out in the room for the night and nobody would know. And that's not all. The camera shows her car coming into the motel with her in it and leaving an hour later with a man at the wheel.
We've got an APB out on that car. Listen up. You have a description and a picture of the woman on the flyer in front of you. At this point, we have had no indication that a child was with her in the hours leading up to her death.
There was no sign of a child in the surveillance video nor any sign that a child had ever been in the motel room. The family of the deceased had not seen the woman or child in over a year, so we have no way of knowing at what point the woman and her child parted company.
We have also notified the appropriate agencies as well as inputing this information in NCIS. We need to start canvasing the area again with the flyer. Let's get this woman's picture out as fast as we can. See if anyone remembers seeing this woman and whether or not she had a child with her. We have no current pictures of the toddler, but the grandmother gave us a basic description. Child is believed to have dark hair and blue eyes.
Native American, although the father of the child is believed to be white, which may account for the blue eyes. The mother has been dead now for five days, and we all know how transient the clientele at the Stowaway is. We've lost some precious time and need to work fast. Let's get on it, people. Actually, the truth was I didn't care, so why would I worry? The first day of school was useless anyway.
Most of the teachers didn't mark tardies on the first day or yell at you in front of the class. It was the last period of the day, and my mind had already left the building and fled out over the desert and into the hills in search of shapes and silhouettes.
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Already, I could feel the wood beneath my hands. Reluctantly, I forced my mind back to my body and straightened my shoulders so I could make an impression as I walked into class, which was usually my goal.
Partly because I enjoyed the attention but mostly because I knew if people were intimidated by me they would leave me alone. Teachers left me alone, overly friendly girls who wanted to be BFF's left me alone, but the guys were usually at my beck and call if and when I wanted one of them. I whipped back my long black hair as I entered the room. My eyes were heavily made up, and my jeans were so tight that sitting down was highly uncomfortable, although I'd perfected the art of slouching so they didn't pinch.
I cracked my gum and slid one eyebrow up disdainfully as I looked for an empty seat. All eyes swiveled toward me as I sauntered up the center aisle and slid into the seat right in front, dead center. Being late had its downside. I took my time taking off my jacket and dropping my purse to the floor.
I hadn't even deigned to look in the direction of the new teacher whose voice had faded to silence at my arrival. A few people snickered at my nonchalant display, and I shot a venomous sneer in the general direction of the laughter. It stopped. Finally, I slid into my seat and raised my eyes to the front of the classroom, sighing deeply and loudly. Wilson" was written across the whiteboard in capital letters.
My eyes locked on him. He was staring at me with a furrowed brow and a slight smile. Dark hair in need of a haircut curled above his ears and fell onto his forehead.
It looked as if he had tried to tame it into respectability, but his mop had obviously rebelled at some point during his first day at Boulder High School. I raised my eyebrows in amazement and tried hard not to snort out loud. He looked like a student. In fact, if he hadn't had on a tie, knotted hastily over a blue button-up dress shirt with a pair of khakis, I would have thought he was some kind of teacher's aid.
He had a British accent. What was a guy with a British accent doing in Boulder City, Nevada? His tone was warm and friendly, and he seemed unbothered by my purposeful disrespect. He looked down at the roll that was sitting on a music stand to his right. The name tends to throw people. I have dark hair, but my eyes are very blue.
I don't really look like an Indian. Wilson," I retorted. Laughter rang out. Wilson smiled. As I was telling your classmates, you may call me Wilson. Except when you are late or disrespectful, in which case I would appreciate the Mr," he finished mildly. Wilson then. Because I'm usually late, and I'm always disrespectful.
Wilson shrugged. W2E is an ePub creator. What Writer2ePub is not? W2E is not a simple file converter.
It does not just convert an existing document to ePub. If you need to obtain a pure wysiwyg ePub file, W2E is not for you. Who can use Writer2ePub? Fighting is the purest, truest, most elemental thing there is. Some people describe heaven as a sea of unending white. Where choirs sing and loved ones await. But for me, heaven was something else. It sounded like the bell at the beginning of a round, it tasted like adrenaline, it burned like sweat in my eyes and fire in my belly.
It looked like the blur of screaming crowds and an opponent who wanted my blood. For me, heaven was the octagon. Until I met Millie, and heaven became something different. I became something different. No one seemed to see her at all, except for the few who squeezed past her, tossing exasperated looks at her unsmiling face.
Why was it that no one saw her, yet she was the first thing I saw? If heaven was the octagon, then she was my angel at the center of it all, the girl with the power to take me down and lift me up again. The girl I wanted to fight for, the girl I wanted to claim. She doesn't know her real name or when she was born. Abandoned at two and raised by a drifter, she didn't attend school until she was ten years old. At nineteen, when most kids her age are attending college or moving on with life, she is just a senior in high school.
With no mother, no father, no faith, and no future, Blue Echohawk is a difficult student, to say the least. Tough, hard and overtly sexy, she is the complete opposite of the young British teacher who decides he is up for the challenge, and takes the troublemaker under his wing.
This is the story of a nobody who becomes somebody. It is the story of an unlikely friendship, where hope fosters healing and redemption becomes love.For the rest of the class time I want you to tell me your story. What happened to the Add-ons? We store only the date and the version number. This bug may have been fixed in iBooks recently. Scrivener may be better at this. A Different Blue--Amy Harmon. At nineteen, when most kids her age are attending college or moving on with life, she is just a senior in high school.