Early praise for WHERE WE FELL:
"a well written, emotionally uplifting, and honest story" -Stephanie on Goodreads
"Amber L. Johnson is one of the brightest new authors on the horizon." - Author Sydney Logan
(Synopsis)
Oliver Bishop is having a seriously bad day. With one diagnosis, his life suddenly has an expiration date. Confused about the numbness he has to the idea of it, he unwittingly puts himself directly in the sights of a girl that just may give him a reason to fight - and to live.
Excerpt:
“Wouldn’t it freak you out if I took my hair off right this second and was like, ‘Oh my god, Oliver, I had cancer too!”
“Don’t lie. That’s a shitty thing to lie about.”
“Is it?”
I shrug, trying to control my emotions. “It would explain why you changed your hair, I guess.”
She straightens her spine. “I guess it would. Or maybe it makes sense that my mom had cancer. And lost her hair. So I dyed my hair and cut about sixteen inches off to donate to her for a wig. That might make sense, too.”
Hannah Hartwell is weird. And she’s awkward. But at this exact moment she is not a liar.
“I might not know what you’re going through first hand, okay? But I know what it’s like to see it from the sidelines. My mom didn’t even tell me that she was going in for testing. Didn’t tell me she got a diagnosis. She just called me on a Wednesday and said she was going in for surgery on Friday, and could I please make sure to pay my phone bill on time this month. It was like, how did she just go to these appointments without telling anyone? So blase. Like you. It baffles me.”
I’m silent as she talks because I have nothing to say.
“It’s kinda ironic that the woman who leaves an oncologist because he’s ‘married to his job’ ends up getting the one thing he could potentially help her with.”
The room is so quiet that I can hear the music from outside filtering into the house between the window panes and cracks under the doors. Our food is going to go cold, which bothers me a little, even though I’m no longer hungry. She did spend a long time cooking it, after all.
Instead of saying anything about her confession, I pick up the ear of corn and start eating.
“This is good,” I say. And I mean it.
She forces a tight smile and picks at her own plate.
“It’s not ‘cure my cancer’ good. But it’s good.”
This time, it’s a spoon that she throws at my head.
About Amber L. Johnson:
Amber is a full time mom, full time wife, is employed full time, and writes when she can. She believes in Happily Ever Afters that occur every day - despite the obstacles that real life serves up on a regular basis. Or perhaps they're sweeter simply because of them. She always has 2 rubber bands on her wrist, a song in her head, and too much creamer in her coffee cup that reads 'Cocoa' - because she's a rebel. If she's not at her desk, with her boys, or behind the computer, she's supporting live music with her arms raised above her head and eyes closed, waiting for the drop.
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