kirsten hubbard

author of ya (like mandarin, wanderlove & cloudforest) & mg (watch the sky & race the night) creator, californian, wandergirl

[hanginggardenstories]

She Bit First

by Kirsten Hubbard

Ruby didn’t know where she’d first heard it.

“From another friend?” Arlo asked. Ruby just laughed and braided her legs through Arlo’s.

It was about a boy with rough hands, and a girl who saw a shimmer around the edges of things, and their walk together in an orchard. The girl found an apple that shone like a prism, but only she could see its light.

“She bit first,” Ruby said.

But then the boy took a larger bite, even though the girl asked him not to, and the light dimmed and died, and so did everything, everyone.

“He didn’t listen,” Arlo said.

“Do boys ever?” Ruby asked.

Arlo shrugged. At thirteen, she didn’t know much about boys. They just starred in all the stories.

“Probably he was doomed anyway,” Ruby continued.

“Why?”

“Because of the poison.”

Arlo giggled. Their mothers had warned them about the poison in their blood. At thirteen, they barely felt it. But soon it’d come over them like a virus: burning limbs, aching teeth. Ruby’s were already sharper when they grinned in the mirror to compare.

“We’re the most dangerous of them all,” Ruby said.

Then she kissed Arlo in that joyful way of hers, like giving. Like apple juice instead of poison.

*

Then they turned fourteen, and Ruby moved away.

At least Arlo had the story. A dark story by any measure, but because Ruby had given it to her, Arlo saw its light.

It became a sort of solace. She’d hurry home after school, her back still angled from the rigid seats and her ears stinging from teachers’ voices, and spend entire evenings curled around it. The boy and the girl and the shimmering orchard. Sometimes, Arlo could almost feel the apple her hands, and Ruby’s legs braided around hers. Savoring the twist in their middles when everything, everywhere went dark.

Then Arlo turned fifteen, and sixteen.

So did Ruby, on some far-off shore that pictures couldn’t capture. “Come visit!” she’d write (when she remembered to), as if it were something Arlo could control, as if turning sixteen gifted you the freedom you longed for instead of more awareness of the walls.

Walls that closed in more every year. For so long, the story had been a prism, casting light into the corners, loosening the edges.

But Arlo was starting to forget the way it felt in her hands.

She was sixteen and her teeth ached.

*

One morning, Arlo woke up with glass on her tongue.

It frightened her. She ran to the bathroom and spit out nothing. Double-checked her mouth in the mirror. She had nobody to compare her teeth to, she realized. Her hands were empty. Her unbraided legs felt hot.

“It’s because of the poison,” she said out loud.

She was sixteen and she had nowhere left to hide.

*

“I have to find him,” Arlo wrote in a letter Ruby never answered.

The boy, she meant. The rough-handed boy who bit second, whose larger bite turned off the light.

Arlo knew the story like breathing. The boy was the star of the story, like all the others. But other stories had happy endings. Maybe Arlo could change her story’s ending, she decided, if she could get the boy to listen.

She just wished it felt more like hope and less like surrender.

At sixteen, Arlo didn’t know much about boys. She thought finding him would be a matter of simple seeking, now that she’d widened her eyes. But the harder she looked, the less she saw.

The less she saw, the more she felt the poison.

Day after day after day, Arlo sat in her classroom, where the edges looked straight and still. So did the other students. Rows of forward-facing faces, clasped hands, legs crossed. Boys, girls, they were all the same. They had no fire in their blood.

“Arlo,” the teacher would say.

Ears stinging, Arlo would face forward. Clasp her hands. Cross her legs. Try her best to think about stillness as her fire grew. She’d try until it burned too much and she’d twitch or jerk, knock over her pencil or worse, her book. That’s the only time the other students broke their forward gaze, to turn and stare.

“Arlo,” the teacher would say, even louder.

It’s because of the poison, Arlo wouldn’t say.

One day, her foot kicked out into someone else’s, a boy’s. “Oof,” he yelped.

Arlo jumped to her feet, so crookedly her chair fell over. A bedlam of snickering sent hot darts into her cheeks.

“What’s the matter with you?” the teacher yelled.

“It was an accident,” Arlo said. She stumbled through the gridlock of desks, out the door.

Outside, she sat on the sidewalk, in a starscape of spat-out gum. Her searching hand found a patch of weeds, a wildflower. As the stinging in her ears shifted to her eyes, she thought she saw a quick shimmer before the world blurred.

“Are you okay?”

Arlo wiped her eyes, then looked up. It was the boy she’d kicked. A boy she’d barely noticed, like all the others. Arms, face, shoulders. She couldn’t see his hands. “It’s no big deal,” she replied.

“I asked about you,” he said, “not it.”

“I’m fine.”

“Why’d you flip out? You’ve always been a weird one.”

Like he knew her. Arlo ran her tongue along the spurs of her teeth. “I’m just no good at—all that. All that nothing.”

“Yeah, nothing is right.”

She felt slightly encouraged. “It’s probably because I’m filled with poison.”

“Want to find a place to talk?”

“I guess.” Arlo wanted to ask if he’d heard her about the poison, but then he caught her hand and pulled her to her feet. His palm was rough.

“Follow me,” the boy said.

They walked together: down the halls, into the gym. But there weren’t any orchards, just stacks of wrestling mats greased with old sweat. As Arlo sat beside him, she realized she wasn’t sure what a star actually looked like. Not up close, anyway.

“You’re so hot,” the boy said, leaning in.

He kissed her like taking. Arlo didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she put them on his arms. His ropey muscles felt like snakes beneath his skin.

“Wait.”

She had to say it twice into his mouth before he pulled away.

“What?” the boy asked.

“You said we could talk.”

“Okay, yeah, I guess. What do you want to talk about?”

Arlo wasn’t sure anymore. Her mouth had gone sour. She wondered if that was the way the boy tasted, or if he’d stolen all the sweet taste from hers. He was squinting at her now, like Arlo’s edges had gone out of focus. Her words came out in a panic.

“I have a story,” she said.

“A story? Like… about someone we know?”

“Not really. It’s just a story.”

He sighed, like he was doing her the favor. “Whatever. If it’s a quick one.”

“It’s about a boy with rough hands,” Arlo began. “And a—”

“Rough hands?” He swiped a sandpaper palm over her shoulder.

“Okay, quit it. Anyway. A boy with rough hands, and a girl who saw a shimmer around the edges of things.”

“Was she high?”

“I don't…”

“High or drunk or crazy.”

Arlo sighed. “Can you just listen?”

“I am listening, obviously. It’s called active listening.”

In fits and starts, she told the rest of the story. The boy, and the girl. The orchard, and the walk. The apple the girl found. For the first time, the story kept moving away from Arlo, like wisps of a dream when you thought right at it. She had to chase it. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to share the story with this boy, she worried too late.

“And so did everything, everyone,” she finished.

“So it was the girl’s fault,” the boy said.

“Huh?” Arlo said. “No, you weren’t listening. Everything was fine until he took the apple. It was never his to begin with.”

“Why didn’t she just give it to him?”

“Because it was hers.”

“Then she was being a bitch,” she boy said. “She made him take it.

"He couldn’t help himself.

"She probably seduced him.

"Why does it even matter?”

Arlo’s legs burned from chasing. “You’re still not listening,” she said.

“Because you talk too much,” the boy replied.

He kissed her again, gripping her arms with his scaled-covered hands. Sliding them over, under. The poison was raging through Arlo now, but the boy didn’t even notice. His skin was flushed with stolen juice. Her juice, running though his veins. The apple was never his to begin with.

She wanted it back.

“Ow!” the boy yelped. He touched his mouth with a finger. It came away red. “Why’d you do that? What’s the matter with you?”

Arlo swallowed. She grinned.

“We’re the most dangerous of them all,” she said.

*

She didn’t feel bad about it, she told Ruby later.

Because he wouldn’t have listened, even if she’d warned him. That it’s not just about the apple, it’s about the sharp teeth.

That the boy isn’t the star of the story.

It’s the girl who bit first.

Kirsten Hubbard is the author of the YA novels LIKE MANDARIN & WANDERLOVE (Delacorte/Random House Kids), and the middle-grade novels WATCH THE SKY & RACE THE NIGHT (Disney-Hyperion), along with a forthcoming Disney series as Kir Fox. When she’s not lost in some far-flung desert, you can find her in Los Angeles, California.

Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[kirstenhubbard]

you've been so tired, my love.

I remember how you used to screech when I got home. compulsively, outrageously, so high-pitched it hurt. and the moment I unclipped your leash outside, how fast you ran. the wind in your fur, that impossibly contagious grin. every time I left the house, the way that grin fell. how big your eyes got. how you slept by the front door for days, I was told, when I left the country. if a car like mine drove past, you'd spring to your feet at the sound, so hopeful.

you rarely liked strangers or other dogs. that punch of stress I felt whenever another pup approached. your funny lunge and whine. my little napoleon.

how I had to wrap you in a beach towel like a burrito to cut your nails. you loved to tuck yourself away. in the closet, little cave-dweller. in the bathroom. I'd hear the door slam shut from across the house. and then I'd have to open it with your little sleeping body against it. 

you almost always slept under the bed. but the best mornings were the ones I found you curled up at my feet.

the day I found you. the first time I visited the pound, you weren't available yet. I stood outside your bars looking in, and you gazed back at me.

three days later, I returned. I don’t know how long those days felt to you, but you wouldn't even lift your head.

still, I wanted to meet you. in that small square of grass, you folded into yourself, shook and trembled, a rumble in your throat. you were so scared. you'd been found on the street, and nobody had touched you for ten days. you trembled and shook until finally, I reached out. pressed my fingers into your perfect fur.

and then you leaned against me, as if your entire body sighed. I was only 19, so nervous, afraid you'd be a challenge long into a hazy thirties future I couldn't even see.

I was right.

but that moment you leaned against me, skyball, you were mine.

I signed the papers. paid your dues. looped a leash around you and led you back into the world. and the sad coyote tail tucked between your legs sprung forward into that ridiculous swirl, that fuzzy firework, that happiest of all things. goodbye my sweet boy, my son. thank you for loving me. taking care of you has been my greatest gift, and I will always be your mother.

❤️

[kirstenhubbard]

burning man number six was my coldest (lows of 36!), dustiest, windiest, & longest (10 nights!) -- and I'd give anything to be back. more pics as soon as I get off this carpet. 

[kirstenhubbard]

me & my book deadline

[yahighway]

…or worlds and worlds.

[kidsauthorcarnival]

Meet Kids Author Carnival Kirsten Hubbard, author of Watch the Sky!

ABOUT THE BOOK

The signs are everywhere, Jory’s stepfather, Caleb, says. Red leaves in the springtime. Pages torn from a library book. All the fish in the aquarium facing the same way. A cracked egg with twin yolks. Everywhere and anywhere. And because of them Jory’s life is far from ordinary. He must follow a very specific set of rules: don’t trust anyone outside the family, have your works at the ready just in case, and always, always watch out for the signs. The end is coming, and they must be prepared.

School is Jory’s only escape from Caleb’s tight grasp, and with the help of new friends Jory begins to explore a world beyond his family’s farm. As Jory’s friendships grow, Caleb notifies Jory’s mother and siblings that the time has come for final preparations. They begin an exhausting schedule digging a mysterious tunnel in anticipation of the disaster. But as the hold gets deeper, so does the family’s doubt about whether Caleb’s prophecy is true. When the stark reality of his stepfather’s plans becomes clear, Jory must choose between living his own life or following Caleb, shutting his eyes to the bright world he’s just begun to see.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kirsten Hubbard is the author of two YA novels from Delacorte, Wanderlove and Like Mandarin. She also runs the popular blog YA Highway and she holds a BA in writing from UCSD. Kirsten lives in San Diego, California. This is her first middle grade novel. Visit her online at kirstenhubbard.com or on Twitter.

[kirstenhubbard]

can't wait for Kids Author Carnival in NYC! hope to see you there :)

[badassladiesyoushouldknow]

Badass Ladies You Should Know: Kirsten Hubbard

Today I have the joy of profiling one of my very best friends: author, artist, burner, and intrepid explorer Kirsten Hubbard. Kirsten has traveled (almost) every continent, illustrated her own novel, co-founded YA Highway, organized repeated Burning Man camps, and most recently, moved to the wilds of Los Angeles as she dealt with the challenges of coming out as queer. I love her and I think you should too.

*

Kate: Describe your career(s) and/or current projects. What path(s) led you there?

Kirsten: I published my first two YA novels, LIKE MANDARIN and WANDERLOVE, with Delacorte Press in 2011 and 2012. My first middle-grade novel, WATCH THE SKY, was published this April – for various reasons, after a bit of a gap that felt much longer when I was in the thick of it. I sold my next two YA novels to Egmont USA last year, but as many of you might have heard, the publisher closed recently, which means those books will need a new home. It’s a major setback, but I’m crazy in love with that project and am hopeful. (Oh, publishing.)

Kate: When and how did you decide to commit to your career? How does it intersect with your passions?

Kirsten: In many ways, I committed to the path that led me here the summer after my freshman year of college, when I switched my major from Ecology, Behavior & Evolution to Literature/Writing. I doubled down soon after graduation, when I began the novel that would become LIKE MANDARIN, and in tandem, the assembly line of restaurant, nightclub, and freelance writing jobs that allowed me the flexibility to write it. I had to wear go-go boots and write about some really tedious things, but it worked out.

Kate: Do you have any (other) creative outlets? How do they influence/affect your main work (if at all)?

Kirsten: Drawing and painting of all kinds – lately, watercoloring birds because they make me so happy. I illustrated my second YA novel, WANDERLOVE, myself, and I have been feeling super inspired to jump into another writing/art combination project. Once I get this next book written…

Kate: What’s your biggest challenge?

Kirsten: Honestly? This time in my life, right now. I’ve been going through some pretty extreme (and emotionally taxing) personal life stuff lately, and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t affect my writing. Not the words themselves, but finding the time and the concentration. These kinds of personal brier patches are difficult for anyone, but they pose a unique kind of challenge for writers – when much of our job is about accessing & transcribing crazy deep emotions, every single day. And just like, hard thinking. Sometimes it works as an escape from reality, and other times reality eclipses our ability to access those places. But in the end, my word count’s still growing. And that’s what counts.

Kate: How do you stay inspired? Productive?

Kirsten: Great music, caffeine, and road trips through the desert.

Kirsten at Salvation Mountain

Kate: How do you deal with negativity?

Kirsten: I don’t avoid it – I read critical reviews of my books, for example. I definitely feel the feelings, but only briefly; I am usually able to move on pretty well. Maybe because by not shying away, I get somewhat inured to them? Or maybe because I’ve experienced larger setbacks, both in publishing and in life, that make petty stuff easier (still not easy, but easier) to ignore.

Kate: Tell us about a time that you bounced back from failure.

Kirsten: Even though it wasn’t a personal failure, losing my Egmont deal sucked majorly. One of those publishing worst case scenarios you try not to even entertain – and it happened, not just to me, but to so many Egmont authors. But I’m in the bounceback process right now: getting that project back out there. And in the meantime, writing, and writing, and writing.

Kate: Did you have any defining moments that galvanized your understanding of and/or commitment to feminism? How does it inform/inspire your work?

Kirsten: Again, the last year or two. Coming out as a queer woman, I’ve become so utterly conscious of those patriarchal and heteronormative voices in my head. All those years of “advice”, and judgement, and traditions, and The Right Way to do things – which I did do, for so long. And I’m a lifelong liberal and staunch feminist. I’ve lived my whole life in progressive California cities, and I’ve always been queer, just heterosexually partnered. Historically, it’s easier to be out than it’s ever been (especially here!) – and so, it irritates the hell out of me that those voices are there at all. Sometimes whispery, sometimes a damn mixed-message cacophony. It can make it so hard to battle through them for your truths, for the wisdom that actually counts.

Kate: What are the best ways to support other women?

​Kirsten: There are a lot of things I could say here, but they all come down to empathy. And a lot of that is achieved by knowing when to listen. Particularly to voices that aren’t as loud.

Kate: What is your advice to aspiring badasses?

Kirsten: Damn the man. (Save the empire.)

*

In search of transcendent backdrops for her novels, Kirsten Hubbard has hiked ancient ruins in Cambodia, dived with wild dolphins in Belize (one totally looked her in the eye), slept in a Slovenian jail cell, and navigated many desert apocalypses (usually in face paint and combat boots). But she always comes home to California.

Kirsten is the author of YA novels LIKE MANDARIN and WANDERLOVE (Delacorte Press/Random House Children’s Books) and middle-grade novel  WATCH THE SKY (Disney-Hyperion). You can learn more about her at:

Goodreads  /  Twitter   /  Instagram  /  Tumblr  /  Facebook (shrug)  /  Website (still under construction oh god) /  Pinterest

*

“Badass Ladies You Should Know” is brought to you by Kate Hart, author of AFTER THE FALL, coming 2016 from Farrar, Straus & Giroux. If you add her book on Goodreads, she will love you forever.

[kidsauthorcarnival]

Greetings, lovers of middle grade books!

Today we are excited to announce the author line-up for this year’s Kids Author Carnival! Without further ado, check out this incredible list:

Patrik Henry Bass Rebecca Behrens Sage Blackwood Jessica Burkhart Isaiah Campbell Angela Cervantes Clay...

[kirstenhubbard]

see you in NYC! :)

[kirstenhubbard]

so excited to talk about WATCH THE SKY on this incredible panel at the LA Times Festival of Books! it's one of the country's best-ever (FREE!) book events -- the lineup is insane. will you be there? come find me! http://events.latimes.com/festivalofbooks #latfob #latimesfestivalofbooks #watchthesky 🌌 (at University of Southern California)

[kirstenhubbard]

meeting with my #watchthesky publicist. good thing I wore my mouse ring 🐭 (at Disney Grand Central Creative Campus)

[isadorajoshua]

[coral]

[nylonpinksy]

[saveoriginalthinking]

Check out this collage I made for @kirstenhubbard’s Wanderlove and head on over to TicketToAnywhere.net to check out my review!

[kirstenhubbard]

LOVE.

[kirstenhubbard]

we are here #tijuana #mexico (at Tijuana, Baja California)

[bettersituation]

[dialnfornoir]

Addams Family Values (1993)