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Young Adult Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The Barrier On The Eye

The Barrier On The Eye

I refused granted verbally that I cannot. He snapped. “Eat it now!” He threw the book in the grass as it lay openly flat. I'm watching all of them; looked so eager for me to slip and bent over to the green, lots of thoughts kept running in my head, and I knew with one touch of that book I'll be crossing over a thin line of crossfire, an agreement of letting them do as they please. “I said, eat the damn book you moron face!” He approached me with lividness. Slowly I bent over to the grass grip the book toss over the cover and thoroughly glanced at every detail so I can never forget this moment. Grade eleven premium English book with light green font written in bold white words. My hands trembled although I touched the texture, flipped it over, and torn the first page. Sweats coursed my hands, folded it so it can fit in my mouth, shove it, and started chewing it as it became smaller and weaker than when I had to swallow it, eyes turned watery trying to thrust it down my throat. They demanded that I should not put up a fake show and eat them. It felt like a rock was wedged between my throat, I choked bent over as I suffocated, and I started coughing. They all laughed, laughed hilariously, pointing with their fingers at me, to them, it was all a show. Again, they forced me to swallow more than they demanded. I could not take it as I wanted to get away, but they would not let me, they grabbed me by my uniform; violently swore to make my life miserable. Pushed me over the grass, my fingers swayed and got a cut "Ouch!" I lifted my hand, and it ached from a thorn pricking my skin. For that, they did not care, granted I should swallow another one, or they will shove it in my mouth if I don't do it myself. I saw there was no use begging, accept doing what I should,
Graduation Day: My Escape, Their Show

Graduation Day: My Escape, Their Show

My life was a greasy blur: taqueria shifts, a rundown trailer, and a dad who mostly slept or muttered about bad luck. Mom supposedly left with my twin, Kendra, when Dad’s investments went south. That’s what I believed for six long years. Then a rare message from Kendra, cryptic and laced with a link, shattered everything. My fingers fumbled as I tapped it, splitting my phone screen. On one side, my grime-covered existence. On the other: Mom, Dad, and Kendra, laughing in a mansion, beneath a banner blaring: “Double Track Lives: The Texas Sisters' Growth Experiment. Subscribers Only.” My stomach churned. This wasn't just a show; I was the show. I was the “control group,” the struggling poor one, while my family manufactured their wealthy lives from my very real pain. Every tear, every struggle, even the staged debt collectors who demolished my fifty-cent birthday cupcake – all for views. My father, who claimed illness, stole my grandmother’s keepsake and flaunted it on stream, saying it taught me ‘sacrifice.’ The betrayal burned colder than any Texas night. How could they? How could my own family turn my life into a spectacle of poverty, milking my hardship for their luxury? My despair hardened into an icy resolve. They thought they had me scripted for a big family reunion on graduation day. But as I walked off that stage, clutching my MIT acceptance letter, I wasn't walking to them. I was walking away, with a new purpose and a stack of loans taken in my father’s name. This experiment was about to go off-script.