She applied the Page 69 Test to A Matter of Days, her newest YA novel, and reported the following:
I’m always intrigued by your page 69 test. I’m never sure what I’m going to find when I turn to it in my books! In A Matter of Days page 69 finds siblings Nadia and Rabbit in the middle of a completely new situation and needing to make split second, life and death decisions. There is high tension, lots going on, and if I did my job right readers will be holding their breaths. It’s incredibly indicative of the rest of the book. I’m hearing more and more that readers can’t put it down.Learn more about the book and author at Amber Kizer's website.
Nadia and Rabbit are on a post-pandemic road trip—it’s an adventure into the near future held together by hope. I’m happy to email readers the first three chapters if they’d like to start at the beginning (contact me at Amber@AmberKizer.com).
Page 69 of A Matter of Days:“Don’t move.” Why hadn’t I slept with the handgun? Because I thought I might shoot myself? I reached for a large stick, trying to figure out if I could throw it hard enough to do any damage before the animal ate us.
Growling grew louder, more insistent. From a second animal? Ah, crap, they’re a pack. “What’s that?” There were two voices, not just the hissing. Like a fight. They sounded like adversaries before they battled to the death. The thought nauseated me. “Don’t move, Rab.”
I tried to remember to breathe—oxygen makes the brain work better. Shallow breathing kills common sense. There was a tinny smell in the air. A sort of familiar bloody tincture that seemed familiar. Blood? Pus? I worked the zipper down until I could throw off the sleeping bag and get to my feet quickly.
I didn’t know what to do. Think, Nadia. Think.
Play dead? Cover your head? Protect your stomach? Protect your brother. I had to sacrifice myself, a pound of my flesh. Hopefully, Rab could get the gun or throw rocks or something from the car. There was no choice. Lying here silent wasn’t improving our chances.
The growling intensified; the hissing quieted. Then a chilling scream rent the night.
Something nudged my foot, snapped tension into my body like a taut bowline, and I tossed the bag. A surprised yelp told me that the animal was covered for a minute.
I grabbed Rab and tried to lift him, running toward the car. He’d gotten bigger and I’d gotten weaker—not a good combo. “Get in the car!” I hauled him, then turned to face the animals.
He giggled. I knew stress effected different people differently, but laughing? Really? Did he have to?
The Page 69 Test: Meridian.