Cinnamon Girl_int_PRINTER.indd 1 1/13/16 12:12 PM Published by PEACHTREE PUBLISHERS 1700 Chattahoochee Avenue Atlanta, Georgia 30318-2112 www.peachtree-online.com Text © 2014 by Melissa Keil Illustrations © 2016 by Mike Lawrence First published in Australia in 2014 by Hardie Grant Egmont First United States version published in 2016 by Peachtree Publishers All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher. Design and composition by Nicola Simmonds Carmack Illustrations rendered digitally Printed in February 2016 in the United States of America by RR Donnelley & Sons, Harrisonburg, Virginia. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 First Edition ISBN 978-1-56145-905-6 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Keil, Melissa, author. | Lawrence, Mike (Comic Book artist), illustrator. Title: The incredible adventures of cinnamon girl / Melissa Keil; illustrated by Mike Lawrence. Description: Atlanta, GA : Peachtree Publishers, [2016] | Summary: Alba loves living behind a bakery, drawing comics, and watching bad TV with her friends, but problems arise with certain boys in her life and also, the world might be ending, so as doomsday enthusiasts flock to idyllic Eden Valley, Alba’s life is thrown into chaos. Identifiers: LCCN 2015030680 Subjects: | CYAC: End of the world—Fiction. | Love—Fiction. | Comic books, strips, etc.—Fiction. Classification: LCC PZ7.1.K415 Inc 2016 | DDC [Fic]—dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc. gov/2015030680 Cinnamon Girl_int_PRINTER.indd 2 1/13/16 12:12 PM Melissa Keil Illustrated by Mike Lawrence Cinnamon Girl_int_PRINTER.indd 3 1/13/16 12:12 PM Cinnamon Girl_int_PRINTER.indd 4 1/13/16 12:12 PM Prologue f I drew my life right at this moment, I’d want it to look something like the most brilliant comic book panel from IWonder Woman: Spirit of Truth. Wonder Woman is kneeling on the lush hills way above her island home, her eyes closed, all steadfast and resolute. The color and tone in the art is phenomenal; wicked purple clouds streak a wide pale sky lashed with warm yellows as the sun sinks on the horizon. With the light glinting off her tiara, and the half-smile on her lips, Wonder Woman is so alive I swear you can see her breathing. The panel is a perfect, paused moment in time—it could be from the end or the beginning of her story. She’s kicked all sorts of arse beforehand, and has much more nonsense to face. But this one moment is her reprieve. In this one moment she is content, and home. It takes wicked skills to capture so much in a single quiet image; a story that’s both frozen and full of potential. Only truly Cinnamon Girl_int_PRINTER.indd 1 1/13/16 12:12 PM great comic book artists can pull off that kind of storytelling. I think I’m sort of rubbish at telling stories. It’s weird, because I can talk a lot—a lot a lot—but when it comes to my pencils and inks, my stories have this tendency to lose their way. Grady says it’s natural with an illustrator’s brain; I see imagery in eye-bursting color, not “linear narratives,” as he once put it. I don’t know. I think, in truth, I’m just sucky at piecing together the right details. If I were to start this story with the most important detail of all? It would probably be something about the end of the world. But honestly, at this point, the apocalypse and whatnot is just a passing footnote. My story—my perfect, paused moment—begins much earlier than that. It begins with a house. And it begins with two boys. 2 Cinnamon Girl_int_PRINTER.indd 2 1/13/16 12:12 PM Cinnamon Girl_int_PRINTER.indd 3 1/13/16 12:12 PM Danish…$5.00 Macaron...$3.50 Strudel…$5.00 Quinoa…$3.50 Lemon slice….. $4.50 Cherry slice...$4.50 Caramel slice…$4.00 Scone…$4.50 Brownie…$5.00 Cupcake...$4.00 Cinnamon Girl_int_PRINTER.indd 4 1/13/16 12:12 PM Chapter 1 he house is one story with chipped white weatherboard, and stands on the edge of a dusty road. It’s set on stilts, unusual forT around here, with a rickety staircase leading to the entrance. French doors open onto a veranda, which is dappled by eucalyptus and crammed with tables. In my sketchpad, I’ve always managed Strudel…$5.00 to make the house look adorable in an Oklahoma! meets Smallville Quinoa…$3.50 sort of way. In reality? It kind of looks like it should be harboring survivalists hoarding Spam and loo paper and stuff. But it’s beautiful. And it’s my favorite place in the universe. A neon sign hanging above the trellis reads Albany’s. That Albany refers to my mum, Angela, but I am an Albany also. On my many school participation awards I’m officially Sarah Jane Albany, though everyone in Eden Valley—almost all three- hundredish of them—has called me Alba since I was old enough to crawl. And if I have been Alba since before I could walk, Domenic Grady has been my best friend since eons before then. No telling of this story would be possible without a boy. Or, in my case, two. But I promise—it isn’t what you think. Cinnamon Girl_int_PRINTER.indd 5 1/13/16 12:12 PM Grady is beautiful, in that way only a certain type of boy can be. He’d be pissed if he heard me saying this, because I promised him I’d stop—but he’s just so pretty. He has peachy skin and big doe eyes, and the softest curls I’ve ever seen on a boy. Grady is relevant to this story. I’ll get to him in a minute. Albany’s is my mum’s bakery. We bake cakes and bread and the most wicked apple strudel this side of Melbourne. Technically the house belongs to Grady’s mum, Cleo, but after Mr. Grady took off when Grady and I were five, Cleo handed the keys over and left us to it. Cleo is Mum’s best friend. Hence, Grady was destined to be my bestie since we were, like, fetuses. The living space that has been my home since forever sits behind the converted kitchen, and faces the Palmers’ dairy farm. Now—before you start thinking that this is the story of some waify, sun-kissed country girl—get this straight. I am so not that girl. I have dark hair, and darker eyes, and did you hear me mention that I live in a bakery? Like, literally. I sleep in a fog of cinnamon and vanilla, and spend most mornings elbow-deep in pastries and pie. And, um—I tend to eat a lot of it. I am okay with this. I’ve never glued my face on a supermodel’s body while weeping into a tub of ice cream. I have curves, and boobs, and no one I know has a problem with either. There were fourteen people in my year-twelve class, and believe me, if boobs of any kind were waved in their direction, it’d be cause for joy and celebration. Well, for the boys at least. Maybe one of the girls. My boobs are irrelevant to this story. 6 Cinnamon Girl_int_PRINTER.indd 6 1/13/16 12:12 PM I’m drifting. I should decide on a relevant detail. Okay. Best friend. Apocalypse. Stories can have a multitude of false starts. In comic books, the first frames can take you any place, via anyone in the story’s universe. But I guess most stories only start when you place yourself in them, right? Well, mine starts when Domenic Grady bursts into Albany’s one sweltering Sunday, waving his iPad in his hand, and says: “Alba! Have you seen this?” He weaves through our sweaty customers and hoists himself onto a counter stool, dropping his sports bag and grabbing a biscotti from one of the cake stands. Grady has forever been all arms and buzziness and the desire to do five bazillion things at once. If he were a comic book character, he’d need his own signature entrance sound effect, like aBazoing! or Bamf! or something. Today he’s in his standard uniform: gray jeans, Vans, and a navy Threadless T-shirt that says Zombie Outbreak Response Team on it. Grady plays basketball on Sundays. He catches the bus to Merindale Creek, our closest town, almost a two-hour round trip away. Which means his hair is freshly washed, which means his dark curls would be extra soft atop his lanky frame, if they weren’t shoved under a baseball cap. I’m making Mr. and Mrs. Palmer their Sunday cappuccinos, and Grady’s flusteriness has almost made me upend coffee all over my new swing dress. I hand the coffees to Paulette, our waitress, and I cross my arms and attempt a frown. 7 Cinnamon Girl_int_PRINTER.indd 7 1/13/16 12:12 PM “Good morning, Grady. Was there something you wanted to share?” “I thought I established that with my dramatic entrance,” he says through a mouthful of biscotti. “And don’t look at me like that, Alba. You can’t pull off cross-face.” I stick my tongue out at him, and he sticks his right back, then he plants his iPad on the counter.