Labor of Love by Rachel Hawthorne

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Children's Literature

Fans of Meg Cabot's YA novels will enjoy this narrative novel about rebuilding and learning to trust. Dawn, a broken-hearted teenager, spends her summer volunteering with friends to rebuild homes destroyed after a hurricane in New Orleans. There she meets Brady, a college student and fellow volunteer, but is torn by her feelings of betrayal from her recent breakup. She struggles to trust her heart to overcome the past. Hawthorne's writing is full of strong dialogue and true-to-life themes that teen readers will identify with, which push the plot forward. Some pop culture/technology references make this current work feel dated (such as Myspace instead of Facebook), but the narrator's strong voice is funny, down to earth, and real, and overcomes this minor detail. Hawthorne also accurately paints the Big Easy complete with beignets, a vampire tour and Bourbon Street beads. A fun, light read for both reluctant and voracious readers. Reviewer: Elizabeth Sulock

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Chapter One

"I see a spectacular sunrise."

An icy shiver skittered up my spine, and the fine hairs on the nape of my neck prickled. I know my reaction seemed a little extreme, but . . .

When Jenna, Amber, and I walked into the psychic's shop, we didn't tell her our names. So Saraphina had no way of knowing my name is Dawn Delaney.

Sunrise . . . dawn? See what I mean? It was just a little too spooky. It didn't help that I thought I saw ghostly apparitions in the smoky spirals coming from the sharply scented incense that was smoldering around us.

Although I certainly didn't mind that the psychic considered me spectacular. If the sunrise she mentioned was really referring to me—and not the sun coming up over the Mississippi River. Her words were vague enough that they could apply to anything or nothing.

I'd never had a psychic reading before, so I wasn't quite sure how it all worked. I was excited about discovering what was going to happen, but also a little nervous. Did I really want to know what was in my future?

My hands rested on top of hers, our palms touching. Her eyes were closed. I figured that she was trying to channel whatever it was that psychics channeled. I'd expected the psychic to be hunched over and old—wrinkled, gray, maybe with warts. But Saraphina didn't look much older than we were. Her bright red hair was barely visible at the edges of her green turban. She wore a flowing green caftan and an assortment of bright, beaded necklaces. Her colorful bracelets jangled as she took a firmer grip on my hands and squeezed gently, almost massaging my fingers.

"I see a very messy place. Broken. Boards and shingles and . . . things hidden," Saraphina said in a soft, dreamy voice that seemed to float around us.

Okay, her words calmed my racing heart a little. We were in New Orleans, after all. I didn't need a psychic to tell me that areas of it were still messy, even a few years after some major hurricanes had left their marks.

"I hear hammering," she continued. "You're trying to rebuild something. But be careful with the tools. You might get distracted and hurt yourself—more than hitting your thumb with a hammer. You could get very badly hurt. And worse, you could hurt others."

Not exactly what I wanted to hear. I wasn't even sure if I truly believed in the ability to see into the future, but I was intrigued by the possibility.

If you knew the future, should you accept it or try to change it?

"Lots of people are around," she said. "It's hot and dirty. There's a guy . . . a red and white baseball cap. The cap has a logo on it. Chiefs. Kansas City Chiefs. I don't get a name, but he has a nice smile."

I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

For Jenna, Saraphina had seen "fire that doesn't burn." The fire part sounded scary, but the not burning was just confusing. And that she saw her at a fair, or something equally mystifying. Jenna's brow was still furrowed, and I knew she was trying to figure it out. She didn't like unsolved mysteries. She couldn't pass a sudoku puzzle without stopping to fill in the empty boxes.

But a nice smile I could live with, as long as that was all he offered, because I was taking a summer sabbatical from guys.

Amber, skeptic that she is about all things supernatural, had tried to mess with Saraphina. She'd been the first one daring enough to ask for a reading. When Saraphina had touched Amber's palm, she'd said she saw color. We'd all been weirded out, amber being a color and all.

Then Amber had asked if she'd find love this summer. Since Saraphina's eyes were closed, Amber had winked at Jenna and me, because she has a boyfriend back home. She's been crazy in love with Chad ever since winter break when they first started going out. He's the first boyfriend she's ever had, and she's been a little obsessive about being with him as much as possible. Quite honestly, I was surprised that she'd come to New Orleans with us, leaving Chad back home in Texas. Glad, but surprised.

Saraphina had said, "Not this summer."

Amber had rolled her eyes and mouthed, "See, I told you. Bullsh—"

"But college . . . one better than you already have," Saraphina finished.

That had been just a little too woooo-woooo and had pretty much shut Amber up. Once Saraphina released her hands, Amber started gnawing on her thumbnail. And she was still at it. She had a habit of worrying about things and expecting the worst.

Now, it got really quiet, and Saraphina was so still that it was eerie. How could a person be that still? Was she in a trance?

Sitting on either side of me, Amber and Jenna didn't seem to be breathing. Neither was I. Was Saraphina seeing something horrible? Was she debating whether or not to tell me?

With a huge sigh, as though she'd just finished pushing a heavy boulder up a huge hill, Saraphina released my hands and opened her eyes. They'd creeped me out at first, because one was blue and one was brown. But once I got used to them, I realized they somehow belonged together—with her face. With her. It just seemed like a psychic kind of thing.

"I see nothing else," she said.

Although she didn't look old, she seemed ancient. I think she had what my grandmother refers to as "old soul eyes."

"Oh, okay," I said, wiping my damp palms on my shorts. "Thanks."

"My pleasure."

Maybe she was older than I thought, because she also sort of sounded like my grandmother.

"If you know something really awful is going to happen, you'd tell us, right?" Jenna asked.