#FirstPage with @AlterKates and @HarlequinTEEN

Thanks for checking out this weeks First Page Tuesday!  This week we have a book that I was currently reading at the time I wrote this.  Man this book has one epic start and even better finish.  I heard from the author that she wanted to make it even darker and man I think it would have been totally beyond epic if they would have allowed her. Things like this are things that our teens need to know about because, these are the situations that they have to deal with in our world today.  

  A brutally honest, uncompromising story about a teen girl who decides to take matters into her own hands.

It's senior year, and Hadley and her best friend, Magda, should be starting the year together. Instead, Magda is dead and Hadley is alone. Raped at a party the year before and humiliated, Magda was driven to take her own life and Hadley is forced to see her friend's attackers in the classroom every day. Devastated, enraged and needing an outlet for her grief, Hadley decides to get a little justice of her own.

Donning a pink ski mask and fueled by anger, Hadley goes after each of the guys one by one, planning to strip them of their dignity and social status the way they did to Magda. As the legend of the pink-masked Vigilante begins to take on a life of its own, Hadley's revenge takes a turn for the dangerous. Could her need for vengeance lead her down a path she can't turn back from? 

Kady Cross, publishing under various names, is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than twenty books, including Harlequin TEEN's Steampunk Chronicles. She is lucky enough to have a husband who shares her love for the slightly twisted and all things geek, and a houseful of cats with whom she shares her darkest secrets. Her love of books and makeup borders on addiction—of which she never, ever wants to be cured. Visit her on the web at www.alterkate.com or on Twitter: @AlterKates.

Chapter 1

Before 

Someone has written slut on Magda's locker again. I watched her try to scrape it off with the zipper of her makeup bag. Last time she'd cried, but there weren't any tears in her dark eyes this time, and instead of being flushed, her cheeks were actually pale. They were getting to her, I realized. Wearing her down. 

I pulled a Sharpie from my bag, walked up beside her and changed the u to an a and added an e at the end. "Slate?" she asked.  "Sure," I said, my mind frantically reaching for an explanation that might please her. "As in clean." 

Her face darkened. "I'm not the one who got a clean slate. They did." But she didn't go back to scraping. I didn't know what to do. It seemed like I couldn't do anything right lately. I hadn't since the night my best friend was raped and images of it uploaded to the internet. 

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