Gina Damico - Scorch

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Copyright 2012 by Gina Damico

Map illustration copyright 2012 by Seymour Chwast

All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

Graphia and the Graphia logo are trademarks of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

www.hmhbooks.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Damico, Gina.

Scorch / by Gina Damico.

p. cm.

Summary: Sixteen-year-old grim reaper Lex Bartleby tries to redeem herself among her fellow Grims by finding a renegade reaper who is indiscriminately damning souls.

ISBN 978-0-547-62457-0 (pbk.)

[1. DeathFiction. 2. Future lifeFiction. 3. Humorous stories.] I. Title.

PZ7.D1838Sco 2012

[Fic]dc23

2012014799

eISBN 978-0-547-92782-4
v1.0912

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To Will, who added an exclamation point.

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Go ahead and die laughing, knowing that the safe transport of your mortal soul will be the summer job of a sweetheart teen with godlike power and discipline problems. A lot of books
make me wish I could live within their pages, but I wouldnt mind dying in this one.Adam Rex, author of Fat Vampire

Creepy and hilarious.VOYA, 4Q, 5P

Funny and fresh.... Fantasy fans who like their tales gritty and filled with irreverent humor will be eager for the follow-up.
Kirkus Reviews

The morbid subject matter is kept in check by entertaining characters, clever twists, and a sly, self-aware sense of humor.
Publishers Weekly

Damico nicely balances the grim subject matter with a heavy dose of humor.... An intricate and imaginative construction of the afterlife that is as amusing as it is unique.The Bulletin

Teens looking for something new will find this scythe-swinging debut novel to die for.... [A] wacky, highly entertaining new series.Booklist

Creative details, sarcastic humor, and quick-witted dialogue makes Croak rise above other stories of its type.SLJ

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I must once again give much love to my agent, Tina Wexler, who is not only an inspiration, cheerleader, and all-around great person, but who also gets very angry and threatens to disown me when bad stuff happens to my characters, which just goes to show how much she cares. And much love to my editor, Julie Tibbott, as well, for her continued awesomeness and advice on how to make a better book, and also for not disowning me when I threw hot apple cider at her.

Thank you to the team at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt: Jenny Groves, Carol Chu, Jen LaBracio, Peter Bohan, Mary Huot, Sarah Sherman, and Maxine Bartow. You all deserve a ticker-tape parade, and I will get right on that as soon as I figure out how to rent out Fifth Avenue.

Thanks to my family, for their continued love and support, and to my extended family, for the polite yet baffled smiles they give me when I tell them what my books are about. Also to my friends, whose generous understanding that I couldnt possibly come to your party, I have a book to write... is much appreciated.

Id also like to give a shout-out to the faculty of my high school, CBA, especially Eugene Moretti and Bob Caraher. Thank you so much for inspiring creativity among those of us who ran screaming from baseballs and other deadly athletic projectiles.

To the awesomesauce YA community, especially all you tireless bloggers and librarians out therekeep doing what youre doing! Dont stop believin! Save a horse, ride a cowboy! And so forth. Plus a very special thanks to the Apocalypsies, an outstanding group of debut authors I forgot to thank in my first book, which I do believe is a federal crime and should land me in prison. They are wonderful writers and even more wonderful people, and their support has been invaluable. You should read all of their books.

More heaping thanks to Melissa Carubia, John Fraley, Brendan Mulhern, and Dave Green for their musical devilry, and to MST3K, ABCs old TGIF lineup, mayonnaise, and that cool website that can map out distances between random places, without which an entire chapter of this book would not exist.

To Will, the ole husband, for not only being generally amazing but also for making our house livable and putting up curtains and topping our Christmas tree with a sombrero, all while his useless wife does nothing but type and stare off into space and leave dirty mugs all over the place.

And finally, thanks once again to you, dear readers, for picking up this book. It was quite brave of you, seeing as how the pages are coated with POISON. Enjoy!

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Carl Scutner wondered, for a brief moment, what it would feel like to punt his wife off a cliff.

Would you shut up in there? he yelled from the sofa. Between the noisy construction crew down the street, the whimpers coming from the dog cage that sat in the corner, and the pots and pans his wife was banging around in the kitchen, the baseball game on television had become nearly inaudible. Jesus Christ, I cant hear myself think!

Lydia appeared at the kitchen doorway. Like theres anything worth hearing in that so-called brain of yours.

Woman, I swear to God...

Here. She handed him a fresh beer and sat on the edge of a hideous orange chair, its matted fabric dingy and stained. Cubs losing?

Carl let out a belch. As usual.

Lydia looked down. Crumpled fast food wrappers littered the floor. A glob of ketchup had leaked onto the carpet. As the construction noises down the street grew louder, so too did the whimpers from the cage. She glanced at the telephone, then couldnt stop staring at it. Her breaths became shallow.

They havent called, Carl.

He took a drag from his cigarette. Theyll call.

You always say that. Youre not always right.

Lydia. Theyll call.

They better, she said, wringing her hands. I dont want to do that again.

Its up to them, not us. You know that.

Lydia picked through her mousy hair with a trembling hand. She shot a resentful glance at her husband and his ever-expanding beer gut, then sniffed the air. It smells like shit in here.

It is shit.

Lydia looked at the dog cage, into the big brown eyes staring back at her. Maybe we should let him out for a little while.

Are you kidding me? The last one got halfway down the driveway before I caught him. He took a swig of beer. Youre getting sloppy.

Im just She stopped and looked around. Did you hear that?

Hear what?

She listened. I thought maybethe back door

Alarm systems on. He stubbed out his cigarette on the arm of the sofa. Would you knock it off? You should be used to this by now.

Unnerved, Lydia grabbed his empty beer bottle and walked into the kitchen. At least let me feed the poor thing.

Carl gestured at the bowl of kibble on the floor. Hes fine. Too fat as he is, if you ask me.

Four things happened next.

The construction crew grew louder, so Carl grabbed the remote and turned up the volume as high as it could go. This just so happened to coincide with a home run, which prompted Carl to let loose with a torrent of obscenities.