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Zusatztext 91219790 Informationen zum Autor Akemi Dawn Bowman is a critically acclaimed author who writes across genres. Her novels have received multiple accolades and award nominations, and her debut novel, Starfish, was a William C. Morris Award Finalist. She has a BA in social sciences from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, and currently lives in Scotland with her husband and two children. She overthinks everything, including this bio. Visit Akemi online at AkemiDawnBowman.com, or on Instagram @AkemiDawnBowman. Klappentext After her sister and songwriting partner, Lea, dies in an automobile accident, seventeen-year-old Rumi is sent to Hawaii with an aunt she barely knows while she and her mother grieve separately. Leseprobe Summer Bird Blue CHAPTER ONE Summer.” “Bird.” “Blue.” Lea’s face lights up like every star in the sky just turned on at once. “I love it.” Mom looks over her shoulder, the arch in her brow a mix of curiosity and amusement. She’s heard us play this game a thousand times, but she still doesn’t fully understand it. I don’t blame her. Most people think Lea and I are two of the weirdest people in the universe when we’re writing songs. “What does a bird have to do with summer or blue?” Mom asks. Lea and I speak at the exact same time, our voices colliding against each other’s like cymbals. “It doesn’t have to make sense.” “You’re interrupting our vibe.” Mom laughs. Her eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “I think ‘black’ would’ve given you more options. Shama thrush are beautiful songbirds, you know.” I glance at Lea and make a face. “What is she talking about?” I whisper. “No idea,” Lea whispers back. “I think she’s just making up words.” Mom lets out a mock groan. “Fine. I’ll just sit here quietly, the unpaid taxi driver whose daughters won’t talk to her.” I laugh. Lea leans forward and plants a kiss on Mom’s freckled cheek, their faces blending together like a blur of bronze skin and curls the color of burnt coffee. My hair isn’t wild like theirs—it’s long and straight, probably because I’m not wild at all. They’re the ones who go on all the roller coasters, sing in public, and dance to every song on the radio. I’m more of a sideline kind of girl. I live vicariously through them. Mom tilts her head back and purses her lips. “What about you, Rumi? Got a kiss for your mom?” “I’m good,” I say, rolling my eyes as Lea settles back next to me. It’s not that I don’t love my mother, but I’m not really the affectionate type. I’d blame it on the fact that I’m going to be a senior this fall, but Lea is going to be a sophomore and she still hasn’t outgrown Mom’s hugs. Maybe it’s because Lea is a way nicer person than I am. It makes sense—she’s a giggler. And people who giggle are either incredibly annoying or so over-the-top nice you feel obligated to forgive them for it. There’s nobody in the world who would call Lea annoying. Not even me, and I’m usually annoyed by most things with faces. Mom lets out a gentle sigh. “I’ll try not to take it personally.” You know how some people have resting bitch face? I have relaxed jerk voice. Lea insists this is a real thing. She says I always sound like I’m barking instead of talking. So to compensate, I use the sandwich method. A compliment, followed by my real thoughts, followed by a compliment. It was Lea’s idea I sarcastically agreed to go along with, but for some reason it’s kind of stuck. “Your hair smells like flowers. Kissing makes me feel like you’re violating my ...
