Deleted and Bonus Scenes
A Quick Note
Bonus scenes were scenes written after (or sometimes during) the books for blog events or for my own amusement.
Deleted scenes are scenes that were originally present in the books but that ended up getting cut (usually because they slowed the pace or because another change made them obsolete).
None of the bonus or deleted scenes have crossed the desks of proofreaders or copy editors. There may be some typos or grammatical errors.
There are likely some small spoilers for those who haven’t read Hemlock.
The Last Spring Break
As the only have not in a group of haves, spring break can be a minefield for Mackenzie Dobson. The following is a short bonus scene which takes place shortly before the book opens. It was written for the Spring Break blog event on Book Sp(l)ot Reviews
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” Amy sighed dramatically and flopped onto my bed, completely oblivious to the pile of pre-break homework she sent scattering to the floor. “You know the whole week is going to suck without you there.”
I glanced up from my chem notes. “You’ll be fine. The guys will keep you company.”
Amy sighed. “Not the same.” She held up three fingers. “Give me three good reasons why you can’t go. One?”
“I don’t have the money, and I can’t ask Tess for it.”
“Money isn’t an issue. You know my folks will pay.”
That makes it even more of an issue, I thought. But I didn’t say it. Saying it always made things awkward. It wasn’t Amy’s fault she was rich just like it wasn’t my fault I lived in a cramped apartment with my cousin. It just was.
Amy waited for my response. When I shrugged, she folded one finger down. “Two?”
“You can’t avoid Kyle’s girlfriends forever. This could be a chance to bond.”
I tugged my hair free of its ponytail and combed it out with my fingers. “I don’t avoid all of them. Just the ones who hate me.”
“That is all of them. Though Heather does take it to extremes.” Amy sat up and leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “If you want, I could jump her in the parking lot after school tomorrow.”
I laughed. “And do what? Give her a makeover?” Amy cried when she got paper cuts. The idea of her jumping someone was kind of hilarious.
She mock-scowled. “I could be tough. I’ve read The Outsiders. I think. Maybe I just saw the movie. The point is I could totally take her.”
I shook my head. “I don’t doubt it for a second—but no jumping Heather.”
“Fine. What’s reason number three?”
“I can’t leave Tess alone. Not when there was another attack two nights ago.” I didn’t mean for the words to sound so serious, but they bled every ounce of cheer from the room.
Amy pulled a pillow to her chest. “Okay, that one’s kind of legit. But we don’t leave for another week. Maybe it’ll all blow over by then.”
“So you’ll think about coming?”
I shook my head and Amy whipped the pillow at me. She bit her lip as an uncharacteristically serious expression crossed her face. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you here, either. Especially with all of us going.”
I opened my mouth to tell her I’d be fine, but her phone suddenly went off. Taylor Swift filled the air—a ringtone Amy had assigned to Jason in a fit of sugar-fueled sentimentality.
She slipped out of the room. Two minutes later, she was back. “I’ve gotta go. Apparently, I promised I’d be somewhere an hour ago.”
I grinned. “Considerate.”
She paused in the doorway. “Promise me you’ll at least think about coming?”
“Okay,” I lied.
Three weeks later, I would have given anything to have that moment back, to tell Amy that I’d go—even if it meant swallowing my pride and letting her pay—and to have just five more days with my best friend.
Please note that this excerpt is from a pre-copy edits, electronic file. There may be slight differences between what is posted here and the ARC/final copy.
Scene: Mac & Kyle get ready for Amy’s funeral
Where it took place: Hemlock originally opened with this scene. The black dress Mac is wearing is supposed to mirror the white dress Amy wears at the end of the book.
The borrowed dress required curves and a chest that was bigger than a B cup. Since I had neither, it pooled around my stomach and hips. I tugged on a loose thread, wincing as the fabric puckered.
“I should have bought something,” I muttered. “Amy would never have let me out of the apartment wearing this.”
I watched Kyle in the full-length mirror. He was stretched out on my bed, hands clasped behind his head, staring at the ceiling. His charcoal suit—on loan, just like my dress—looked completely out of place against the pink and purple bedspread. He turned his head and his chestnut-colored hair—badly in need of a cut—fell over his eyes. “You look fine. No one is going to notice.”
Absently, I reached out and trailed my fingers along the mirror’s carved frame, tracing wooden vines and roses. The mirror, like the bedspread, had been a casualty of one of Amy’s redecorating campaigns. “Amy would notice.”
Kyle sighed—a soft, exasperated noise—and went back to staring into space. “Maybe,” he conceded, “but that doesn’t really matter anymore.”
“Please, Mac,” he said, voice so far away he might as well have been on another continent. “Today is going to be hard enough without wondering what Amy would think of the whole thing.”
I focused on my reflection, searching my face for any sign that this was a dream and that I’d wake up. Almost involuntarily, my eyes were drawn to the photo taped to the corner of the mirror: two girls who couldn’t look, or act, less alike. Me with my messy blond ponytail, ruler-straight hips, and a bemused but aloof expression. Amy with her ink-black hair, hourglass figure, and come-hither smile.
I tolerated the camera. She flirted with it. The way she did with everyone and everything.
This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be.
It was just a dream.
If I could think of the next few hours as something I would eventually wake from, I might survive the afternoon.
Scene: Were-junkies at the restaurant
Where it took place: Just before Kyle calls Mac at work.Since the were-junkies didn’t figure prominently in the story and Stacey Keith never appears again, it was decided to cut this scene for pacing reasons. I did always like the idea of the were-junkies, though.
The gunshot-slap of high heels against tile floor snagged my attention as I walked out of the kitchen. Stacey Keith, fellow waitress and gossip queen, hurtled towards me. “You have to take my table.” No preamble. No please. No tact.
Color me suspicious. “Why?” I knew Stacey wouldn’t give me an extra table’s worth of tips out of the goodness of her heart.
She made a face and tossed her red hair over one shoulder. So much for the rule about long hair being tied back. “Look behind you. Table four. They’re were-junkies. I don’t make enough to wait on freaks like that.”
I didn’t bother pointing out that she and I usually averaged the same amount in tips or ask Stacey why she thought I’d be willing wait on a pair of junkies when my best friend had been murdered by a werewolf just five months ago. Other people and their petty considerations did not exist in Stacey Land. “I’m not covering for you. It’s your table.”
She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “witch” and stomped off. One of the older waitresses gave me a sympathetic smile as she passed. Only Stacey would have asked me to go over there.
I turned and watched her take their drink orders. Two guys, both in their twenties. They looked normal, but a lot of the smarter junkies tried to blend in. They must have asked her something about the attacks, something to make Stacey suspicious.
My stomach knotted and I rubbed my suddenly damp palms on my black slacks.
Were-junkies were the only people I hated more than reporters. Over the summer, I’d had my fill of both. At least the reporters were doing their jobs: a werewolf had gone crazy and they’d come to town looking for a byline. The were-junkies were just nuts. They followed rumors and wolf attacks, hoping to get bit. It was sick. If they saw a real werewolf, most of them would probably wet their pants.
After Stacey walked away, one of them took out a map and began circling points on it with a red pen. Yup: definitely junkies. Hemlock had become some sort of holy pilgrimage for them and they always tried to hit every spot connected to the white werewolf that had terrorized the town for months.
The wolf that had killed my best friend.
Scene: Mac and Jason outside her apartment
Where it took place: Just after Mac leaves the restaurant. This scene was cut when the altercation with Trey was added to the end of the first chapter.
Jason pulled a slim bottle from his jacket pocket. “I really don’t feel like a dose of reality right now.”
Did he ever? “I was serious about not cleaning up your puke.”
“I won’t drink enough to get drunk.” He took a swig. “Well, not enough to puke,” he amended. He studied me for a moment, like he was trying to work out a puzzle. “I thought Kyle was picking you up?”
“Something came up.” I rocked back on my heels, not looking Jason in the eye.
“Someone, you mean.”
“Whatever.” I was suddenly very tired. The last thing I wanted was to hear Jason speculate about what Kyle might be doing with Heather. “Can we please go upstairs? If the cops catch you drinking outside…”
“They’ll pick me up and call my father. It’ll be just like that scene from Rebel Without a Cause.”
“Right.” I turned and headed for the steps. “Except it’s not the 1950’s, you don’t have a red jacket, your father wouldn’t come bail you out, and, oh yeah, you’re no James Dean.”