Excerpt

Author bio:

William Van Winkle decided he wanted to be a professional writer in 1980, when he was a little nerd addicted to Star Wars and Cosmos. He hasn't stopped writing since, although some wish he would, if only to come down for dinner. Along the way, he helped raise four kids with his lovely and much more capable wife. Those kids inspired him to write the Winston Chase series. Two were even kind enough to read it.

William has been a full-time journalist and content freelancer in the tech industry since the 1990s. He enjoys world history, travel, clever TV shows, and playing guitar very badly.

Book description:

Winston Chase is fourteen, bright, and lanky. He's a latchkey kid with a hard-working mom and an oddball best friend. Winston cares about two things: winning the upcoming robotics competition and finding the courage to speak a complete sentence — practically any sentence will do — to his crush. Both desires are suddenly derailed when he discovers three things:

1. He's half alien.

2. He must run hard and stay at least one step ahead of the government goons chasing him.

3. The key to finding out who Winston really is likely waits at the end of a time-jumping trail of clues left by his long-gone father. Failure to solve those clues could hand control of the world to the one man who would love to see Winston and his family suffer forever.

If you love action, discovery, fun, and loads of snark, this all-ages buddy adventure delivers!

Review snippets:

•"What a great book! The pace is exciting and made me want to keep reading to find out what would happen next."

•"[The author] did a marvelous job creating characters that come to life. His wit and clever modern references will make you laugh out loud while sitting on the edge of our seat. … I have started reading this to my class, and they are hooked."

•"It was very inventive. ... A big secret, many perils, foes, and unlikely heroes [all] sparking the imagination."

•"Such a unique story. … I have come late in life to the science fiction genre, but probably because there was not a fabulous book like this, where I could relate to the characters, when I was young."

•"This book wasn't anything that I thought it would be, it was better."

Link:

www.williamvanwinkle.com

Twitter:

@WilliamVWrites

Sample:

Winston didn't know if anyone was really watching him. Maybe he was just paranoid. No one talked to him except Shade, who hummed along merrily while soaping himself. Winston only hoped there was some protective aura cast by Shade that would last throughout the day. As for tomorrow…he didn't want to think about that.

Winston always left his towel hanging on the waist-high tiled wall separating the showers from the rest of the locker room. That way, it was within easy reach to throw around his waist as soon as he rinsed off. Not today, though. No sooner had Winston dried his face than he saw his towel had vanished.

He glanced around. The showers were dimly lit with recessed, yellow bulbs, and steam offered only a bit of obscurity. No one glanced at him, but no towel was visible anywhere. Shade still had soap all over his face.

Trying for a tired sigh, Winston walked carefully around the tile partition, resisting the urge to hunch over and wrap his arms around himself. He searched the towel racks for a spare. There were none. Either he could air dry or walk all the way across the locker room to the used towel bin by the exit.

There was a third choice. He ducked into the locker aisle where he and Shade had adjacent bins. Quickly, he started to dial in the combination on Shade's padlock. Shade was funny about his towels and always preferred to use his own. Pale gray and practically big as a door, it featured the blue star of the Dallas Cowboys. Shade probably wouldn't mind just this once.

Winston's fingers fumbled on the last number, and he had to spin the dial around and around to reset it. He leaned over more, getting closer to the lock, and started again.

Crack!

A noise like a firecracker going off ripped through the cement room, and Winston felt as if he'd been shot in the right buttock. He reeled forward. His chest bashed with a loud clatter into the locker bins, and he cried out in pain. One hand flew to his butt, feeling for injury. He half expected it to come away wet with blood, but there was none.

Laughter erupted. Winston saw Brian Steinhoff, still wearing his gym clothes, walk past the aisle, one twirled white towel still dangling from his hand. There was a large "oops!" expression on his face. Rory Davis, one of Steinhoff's favorite cronies, followed close behind.

Then Rory stopped, and the laughter died on his lips. He stared at Winston's rear.

Shade appeared from behind Rory and shoved him none too gently aside.

"Beat it, jerks!" Shade called after them.

Shade turned back to Winston. "Please tell me you're not going to use my…"

Then his words failed, too, and he gawked at Winston's butt. His lips parted, but nothing came out except "uhhh."

Winston looked down. In the spot where Steinhoff's towel whip had snapped Winston, the blue was so intense that it was nearly white. From this center, it radiated outward in a fading pattern. The roughly circular glow was two or three inches in diameter and still growing.

Too shocked to think about the sting or his embarrassment, Winston tried to cover the area with his hand. The sapphire glow showed plainly around his palm and between his fingers. This was not like any injury he'd experienced before. Whatever caused his regular bruising had suddenly jumped to a terrifying new level.

"Winston," breathed Shade, still dripping and buck naked. "Your butt is blue."

The murmur of other boys climbed from whispers into audible amazement.

"I know!" exclaimed Winston. "I don't—! It's never—!"

Beyond Shade, he saw that Rory had returned with a cell phone and was fumbling with it, likely trying to turn on the camera app. Steinhoff elbowed Rory in the side, urging him to go faster.

"Can we talk about this later?" hissed Winston. "I could use your towel — and less attention!"

Half-coming out of his daze, Shade turned and saw the others watching. "Back off!" he said, waving his arms and stomping at them. In eighth grade, no boy argues with an angry, sopping-wet, buck-naked footballer. The crowd, including Rory and Steinhoff, quickly dispersed.

Winston had the combination right this time. He pulled the lock away and wrenched the bin open. Reaching inside, he yanked the towel out and threw it around his waist, sending a T-shirt and socks flying.

"Do not get your junk on the star," said Shade.

Winston bit his lip and looked about, searching for anyone still trying to spy on him. He chanced another peek at his injury. The skin glowed brightly enough to cast a soft glow through the towel.

"What is that?" asked Shade.

"I don't know!" whispered Winston. "You know that blue I get around cuts or whatever. But this—! I always thought it was bruising or something!"

"That's not blood, Winston. That's…"

Shade scanned from Winston's butt up to his face. His eyes grew wider. "Oh, wow."

"What?"

Shade absently grasped the hair above his ear. "Oh. Wow."

"What?!"

Gradually, a grin spread across Shade's features. He took another step closer to Winston. "It's true. I knew it."

"For the—" Winston wanted to scream at him. "You knew what?"

Shade pointed at the gray star, which happened to be covering the glowing miracle underneath. "Winston." His voice dropped so low that Winston could barely hear him. "I always wondered, but this confirms it. That feeling thing you do with gadgets. Your math brain."

"You're in the same class," Winston interrupted.

"Because of you — and you never study!" He ticked more points off on his fingers. "Your running speed. You never get sick."

"Mom makes me take vitamins."

"The way streetlights turn off sometimes when you go under them."

"No, that's your—" Winston groped for the phrase and found it. "—subjective bias. That happens to everyone."

"And those stripes in your hair. Dude. You're not human. You're like…an X-Men mutant."

"I am not a mutant!"

"You are. Or if not, then…" His eyes widened with reverence. "Then my best friend is an alien. That is so…" He exhaled the word with ultimate pride. "…awesome!"