Am I wearing underwear?

I ripped out the first chapter from my book, threw it off the deck, into the wind. 

Ok, it's in the recycling. You know what I mean.

Here, in all it's non-glory, is the new first page of Smart Mouth, a fiction novel by Holly Lorincz.

Let me know what you think. 

CHAPTER ONE (excerpt)

Am I wearing underwear?

A clear image of her old standby’s floated into her pulsing, headachy vision. Pilled white cotton, weak elastic around the legs, sliding over morning gooseflesh . . .

Thank God, thought Addison Taylor.

The twenty-three-year old lay on her back, cheap tweed skirt flipped over her head, an airless straight jacket. Rough material brushed across her teeth, the strong stink of mothballs awakened by her saliva. The office chair’s wheels spun in the air next to her prostrate body. She heard a dying beast’s whirring cry, warning its young of approaching human asses.

Ouch, she thought. My head.

Nine seconds ago, Addy’s ass had grazed the seat; the chair bucked and tipped, ejecting the young woman onto the ceramic tiles behind her desk, just missing the rubber floor mat. Twisting, arms pinned, she used her chin to inch down the skirt, freeing first her green eyes, then a freckled nose, her long, wavy, honey-stained hair bursting into frizz with the static electricity.

Why me? Was I a murdering, incestuous prostitute in my last life?

The classroom door snapped open. Brisk steps quickened her heartbeat, stopped her wind-milling legs. She turned her head, cringed. A gap between the floor and the back panel of the desk revealed a well-oiled pair of men’s black dress shoes.

“Mrs. Taylor?” A pleasant male voice rolled through the room. Troy Ford, her boss.

If I answer, he’ll see my Goodwill panties. If I don’t, a herd of fourteen-year-olds will show up and capture this on their cell phones.

Her silence didn’t matter. A cleft chin filled the air above her desk, followed by gladiator cheekbones and water-blue eyes. Vice-Principal Ford, cartoon handsome, placed his fists on the desktop and leaned over, quirking an eyebrow. “Mrs. Taylor.”

Well, of course. It couldn’t be the ugly old guy from next door, now could it?

The administrator stepped around the desk. “Let me help.” He managed to sound condescending and polite while crouching his long, lithe body close to hers, grasping her arms and heaving her to her feet like she was a first aid dummy. His superior facial features twitched but did not break.

            “I see you’ve encountered The Chair.”