Ever since reading THE FOREST OF HANDS and TEETH by Carrie Ryan and watching The Walking Dead on AMC, I’ve been a HUGE fan of zombies! I can’t get enough of these scary and twisted stories. Some are downright spooky! BAD TASTE IN BOYS by debut author Carrie Harris sounds deliciously funny and creepy. And just look at that cover! Yummy! I can’t wait until the book comes out on July 12th!
I’m very excited to interview, Kate Grable, the protagonist of BAD TASTE IN BOYS. She’s quirky, funny and charming!
BAD TASTE IN BOYS
By: Carrie Harris
Publisher: Delacorte Books for Young Readers
Formats: Hardcover and Electronic
Published Date: July 12, 2011
Pages: 208
Genre: Paranormal
Age Group: Young Adult +
Pre-Order BAD TASTE IN BOYS at: Amazon | B&N | TBD | IB
Publisher’s Synopsis: Someone’s been a very bad zombie.
Kate Grable is horrified to find out that the football coach has given the team steroids. Worse yet, the steriods are having an unexpected effect, turning hot gridiron hunks into mindless flesh-eating zombies. No one is safe–not her cute crush Aaron, not her dorky brother, Jonah . . . not even Kate!
She’s got to find an antidote–before her entire high school ends up eating each other. So Kate, her best girlfriend, Rocky, and Aaron stage a frantic battle to save their town . . . and stay hormonally human.
Carrie Harris is a geek-of-all-trades and proud of it. Brains are her specialty; she used to work at a lab where they were delivered daily via FedEx. After that, it seemed only natural to write a zombie book. Now she lives in Michigan with her ninja-doctor husband and three zombie-obsessed children.
So Kate tell me…
Well, my parents aren’t home. Dad is a rocket scientist, and he’s developing this new propulsion system, and sometimes he sleeps at his lab. Don’t ask him about it, because he’ll tell you way more than you want to know. And my mom’s in Germany, teaching astrophysics to…well, Germans, I assume. So even though it’s almost 10, the house is full of my brother Jonah’s friends, and they’re all screaming and yelling and chasing each other around the house with swords made out of PVC. Which explains why I’m holed up in my bedroom answering interview questions instead of doing something normal. Like sleeping.
I never make it before it goes to voice mail. And really, I don’t answer my phone anymore anyway. Once you’ve cured the zombie virus, you attract a lot of wackos, and they call you in the middle of the night to babble about secret government conspiracies, and then they offer to make you protective suits out of tinfoil. I’m not sure what they think tinfoil is going to do against a zombie, but the guy was very insistent. I changed my number and quit answering after that. All my friends text me anyway.
Well, there’s the drawer where I keep all my epilepsy meds, and another drawer full of highlighters. I love highlighters. Highlighting things gives me this funky zen kind of feeling. When I’m stressed, I don’t meditate. I highlight.
I feel kind of stupid admitting that in public, but I figure everyone already knows what an uber geek I am by now. I looked like such a dork when I was on CNN.
Do zombies count? Actually, I’m not really phobic about them, so I guess not. But I do have this thing about white porcelain. When he was a kid, Jonah used to lick the toilets in public restrooms, which is probably the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. I still have traumatic flashbacks every time I have to clean the bathroom.
HAH! I’m the class brain, remember? I’ve actually been stuffed in a mailbox. I’m not the kind of girl who goes out on dates much, which I’m okay with. I’d rather have one spectacular date than a hundred that are meh. And Aaron Kingsman is supposed to take me to Homecoming, which is pretty pinch-worthy. Everybody goes crazy over him because he’s cute, and he’s the quarterback and stuff, but I’m into him for his brains.
Mostly.
Heck no! I’m the student trainer for the varsity football team. And our guys are such klutzes that they’ve actually been known to require medical attention before they even get out on the field. I’ve seen way more than I want to. Seriously. My nightmares are full of towel-clad football players running around, yelling “DUDE!” and smacking each other on the butt. I still don’t understand why they do that. Do you?
Nobody!
Here’s my logic—if it was one of my friends, it would mean bad news. They’re not going to come over and knock on my window if it’s not an emergency, right? And while I’m happy to help in an emergency, I’d rather just avoid them in the first place. And if it’s Aaron, one look at me is going to scare him off. Who wants to make out with a blurry-eyed, crazy-hair, sleep-mumbly, furry-teethed person? Nobody I’d want to make out with! I’d much rather have him knock at my window at a more reasonable time, when I’m dressed and have had the time to defrizz my hair. I need all the aesthetic help I can get.
I refuse to talk about my moronic Mike moment any more than I already have. But if you really want to know, it’s all in my biography. Let’s just say that when they say I have bad taste in boys, they really mean it. For a genius, I really am an idiot!
Thanks, Kate!
