When Time Comes - YA - Sample

[Stephanie Perry Moore]

Below, please find, the prologue and first chapter of my YA time-travel romance and coming-of-age novel, When Time Comes. The prologue offers a glimpse into the pivotal moments and historical eras the protagonist will encounter, while the first chapter establishes her warmth, challenges, and internal struggles. Additionally, it introduces the antagonist and a few key supporting characters, setting the stage for the emotional and transformative journey ahead.

 

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Prologue

 

I’m running in 1780. Bare feet hit the wooden deck of a ship, slick with sea spray and something else smelly—rotting fish, or worse—that I don’t want to think about. The ocean roars around me, crashing against the hull, but all I can hear is the rattle of chains and the hissing breath of the men behind me. No, not men—they’ve got snake-like heads, scales shimmering under the moonlight, their yellow eyes glowing like coals.

I don’t dare look back. I can feel them closing in, their breath hot on my neck, sharp and sour like something burning.

My heart pounds like a drum, trying to break free from my chest. I reach the edge of the ship—nowhere to go but endless, dark water. The spray blinds me, stinging my eyes. Before I can even scream, a wave rises up like a giant, icy hand and swallows me whole.

Cold. The water crushes me, dragging me under. It’s everywhere—up my nose, down my throat. I can’t breathe. I can’t—

I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me. Grass. Tall, thick grass surrounds me now, the air heavy with heat and the faint scent of something burning. 1850. I don’t know how I know, but I do.

Dogs are barking—close, way too close. My legs ache, my muscles screaming as I force myself to keep running, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The woman next to me, her dress torn and dirty, grabs my arm, yanking me forward so hard I nearly fall.

“Don’t stop! You stop, yous dead!” she screams, her voice sharp with fear. Her eyes flash like she knows I’m thinking about slowing down.

The barking grows louder, and now I hear the thundering of hooves. They’re hunting us. I glance back just long enough to see the flicker of torches—men on horseback, charging through the field. The flames lick at the darkness like hungry mouths.

I push harder, my lungs screaming for air, but the dogs are closing in. I can feel their teeth snapping at my heels, hear their growls vibrating in my bones. The woman’s grip slips from my arm, and I stumble—

The ground shifts beneath my feet, and I’m somewhere else. The year is 1958. I know it the moment I feel the earth under my shoes—sneakers, not bare feet this time. I’m running through thick woods, branches slashing at my arms and tearing at my clothes. The trees tower above me, their shadows stretching long and menacing, like they’re alive.

The rumble of trucks echoes through the forest, and I know they’re after me. Headlights cut through the darkness, beams flickering like ghostly hands, clawing at my skin. Men are shouting now, their heavy boots crunching the ground like they’re already marching over me.

I push harder, dodging between trees, my lungs burning. I don’t know why I’m the one they want, but I know what happens if they catch me. The voices grow louder, the headlights brighter.

“Get that nigra girl!” a man shouts.

My stomach twists. I won’t make it. I can feel it—time is running out. A hand grazes my shoulder, and I know—

I wake up.

I shoot upright in bed, gasping for air. My sheets are twisted around me, damp with sweat, and my heart is racing like I’m still being chased. I press a trembling hand to my chest, trying to calm down, but the dream clings to me like a second skin. I can still feel the mushy filth of the slave ship’s floor, still hear the dogs barking on the underground railroad, still see the headlights slicing through the trees during the bus boycott.

I sit there, shaking, staring into the darkness of my room, trying to convince myself it was just a dream. But deep down, I know it wasn’t.

This was something else. Something bigger.

Like my dream was warning me of something coming.

And I am terrified. Because next nightmare, I might not wake up in time.

 

 

Chapter 1

Dream Again

 

“With a gun cocked in his mouth, he had to back down!”

“What?” I blinked, gripping the steering wheel tighter as Sweetness, my rugged, gangbanger boyfriend, repeated himself through the car’s speaker. His voice was low, almost amused, like he wasn’t talking about something terrifying.

Sweetness. He lived up to his name—dark chocolate, smooth and irresistible. Girls joked he was better than a box of candy. At 5′8″, just a touch taller than me, his confidence commanded attention. His energy—wild, unpredictable—wrapped around me like a storm. His reckless laughter and fast living had me hooked, but lately, it felt more like a noose tightening around my neck.

“Dang, dummy. You even listenin’, Skye Blue?” Sweetness’s voice cracked like thunder, jolting me from my thoughts.

I pulled my mom’s Cadillac into a spot at Tea Time, a cozy, upscale restaurant in Covington, Georgia. This place—this moment—was my refuge. Normally, I couldn’t wait to sit across from my grandmother and unravel the knots in my life. Today, though, the weight on my shoulders felt too heavy to unload.

“I was saying, I had a dream last night,” Sweetness continued. “This dude tried to holla at you, so I put my piece in his mouth to shut him up.”

My stomach twisted. I couldn’t do this with him. He was mean. He was crazy, but so was I for staying with him.

It wasn’t just the draining week at my private school, with fake friends and haters dragging me down. It wasn’t just the sleepless nights haunted by a recurring nightmare. It was the suffocating possessiveness in Sweetness’s voice—like my life was his to control. And now, he was fantasizing about violence over something that didn’t even happen.

A beep interrupted him—Jessie, my best friend, calling. Relief washed over me.

“I gotta go. Jessie’s calling, and I’m here. Can’t keep Grandma waiting,” I said, my voice strained but firm.

“Cool,” Sweetness replied, his tone lightening. “Swing by after. We can Netflix and chill like last night.”

I sighed, pressing the button to switch calls, still tripping that he called me “dummy” and wondering if I’d ever feel the same tug toward him again.

“Hey, Jess!” I injected a false lightness into my tone. “What’s up? Can’t talk long.”

I prayed Jessie wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in my voice. If she did, my overly protective friend would dig.

“Thank goodness you answered,” Jessie’s voice came through, laced with concern. “Forget the Walton County Cotillion. After the way they acted, I quit.”

I maneuvered the car into a tight space, careful to keep my hands steady. Reliving the past few days wasn’t on my to-do list. Jessie, with her blonde hair and blue eyes, and me, with my caramel skin and tight curls, made for an unusual pair at our pristine private school. But our bond ran deeper than color. Yesterday had been a harsh reminder that I did not belong.

“I’m sorry,” Jessie said sincerely. “When I forwarded you that text, I had no idea the invite was just for me. It makes me sick to even think about it. My dad’s money wraps circles around theirs, and I can’t believe they treated us like that.”

“They didn’t treat us like that,” I muttered. “They treated me like that. They made it clear they didn’t want people like me at their ball.”

Jessie sighed. “It’s so stupid! I can’t believe this is still happening.”

I just wanted to forget it. The whispers, the sideways glances, the judgment. It clung to me, heavy, like it had seeped into my soul.

In front of what felt like the entire student body, the debutante program director had looked me dead in the eye and said, “This is a private meeting, and your kind isn’t invited.” Her words hit like a slap across the face. The sting sat deep in my chest. I’d barely registered the shocked expressions before I bolted from the room, my footsteps drowned by the storm of tears that followed.

Though their rejection wasn’t my fault, the shame clung to me. I hadn’t told anyone. It was too raw, too humiliating. But last night, wrapped in Sweetness’s arms, I’d found fleeting comfort—one that cost me more than I was ready to admit.

“I’m okay. Really,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “You should still participate. Your mom already has your white gown picked out. You’re going to look beautiful.”

“No way,” Jessie snorted. “I told them I’d never be their debutante with haters like that running the show. Your presence wouldn’t have ruined anything—if anything, it would’ve made it better. And, despite my parents being part of that ridiculous club, we don’t stand with their views. I’m sick this happened to you, Skye.”

Her empathy was appreciated, but it didn’t offer the comfort she probably intended. I didn’t need pity. I needed something bigger—equality. But I’d been walking this line since sixth grade. No one ever invited me to their slumber parties or Country Club cookouts. I was always on the outside, and I thought I had learned to live with it.

But the truth was, deep down, I’d wanted to be part of their world—just once. To twirl in a ball gown and belong. The sting of rejection ran deeper than I wanted to admit, sadness coursing through me like a slow, relentless ache.

“I gotta go,” I said finally, my voice barely a whisper.

“K, but call me back. I’ve got to tell you about Malik.”

I sighed as I ended the call. On top of being denied entry to the cotillion, regretting the moment I lost my virginity, and wanting Jessie to stop messing with Malik—my sister’s boyfriend—I had another problem.

A recurring nightmare had been keeping me up at night, leaving me scared and unsettled. I needed insight, and thankfully, Grandma Gayle—GG—agreed to meet me.

As soon as I stepped inside the restaurant, I spotted GG waiting at our favorite table, tucked near a mural of Victorian ladies lunching. With her light complexion and silver hair, GG could have easily been part of that painting. At sixty-seven, she still exuded grace.

GG and I were closer than two eyes on a face, yet as I approached, a wave of self-consciousness washed over me. I couldn’t help but frown, wondering how much easier life might be if I looked like her or my light-skinned sister, Sunni. My brown skin always made me feel like an outsider.

“Skye, there you are, precious girl,” GG greeted me, her southern accent wrapping around me like a warm hug. She kissed my forehead, and I kissed her soft cheek, savoring the comfort of her embrace.

“Sorry I’m late, GG,” I said, though I was exactly on time. In GG’s world, fifteen minutes early was on time, and on time was late.

“When you called to meet, I was finishing up a doctor’s appointment. Haven’t been waiting long. I ordered our usual,” she said with a gentle smile.

I frowned. “Your doctor?”

She patted my hand. “Relax, baby. My blood pressure’s a little high, but no worries. I’ll rest later.” GG reassured me. “Enough about me. What’s bothering you? You sounded stressed.” She glanced away as our usual waiter, Anthony, approached with our food.

Balancing everything on one tray, Anthony glided over with the grace of a performer. “Good afternoon, ladies! Always nice to see mothers and daughters breaking bread together.” His bright smile was like a magazine ad, his teeth white and straight.

“Stop,” GG said, blushing. “You know that’s my grand… well, don’t stop.”

“Never.” He set down our plates—chicken salad, blueberry muffins, and frozen fruit cups—then winked before disappearing into the crowd.

GG gave the blessing and then leaned in for girl talk. “That Anthony is as tasty as this muffin,” she quipped, taking a playful bite.

I laughed softly. I loved when GG was frisky. Around me, she was always her true self—a fun, loving woman who never judged me for speaking my mind. Still, there were things I wasn’t ready to share, like how much I had given of myself to Sweetness. GG didn’t need to know that.

She glanced up, catching my grin. “Don’t be ‘smizing’ at me,” she teased, using a pop culture term she’d picked up somewhere. “I may be old, but I’m feisty.” Proud of herself, GG took a sip of tea. “I get such a kick out of Anthony. When I was your age, white men didn’t wait on folks like us.”

“I’m glad I didn’t live back then,” I said, still feeling the sting of my own experiences. “But honestly, the girls at my school don’t want to hang out with me now, either.”

GG’s smile faded, her eyes softening with understanding. “So, what’s really got you stressed?” 

“For one, I’m sick of Dad’s constant lectures. It’s like living with a preacher on repeat,” I sighed, frustration bubbling up. “This morning, I was tired, and he started in again: ‘What’s wrong with you, Skye Blue?’” I mimicked his deep Southern drawl. “‘You’re a judge’s daughter, you get the best education, your mother’s been there for you your whole life, your siblings love you, you’ll be getting your own car soon... What is your problem?’”

GG chuckled. “Yup, that’s your father all right. Sterling Blue knows how to lay it on thick.”

“GG,” I began hesitantly, “can I tell you something?”

“Of course, baby. What’s on your mind? Is this about that hothead boyfriend your father’s worried about?”

“No, ma’am. That’s not what I want to talk about,” I said, narrowing my eyes to let her know Dad’s opinions didn’t hold much weight with me. “But... something’s been bothering me.”

GG put down her fork, sensing the shift in my tone. “Baby. What is it?”

I inhaled, unsure how to explain it without sounding crazy. “I’ve been having this repeated nightmare. It’s so bad that I’m afraid to sleep.”

GG’s teacup clattered onto the saucer, tea splashing onto the tablecloth. Her expression changed to serious and her voice trembled. “What kind of nightmares?”

Alarmed by her reaction, I hesitated. “Maybe we should drop this. You just said your blood pressure’s …”

“Chile, I’m fine,” she said, closer. “Tell me the dream.”

I swallowed. “Okay. In the dream, I’m in class when a siren goes off, and these two men rush in. They’re navy blue, like their skin is ink, and they grab me by the hair. They drag me down the hallway, but it turns into a beach. Then they turn into men with snake heads. They pull me onto a ship, packed with black people—screaming, crying, everyone from thugs to businessmen, preachers, families. There are men with dragon heads beating people bloody. Their faces are dead, GG. Twisted, vacant eyes. When they get to me, they start beating me too. I try to protect myself, but I’m screaming…”

I stopped and rolled up my sleeve, revealing the bruise on my arm. “I woke up with this. It’s like I was really there.”

GG stared at the mark, her face pale. I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes, so I looked down, stirring my drink. When I glanced up, GG’s head had slumped. Panic shot through me.

“GG!” I screamed, rushing to her side. Her skin was warm, but there was no movement, her eyes rolling back.

“Help! Somebody help!” I yelled desperately.

The restaurant exploded into action. Anthony frantically ran over, and another man grabbed a spoon, saying something about a seizure, but I barely heard him over my heart’s pounding.

I clung to GG’s hand, tears threatening to spill over as my nightmare seemed to become reality.

The paramedics burst into the restaurant, with bags slung over their shoulders and a stretcher rolling behind them. The chaos around me blurred, and my focus narrowed on GG.

I watched helplessly as they checked her vitals. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. One paramedic knelt by GG, gently placing an oxygen mask over her mouth. “We must get her to the hospital now,” he said urgently. 

“Where are you taking her?” I finally managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Covington Regional,” the paramedic replied as they loaded her into the back. The doors slammed shut, and the sirens blared to life, cutting through the quiet evening.

Anthony slipped an arm around my shoulders as we watched the ambulance speed away. “It’s going to be all right,” he said softly, though uncertainty lingered in his voice.

I stared after the ambulance, my mind racing. My hands fumbled for my phone, and I hit the button to call Dad, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Dad… it’s GG,” I said as soon as he picked up, my voice breaking. “She’s being taken to city hospital.” The words spilled out faster than I could control.

There was a beat of silence, and then my father’s deep, steady voice cut through the panic. “On my way. Stay calm, Skye. I’ll meet you there.”

But I wasn’t calm. As I hung up, I realized this waking nightmare felt just as real as the ones that haunted my nights.

I stood there, trembling, the weight of everything crashing down on me. I vowed, right then and there, that I’d do whatever it took to stop dreaming. Because if dreams were going to keep bringing me here—to this fear, this pain—then I never wanted to dream again.