Excerpt from The Serpent King by Jeff Zentner, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Lydia tilted her head and squinted. "Dillard Early, huh? The name rings a bell. Anyway, yes, we're driving an hour and a half to Nashville to go to Opry Mills Mall and buy you the same sweatshop garbage that Tyson Reed, Logan Walker, Hunter Henry, their intolerable girlfriends, and all of their horrible friends will also be wearing on the first day of senior year."

"I ask a simple question— "She raised a finger. "A stupid question."

"A stupid question."

"Thank you."

Dill's eyes fell on Lydia's hands at the steering wheel. They were slender, with long, graceful fingers; vermilion- colored nails; and lots of rings. The rest of her wasn't un-graceful but her fingers were affirmatively and aggressively graceful. He relished watching her drive. And type. And do everything she did with her hands."Did you call Travis to tell him you were running late?"

"Did I call you to tell you I was running late?" She took a turn fast, squealing her tires.

"No."

"Think it'll come as a surprise to him that I'm running late?"

"Nope."

The August air was a steamy haze. Dill could already hear the bugs, whatever they were called. The ones that made a pulsing, rattling drone on a sweltering morning, signaling that the day would only grow hotter. Not cicadas, he didn't think. Rattlebugs. That seemed as good a name as any.

"What am I working with today?" Lydia asked. Dill gave her a blank stare. She held up her hand and rubbed her fingers together. "Come on, buddy, keep up here."

"Oh. Fifty bucks. Can you work with that?"

She snorted. "Of course I can work with that."

Okay, but no dressing me weird."

Lydia extended her hand to him again— more force-fully, as though karate chopping a board. "No, but seriously. Have we met? What was your name again?

"Dill grasped her hand again. Any excuse. "You're in a mood today."

"I'm in the mood to receive a little credit. Not much. Don't spoil me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"In the last two years of school shopping, have I ever made you look ridiculous?"

"No. I mean, I still caught hell for stuff, but I'm sure that would've happened no matter what I wore."

"It would. Because we go to school with people who wouldn't recognize great style if it bit them right on their ass. I have a vision for you, planted in rustic Americana. Western shirts with pearl snaps. Denim. Classic, masculine, iconic lines. While everyone else at Forrestville High tries desperately to appear as though they don't live in Forrestville, we'll embrace and own your rural Southernness, continuing in the vein of 1970s Townes Van Zandt meets Whiskeytown- era Ryan Adams."

"You've planned this." Dill savored the idea of Lydia thinking about him. Even if only as a glorified mannequin.

"Would you expect less?"

Dill breathed in the fragrance of her car. Vanilla car freshener mixed with french fries, jasmine- orange- ginger lotion, and heated makeup. They were almost to Travis's house. He lived close to Dill. They stopped at an inter-section, and Lydia took a selfie with her cell phone and handed it to Dill."

Get me from your angle."

"You sure? Your fans might start thinking you have friends."

"Hardy har. Do it and let me worry about that." A couple of blocks later, they pulled up to the Bohannon house. It was white and rundown with a weathered tin roof and wood stacked on the front porch. Travis's father perspired in the gravel driveway, changing out the spark plugs on his pickup that had the name of the family business, Bohannon Lumber, stenciled on the side. He cast Dill and Lydia a briny glare, cupped his hand to his mouth, and yelled, "Travis, you got company," saving Lydia the trouble of honking.

Excerpted from The Serpent King by Jeff Zentner. Copyright © 2016 by Jeff Zentner. Excerpted by permission of Crown. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.