Publication date: 3/18/2014
Pages: 384
Age range: 13 years
Synopsis:
There are no men in Claysoot.
There are boys, but every one of them vanishes at midnight on his eighteenth birthday.
The villagers call it the Heist.
Gray Weathersby is prepared to
meet his fate. But when he finds a strange note from his mother, he
begins questioning everything he's been told about the Heist . . . and
what lies beyond the Wall that surrounds his primitive town, which no
one can cross and survive. With no answers in sight, Gray must decide
whether he should wait to be taken—or risk everything on the hope of the
other side.
Reviews:
Marie Lu
Booklist
About the Author
Erin Bowman used to tell
stories visually as a web designer. Now a full-time writer, she relies
solely on words. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband, and when
not writing she can often be found hiking, commenting on good
typography, and obsessing over all things Harry Potter. She is also the
author of Taken.
More by this Author
Publication date: 3/18/2014
Pages: 288
Age range: 14 - 17 Years
Synopsis:
Sixteen-year-old Moe's Shoplifters Anonymous meetings are usually
punctuated by the snores of an old man and the whining of the world's
unhappiest housewife. Until the day that Tabitha Foster and Elodie Shaw
walk in. Tabitha has just about everything she wants: money, friends,
popularity, a hot boyfriend who worships her...and clearly a yen for
stealing. So does Elodie, who, despite her goodie-two-shoes attitude
pretty much has "klepto" written across her forehead in indelible
marker. But both of them are nothing compared to Moe, a bad girl with an
even worse reputation.
Tabitha, Elodie, and Moe: a
beauty queen, a wallflower, and a burnout-a more unlikely trio high
school has rarely seen. And yet, when Tabitha challenges them to a
steal-off, so begins a strange alliance linked by the thrill of stealing
and the reasons that spawn it.
Reviews:
Tavi Gevinson
"I want to
build a shrine to this book. It explores and debunks high school
clichés, and understands the language only teenage feelings speak. Its
three narrators make a unique story not only exciting to experience
vicariously, but relatable. It will sit on my shelf next to a My So-Called Life boxset and copies of The Virgin Suicides and Girl, Interrupted."
Anna Farris
"Hilarious and wise, Trinkets
brought me straight back to those hellish days of high school. I fell
in love with these three girls--their individual struggles are so real
and wonderfully touching."
SIZE: PART ONE
“Her low self-esteem is my good fortune.”
Elodie
This Must Be the Place
The people who say Portland is a place
where hipster thirtysomethings go to retire
clearly have never been to Lake Oswego,
my new hometown,
the burb of all burbs,
a suburban utopia of Audi-driving type As,
a place so white they call it “Lake No Negro,”
a place where dads go
when they don’t care that their kid
was happier living in Idaho;
a place for dads to go when
they’re hoping a constant downpour of rain
will wash away the past like it wasn’t even there
and all they can see is a new job
and a pretty new wife
and a place
to send your daughter to be educated properly
and ignored resoundingly.
Old and New
Of the six months I’ve been here,
the first two were friendless
until I met Rachelle.
She needed a bestie and I needed somebody.
I met her by joining Yearbook,
which is a shortcut to friendship
if you’re one of the new people.
I’m new enough so no one knows my name,
but I’m old enough to realize who everyone is.
I’m new enough not to understand
why they call Ken Headley “SpoogeBob,”
but I’m old enough to have heard that
Mr. Hart had to leave school
because he made a pass at Martin Pierce
in the bio lab.
I’m new enough to be clueless about
what the Interplanetary Analysis Club actually does,
but old enough to realize
if there’s any guy
any girl
would kill to be with,
it’s Brady Finch.
Human Anatomy
Brady is by his locker
and as he’s reaching up to get something,
the word sinew comes to mind—
probably because we just learned it
in our human anatomy discussion in Biology.
I’m going to tell Mr. Lopez
that if he wants people
to really appreciate human anatomy,
he should show a slide of Brady Finch’s forearm
while saying the word sinew
and I bet every girl’s C-minus would
suddenly sprout into a B-plus.
Brady zips up his backpack
and slams his locker shut
and his sinew comes down
and curls around its rightful place in the world:
the shoulder of Tabitha Foster.
TABITHA
WHAT THE MIRROR SAYS
I wonder what the point of being quote-unquote popular is, since sometimes it’s a highly annoying thing to be. For instance, idiots and plebeians constantly come up to you and invade your space with inane greetings, bids for attention, and pleas for friendship.
“Hey, Tabitha…. How’s it going?… Whassup?… Love your earrings….” Etc. Etc. Barf. Space invasions are draining.
Don’t get me wrong. Of course I like it that people know me and I
have the perks of getting away with whatever I want, but most of the
time I would appreciate an iota of privacy.
Right now is one of the few times I actually receive said
iota—hanging out in the bathroom with Kayla and Taryn. Sure, they talk
about ridiculous things, but at least when they’re looking in the
mirror, they’re not paying attention to me.
“I did an hour and a half of cardio last night,” Kayla offers,
pushing her long black hair out of her eyes. Asian girls are the
luckiest when it comes to their hair. They barely have any on their
bodies, and then they have these supershiny, hassle-free manes.
“I’m pretty sure Coke Zero makes you constipated,” Taryn says, clutching her stomach.
A minute later Kayla squints at a bubbly blonde exiting the bathroom.
“Serena Bell’s on the Pill,” she prattles. “That’s why her boobs are so
humongo.”
“Mine are just a God-given gift,” Taryn says, fluffing her cleavage
out of her low-cut Juicy Couture top. It’s true; her C-cups are an
asset, and she sure as shit uses them as one.
For once Kayla and Taryn aren’t barraging me with questions like
“How’s Brady?” and “What are we doing tonight?” because they’re busy
reapplying their makeup and primping and making faces at themselves in
the mirror.
I’m a secret connoisseur of Mirror Faces. Every girl’s is different.
My mom’s is a smoky glance, eyes half shut, all sexy and mysterious.
Kayla puckers her lips like she’s making a kiss, sucking in her cheeks.
Taryn tilts her chin down, with a saucy little half smile, angled in a
way so she looks ten pounds lighter. Too bad none of them can pull it
off in real life. That’s what sucks about a Mirror Face; you make it
because it’s how you want other people to see you, but you’re the only
person who actually gets to.
This is possibly a topic worthy
of the LOHS blog, but who has time. Just because Ms. Hoberman gave me an
A in Creative Writing last semester, it doesn’t mean I should be
wasting my time blogging. Blogging is for people who don’t have social
lives. Besides, Ms. Hoberman gives everybody an A. Hence, my signing up
for her Shakespeare class this semester. The best thing is the field
trips, where you get to hang out with your friends under the guise of
extra credit. This year we only get a nighttime trip to Northwest
Classical Theatre to see a play, but next year, when we’re seniors, we
go to Ashland for the weekend for the Shakespeare Festival. As in, an
entire weekend where you get to hook up with your boyfriend and get
drunk, and your parents foot the bill for the whole thing because they
think you’re “learning.”
As for Brady, I’ve never seen his Mirror Face. His Everyday Face is
pretty gorgeous, though. He has dimples and thick blond hair that he
wears a little shaggy in the most adorable way, and he has moments of
being truly charming. He’s not a big believer in deep conversations, but
what guy is? And really, what’s the point? It’s easier not to have deep
conversations. You end up talking endlessly about your feelings, not
his, and then exposing yourself too much until you finally arrive at a
place of inevitable heartbreak and disappointment.
Kayla finishes putting on her opalescent pink Dior lip gloss complete with plumper. Her lips look blindingly sticky.
“Can we go?” I ask. Marcia Abrahams keeps looking over at me, and I
have a hunch she’s gathering the courage to come over and ask me what
I’m wearing to Spring Fling. She always asks me what I’m wearing, like
clockwork, eleven weeks before a dance, and then somehow ends up wearing
something almost identical. Imitation is supposed to be a compliment,
but copycats are annoying and should be ignored whenever you see them
plotting their space invasion.
That said, one advantage of being on a high rung of the Lakers social
ladder is that you and your like-minded peers get to have your lockers
right next to one another. I don’t know how it happens that way, but it
seems like the primo real estate always belongs to A-listers.
Kayla and Taryn and I saunter up to our bank of lockers to find Brady
and his boys already there. Brady is getting a vitamin supplement out
of his locker. He’s very into “peak performance.”
Jason Baines asks him, “Where were you last night?”
“Yeah,” Noah Simos adds. “You never showed up at Ferber’s.”
“Didn’t your mom tell you?” Brady says. “She had me come over to your house so she could suck my dick.”
Have you ever noticed how boys love making jokes about sleeping with
each other’s mothers? Either that or discussing how gay the other person
is. If you have a penis, you apparently possess an endless supply of
this type of unfunny comedy.
Noah punches him, and Brady laughs, slinging his arm around me. I
smell his D&G cologne. It isn’t entirely unpleasant. I look up at
him like, You are the most charming person I know, and your arm around my shoulder makes me happier than anything in the entire world.
“What time should I pick you up tonight?” he asks, kissing me.
“Like, nine?” I say. He may be kind of a D-bag, but he does have nice
lips. And he’s six two, which is good, since I’m an inch or so taller
than most of the girls in my grade. Sometimes people ask if I’ve ever
modeled. My mom took me to get professionally photographed once, but I
hated it. It was all hot lights and faking it, and it got boring fast.
Although, in a weird way, I guess you could say that’s what I’m doing
now, looking up at Brady and playing the part of Perfect Girlfriend.
Either that or I’m giving him my very own Mirror Face.
*MOE
FEBRUARY 19
I know I wasn’t
directly responsible for Lindsay Manatore having to run track with one
half sweatpants, one half short shorts, but I probably should have
stopped Alex from cutting the leg off them with Janet’s pocketknife. But
in a way I’m glad I didn’t, because it was funny. Anytime we crossed
Lindsay’s path on the track, I would start to sing, “Who wears short
shorts?”
Alex befriended me in the first place because she thinks
I’m funny. That, and she assumed because I dress the way I do, I
belonged in their social circle. I told her, “Oh no, I just have a
terrible fashion sense.” Next thing I know, I was being introduced by
Alex to her friends as her hilarious, sarcastic new friend Moe. That was
at the beginning of freshman year, and that’s the person I’ve stayed
ever since. Before that, I was friends with losers, but I’ve got to say
being with the tough kids or the “burnouts” or whatever you’d call them
has its perks because no one effs with you. The problem is people mostly
avoid you because they assume you’re dangerous or you’ll beat the crap
out of them, so you don’t really have a chance to mingle a whole lot.
The only person who sees something close to the real me
is Noah. He probably would not admit that in HIS journal. But he’s a
popular kid, and those kids don’t even keep journals. Their lives
revolve around status updates, and by status I mean STATUS. He hangs out
with people like Tabitha Foster and Brady Finch and Jason Baines. Noah
only talks to me after school when we’re alone, then he leaves before my
aunt gets back from work. Or I leave before his mom gets home.
Yesterday I waved at him when I saw him walking into his
house with his parents. He didn’t wave back. I heard his mom say, “Who’s
that?” His response: “I don’t know.” Hey, asshole, if you’re going to
pretend not to know me, that’s fine, but I live next door to you.
Couldn’t you just say, “I think she lives next door to us”? I don’t need
him to proclaim undying love for me or tell the whole world that we
make out and sometimes do even more than that, but at least admit I’m a
person you’re familiar with. Douche.
TABITHA
GOOD BODY IMAGE
“Please tell me it’s not gonna rain later.” Kayla points,
looking at the gray sky as we walk up the perfectly manicured walkway to
Taryn’s front door.
“Sorry. It’s gonna rain later,” I say. It’s Portland. It rains 155 days a year.
Kayla rings the bell, which echoes out some cathedral-on-crack-style
chimes. The house is a gaudy white McMansion perched right on the water
in Lake Oswego. Not my taste, but in our neighborhood new money reigns
supreme, and this is the perfect example of what it buys you. Taryn’s
parents have oodles of fresh cash, courtesy of her dad’s sweet
upper-management job at Nike and her mom’s at Wieden+Kennedy.
“I’ll drive,” Taryn offers, tossing her curly blond hair as she swings open the front door.
“I want to find something hot,” Kayla says, fingering her
belly-button ring, which is proudly on display thanks to a strategically
rolled-up sweatshirt, designed to show off her lean, flat stomach.
Kayla has a gym in her house, and she wears a red rubber “core
bracelet” on her wrist to remind her to suck in her stomach. Her
personal hero is Tracy Anderson, Gwyneth Paltrow’s trainer. I’m pretty
sure she owns Tracy’s entire workout wardrobe, down to the shoes. If her
mom would let her, she’d probably dye her hair blond to match Tracy’s,
but fortunately she realized that “blond Asian” is not the greatest
look. Thanks, Bai Ling.
We reach Taryn’s red Mini, a
present from her parents for the incredible accomplishment of turning
sixteen. Kayla crawls into the backseat.
“Don’t you already have a closet full of hot?” I nudge her.
“Too much is never enough,” she singsongs.
Our Friday afternoon shopping excursions are a ritual. I used to love
them, but then about a year ago, I started wondering if spending my
dad’s cash was just another form of taking his hush money; if he didn’t
have so much of it, my mom probably would have divorced him a long time
ago. Every time I buy something with a fifty-dollar bill he’s given me,
I’m going into greater debt with the enemy. But if it weren’t for the
enemy, I guess I wouldn’t have gotten Tiffany diamond-stud earrings for
Christmas last year.
We peel into the Washington Square parking lot, and Taryn does one of
her typical “I need two spaces instead of one” parking jobs, nearly
plowing into a guy in a wheelchair.
“Jesus!” I yell.
“Just because he’s handicapped doesn’t mean you need to put him out of his misery,” Kayla adds.
“Whatever. He’d thank me for it
if he knew Macy’s doesn’t carry Miu Miu,” Taryn sniffs. She is one of
those girls who live for any razzle-dazzle chance at fashionistadom and
the possibility of possessing couture. Not that the Washington Square
Mall is crawling with couture, but you’d be surprised at how many kids
in our grade have dads with Learjets and moms who still trot out furs
for parent-teacher meetings. If anyone can sniff out a thousand-dollar
dress in a mall, Taryn can. She once used the bio lab tables as an
impromptu fashion runway when Mr. Lopez left the room for one of his
infamous fifteen-minute bathroom breaks.
Kayla starts gravitationally beelining toward Forever 21, the home of
all her slut-wear. “Let’s go to Forever Twenty-One,” she says.
“We’re going to Bebe,” Taryn says firmly. Spring Fling is almost
three months away, but she’s hell-bent on nabbing the perfect dress
early.
“Why do you want to go to Forever Twenty-One? They print Bible verses on the bottoms of their shopping bags.” I roll my eyes.
“They do not!” Kayla gasps.
“See for yourself,” I say with a shrug.
“I’m going to Nordie’s.” I suggest it because I know neither of them will want to go there. It’s “too nineties.”
“Meet back at Yopop for fro-yo afterward?” Taryn says, and I nod.
Kayla points at the Forever 21 window. “Ooh—glitter tube top!”
“Watch out,” I say. “Total sinner wear. You might need some redemption.”
Kayla sticks out her tongue, and I
can’t help but laugh. She may be a bit of a ludicrous idiot, but she’s
at least somewhat trustworthy. When I drunkenly told her about my dad
having an affair last year, she never mentioned it again. And in
exchange, I never talk about all the slutty things she’s done with half
the guys she’s done them with. Last year in Family and Consumer Science
(formerly known as Home Ec), Mrs. Sykes talked about a study where girls
who had good body image were more likely to abstain from sex, and girls
with bad body image were more likely to be promiscuous. How weird is it
that if you like your body, you don’t let anyone see it, and if you don’t like your body, you want to show it to everyone? And why wouldn’t Kayla love her body, since there isn’t an ounce of fat on it?
“See you in forty-five minutes,” Tayrn says. As they head off, I
breathe a sigh of relief. I can finally do what I came here to do.
*MOE
FEBRUARY 24
Marc and I played Rage after school. Beached Whales were
exploding left and right when he started giving me shit because I hang
out with dirtbags and a guy who doesn’t even acknowledge me in public. I
told him I don’t need his overprotective brother speech. It’s not like
his friends are a ton better, since all they do is blaze up and ride
bikes. He argued with me for a while and said that’s different from
actually doing bad things like tagging buildings or being mean to people
or constantly partying and whatever else we do. I said it’s none of his
business what we do, and besides, who else am I supposed to hang out
with? So he let it drop and said he’s just looking out for me, and then
he killed a shit ton of Gingers and Fattys. I was pissed until I
realized that’s just what brothers do. They try to protect you from the
bad guys, even in a video game.
TABITHA
CHARMED
Even if you have
enough money to do what you want, it’s still fun trying to get something
for free. Especially something from the Nordie’s jewelry case.
“Can I see that one?” I ask, pointing to a Maya Brenner bracelet with
chunky gold chains and a little coin with small stones of turquoise and
coral. The other day I saw Alexa Chung wearing it on a blog.
The despondent saleslady unlocks the case. She looks like all the
gloomy weather has soaked straight through to her soul. Either that or
she’s been sprayed with a little too much Eau de Homeless on her walk to
work. That could bum out anybody.
“Oh, and the earrings,” I say once she plunks the charm bracelet on the velvet pad on the counter. She turns to get them.
“No, not those.” I point. “The pearl ones. And that silver bracelet
with the big chain links? And can I see the gold hoops? Thanks so much.”
As the saleswoman sets out one thing after another, I smile sweetly.
“Do you mind getting out that pendant necklace too? Sorry.”
“Which one?” She’s starting to get confused.
“It’s so hard to make up my mind here,” I say, holding up the gold
hoops. “By the way, I love your blouse. It looks amazing on you.”
“It does?” She looks down at her navy-blue sheath as if seeing
herself for the first time. I feel a little guilty for preying on her
insecurities, but I guess on the plus side she looks happier now than
she did five minutes ago.
“Jean, there’s someone on line three for you—Eric?” a woman from the Clinique counter calls over.
From the look on Jean’s face,
it’s obvious Eric has been dodging her for weeks. His favorite
activities are probably Nintendo, drinking Coors, and not returning the
calls of women he’s had sex with. Jean is obviously one of them. Seeing
her happy face, I remember feeling that excited when Brady used to call
me. Now I just feel stuck in a loop of bad chitchat and sloppy make-out
sessions. Sometimes, yes, we do the actual deed, but we’re usually
drunk, so I don’t even know if it qualifies. It’s basically a formula of
grabs, gropes, and insertions, all leading to an inevitably brief
conclusion. I wouldn’t rank it as one of my all-time favorite
activities. This trip to the mall would score way higher.
“I’m with a customer. Tell him I’ll call him back,” Jean says, casting a disappointed eye my way.
“No, it’s cool.” I give her a knowing smile. “Go ahead. I’m fine.”
“I’ll be right back.” Jean nods appreciatively and goes to take the call. Jackpot.
“Hey, stranger!” Jean blurts into the phone. After a second she says,
“Yeah, I love Ruth’s Chris!…” Then her shoulders slump. “I think I
still have it. It was only a fifty-dollar gift certificate, though, so
I’m not sure how big a dinner it will get us….”
He wants her to take him out to dinner with her gift
certificate? Jesus. Jean needs to hang up on this guy and delete his
number. But whatever—her low self-esteem is my good fortune. When she
hangs up, I give her a little wave and say, “Thanks! I’ll come back
later!” and stroll off. Leaving everything behind but the Maya Brenner
bracelet.
BRILLIANT CON ARTIST
Walking your trinket out of the store is the worst and best part. You’re about to become either a brilliant con artist or another juvenile-delinquency statistic.
I force myself to slow down and supposedly admire a pink sundress,
but underneath the sleeve of my sweater, I’m covertly ripping off the
price tag and tiny bar-code sensor from the bracelet, which is fastened
on my wrist. I drop the tag and sensor on the floor and walk on through
Sporting Goods.
Ninety seconds later, I’m at the street exit. I take a deep breath
and make the final plunge through the electronic gates by the front
doors—which, 87 percent of the time, are for show, but still they’re the
final, exhilaratingly scary hurdle—and I push open the door. The winter
air hits me like a slap of freedom.
I quicken my pace as I start toward the parking lot. I figure I’ll
make a hard right in thirty feet, walk around the building, and reenter
the mall near Yopop. I pull out my phone to text Kayla my ETA, and move
faster and faster, freer and freer. I pick up speed and round the corner
of the building, and that’s when I walk right smack into a security
guard.
CAUGHT
Blood bolts to the surface of my skin so hard it feels like my face is being pricked by a hundred little pins.
I have no freaking clue what to do, so I cover. Badly. “Oops. Sorry. I’m such a spaz—”
He smiles a slow, casual smile. A
tattoo of a bobcat or some kind of jungle lion peeks out from under his
collar. I stare at it. Was he my age when he decided to permanently ink
himself? Was it something he did with his friends? I wonder if he
regrets it.
“I’ll need you to come with me,” he says.
“Why?”
He chuckles a little bit. “I think you know.”
“I do?” I ask. There is literally no oxygen going in or out of my body.
“Girls who steal three-hundred-dollar bracelets aren’t as dumb as they look.”
“I didn’t steal anything.” I try to make my Mirror Face, my model
face, my “you are the most charming person I know, and your arm around
my shoulder makes me happier than anything in the entire world” face,
but he doesn’t buy it.
“I need you to come back inside and show me what’s on your wrist.”
I have no choice. So I say, “Oh, shit! Is this what you’re talking
about?” I hold out my wrist. “I totally forgot I tried it on! I’m an
idiot.”
He smiles at me. Just beneath his smile, I can see the tattooed point of the bobcat’s claw, poised above his jugular.
“You may have ‘forgotten’ ”—he stresses the word, obviously not
believing me—“but you still left the store without paying for it, which
means you broke the law.”
When we head back inside, I try
to look like nothing’s wrong, but then I see Jean standing there by the
big glass doors. She’s pointing me out to her coworker and wearing a
smug smile on her face. Ten minutes ago, Jean was the loser and I was
the winner. Now it’s a completely different story.
“Eric is just using you for a free steak,” I snipe to Jean as we
pass. Her smug smile disappears. The guard holds out his arm for me to
take, and it’s almost the way a gentleman leads a lady onto the dance
floor—or a bobcat drags its prey into the forest after the chase is
over.
SIZE: PART TWO
“This is what happens to princesses in real life.”
*MOE
MARCH 2
Okay, question of the day: What’s the big deal about
Spring Fling? People blow hundreds of dollars on one night for a cheesy
photo with a backdrop full of stars. I’ll admit the prospect of dancing
to pop songs with Noah Simos isn’t the worst thing I can imagine, but
it’s never actually going to happen, so there’s no use wasting time
thinking about it.
Aunt B keeps telling
me stories about her high school dances, which are fully boring. She
keeps insisting that if I don’t go to Spring Fling I’ll regret it. She’s
big on “living life to the fullest” and having “no regrets.” I always
feel that’s what people who peaked in high school say. Not that it’s her
fault—she didn’t plan on having to give up her life because my parents
died in a random accident and she had to become guardian. Of course I
have regrets, like not paying more attention to my folks when they were
right in front of me, but I try not to spend too much time dwelling on
it, because I was only seven when it happened. I have a few special
memories I keep to myself and a few things I wish I’d done differently,
like not whining about wanting a skateboard for my birthday. If I
hadn’t, they probably would still be alive. But the more you think about
stuff like that, the worse you feel, and the more you talk about
special memories, the less special they become. Marc and I actually
agree on this topic, and last year for Christmas, he gave Aunt B a
T-shirt that says “No Regrets” as a kind of joke. She didn’t laugh. He
said he regretted giving it to her, but she didn’t laugh at that either.
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Publication date: 3/18/2014
Series:
100 Series
Pages: 336
Age range: 15 - 18 Years
Synopsis:
No one has set foot on Earth in centuries -- until now.
Clarke
The door slid open, and Clarke knew it was time to die.
She shook her head.
"You can wait right outside the door," Dr. Lahiri said with exaggerated patience. "She's an unarmed seventeen-year-old. I think I'll be able to keep things under control."
The guard avoided Clarke's eyes as he removed the handcuffs. He gave Dr. Lahiri a curt nod as he stepped outside.
"You mean I'm an unarmed eighteen-year-old," Clarke said, forcing what she thought was a smile. "Or are you turning into one of those mad scientists who never knows what year it is?" Her father had been like that. He'd forget to program the circadian lights in their flat and end up going to work at 0400, too absorbed in his research to notice that the ship's corridors were deserted.
"You're still seventeen, Clarke," Dr. Lahiri said in the calm, slow manner he usually reserved for patients waking up from surgery. "You've been in solitary for three months."
"Then what are you doing here?" she asked, unable to quell the panic creeping into her voice. "The law says you have to wait until I'm eighteen."
"There's been a change of plans. That's all I'm authorized to say."
"So you're authorized to execute me but not to talk to me?" She remembered watching Dr. Lahiri during her parents' trial. At the time, she'd read his grim face as an expression of his disapproval with the proceedings, but now she wasn't sure. He hadn't spoken up in their defense. No one had. He'd simply sat there mutely as the Council found her parents—two of Phoenix's most brilliant scientists—to be in violation of the Gaia Doctrine, the rules established after the Cataclysm to ensure the survival of the human race. "What about my parents? Did you kill them, too?"
Dr. Lahiri closed his eyes, as if Clarke's words had transformed from sounds into something visible. Something grotesque. "I'm not here to kill you," he said quietly. He opened his eyes and then gestured to the stool at the foot of Clarke's bed. "May I?"
When Clarke didn't reply, Dr. Lahiri walked forward and sat down so he was facing her. "Can I see your arm, please?" Clarke felt her chest tighten, and she forced herself to breathe. He was lying. It was cruel and twisted, but it'd all be over in a minute.
She extended her hand toward him. Dr. Lahiri reached into his coat pocket and produced a cloth that smelled of antiseptic. Clarke shivered as he swept it along the inside of her arm. "Don't worry. This isn't going to hurt."
Clarke closed her eyes.
She remembered the anguished look Wells had given her as the guards were escorting her out of the Council chambers. While the anger that had threatened to consume her during the trial had long since burned out, thinking about Wells sent a new wave of heat pulsing through her body, like a dying star emitting one final flash of light before it faded into nothingness.
Her parents were dead, and it was all his fault.
Dr. Lahiri grasped her arm, his fingers searching for her vein. See you soon, Mom and Dad.
His grip tightened. This was it.
Clarke took a deep breath as she felt a prick on the inside of her wrist.
Dr. Lahiri gave her a disapproving look. A year ago, it would've made Clarke shrink with shame, but now she kept her gaze steady. "Don't ruin this, Clarke. You have a chance to do the right thing, to make up for your parents' appalling crime."
Wells
The Chancellor had aged. Although it'd been less than six weeks since Wells had seen his father, he looked years older. There were new streaks of gray by his temples, and the lines around his eyes had deepened.
Wells avoided his father's gaze by glancing around the room, trying to memorize the relics he might be seeing for the last time: the eagle skeleton perched in a glass case, the few paintings that had survived the burning of the Louvre, and the photos of the beautiful dead cities whose names never ceased to send chills down Wells's spine.
"Was it a dare? Were you trying to show off for your friends?" The Chancellor spoke in the same low, steady tone he used during Council hearings, then raised an eyebrow to indicate that it was Wells's turn to talk.
"No, sir."
"Were you overcome by some temporary bout of insanity? Were you on drugs?" There was a faint note of hopefulness in his voice that, in another situation, Wells might've found amusing. But there was nothing humorous about the look in his father's eyes, a combination of weariness and confusion that Wells hadn't seen since his mother's funeral.
"No, sir."
Wells felt a fleeting urge to touch his father's arm, but something other than the handcuffs shackling his wrists kept him from reaching across the desk. Even as they had gathered around the release portal, saying their final, silent good- byes to Wells's mother, they'd never bridged the six inches of space between their shoulders. It was as if Wells and his father were two magnets, the charge of their grief repelling them apart.
"Was it some kind of political statement?" His father winced slightly, as though the thought hit him like a physical blow. "Did someone from Walden or Arcadia put you up to it?"
"No, sir," Wells said, biting back his indignation. His father had apparently spent the past six weeks trying to recast Wells as some kind of rebel, reprogramming his memories to help him understand why his son, formerly a star student and now the highest-ranked cadet, had committed the most public infraction in history. But even the truth would do little to mitigate his father's confusion. For the Chancellor, nothing could justify setting fire to the Eden Tree, the sapling that had been carried onto Phoenix right before the Exodus. Yet for Wells, it hadn't been a choice. Once he'd discovered that Clarke was one of the hundred being sent to Earth, he'd had to do something to join them. And as the Chancellor's son, only the most public of infractions would land him in Confinement.
Wells remembered moving through the crowd at the Remembrance Ceremony, feeling the weight of hundreds of eyes on him, his hand shaking as he removed the lighter from his pocket and produced a spark that glowed brightly in the gloom. For a moment, everyone had stared in silence as the flames wrapped around the tree. And even as the guards rushed forward in sudden chaos, no one had been able to miss whom they were dragging away.
"What the hell were you thinking?" the Chancellor asked, staring at him in disbelief. "You could've burned down the whole hall and killed everyone in it."
It would be better to lie. His father would have an easier time believing that Wells had been carrying out a dare. Or perhaps he could try to pretend he had been on drugs. Either of those scenarios would be more palatable to the Chancellor than the truth—that he'd risked everything for a girl.
The hospital door closed behind him but Wells's smile stayed frozen in place, as if the force it had taken to lift the corners of his mouth had permanently damaged the muscles in his face. Through the haze of drugs, his mother had probably thought his grin looked real, which was all that mattered. She'd held Wells's hand as the lies poured out of him, bitter but harmless. Yes, Dad and I are doing fine. She didn't need to know that they'd barely exchanged more than a few words in weeks. When you're better, we'll finish Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. They both knew that she'd never make it to the final volume.
Wells slipped out of the hospital and started walking across B deck, which was mercifully empty. At this hour, most people were either at tutorials, work, or at the Exchange. He was supposed to be at a history lecture, normally his favorite subject. He'd always loved stories about ancient cities like Rome and New York, whose dazzling triumphs were matched only by the magnitude of their downfalls. But he couldn't spend two hours surrounded by the same tutorial mates who had filled his message queue with vague, uncomfortable condolences. The only person he could talk to about his mother was Glass, but she'd been strangely distant lately.
Wells wasn't sure how long he'd been standing outside the door before he realized he'd arrived at the library. He allowed the scanner to pass over his eyes, waited for the prompt, and then pressed his thumb against the pad. The door slid open just long enough for Wells to slip inside and then closed behind him with a huffy thud, as if it had done Wells a great favor by admitting him in the first place.
Wells exhaled as the stillness and shadows washed over him. The books that been evacuated onto Phoenix before the Cataclysm were kept in tall, oxygen-free cases that significantly slowed the deterioration process, which is why they had to be read in the library, and only then for a few hours at a time. The enormous room was hidden away from the circadian lights, in a state of perpetual twilight.
For as long as he could remember, Wells and his mother had spent Sunday evenings here, his mother reading aloud to him when he was little, then reading side by side as he got older. But as her illness progressed and her headaches grew worse, Wells had started reading to her. They'd just started volume two of Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire the evening before she was admitted to the hospital.
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date: 3/18/2014
Pages: 400
Age range: 14 - 17 Years
Publisher: HarperCollins Publisher
Publication date: 3/18/2014
Pages: 352
Age range: 14 - 17 Years
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Publication date: 3/18/2014
Pages: 320
Cass and Luca return to Venice to clear their names and put an end to the Order of the Eternal Rose once and for all in this trilogy closer. On their heels are the apparently immortal Belladonna and her evil doctor. Also converging in Venice are the Order leader who has the Venetian Senate in the palm of his hand and Luca's illegitimate, psychotic half brother. There is danger aplenty, and plucky Cass soon finds herself in the thick of it. Having kicked one leg of the obligatory love triangle away in Belladonna (2013), Paul wedges it back in place by placing Falco and Cass in a fervent colloquy that Luca witnesses, leading to the also-obligatory estrangement of Cass from her betrothed. Much wringing of hands ensues over this, as well as the deaths of friends and servants incurred during her quest. Cass and the plot lurch from peril to peril with far too much telling and not enough showing; villainous dialogue is often helpfully interpreted in a sort of narrative play by play. Short chapters that end in minicliffhangers keep the pages turning, though, helping readers speed past the frequently purple prose. The rather interesting acceptance of prostitution as a legitimate career choice for young women in the late Renaissance goes largely unexamined, as does the relationship of Venice's Jews to the larger population, sparked by an irresponsibly throwaway scene. Formulaic, anachronistic, undemanding. (Historical mystery. 14 & up)
Chapter 1
When the last drop of light drained from the sky, Cass and Luca crept out of the shed where they had been hiding. Cass took a moment to stretch, her muscles grateful to be free of the cramped enclosure. After Luca had torn open his shoulder escaping from the Doge’s dungeons, the wound had festered, leaving him feverish and incapacitated for nearly a week. Cass knew each day that passed meant fewer people would be searching for them, but the waiting had been agony. She was desperate to resume her quest to destroy the Order of the Eternal Rose.
“I was thinking that each time I feel I know you, you surprise me again.” His voice was low but full of warmth, like if he were feeling a bit stronger, he might lean over and kiss her.
Cass fumbled one of the oars at that thought. As she reached out to retrieve it, she remembered a trip in a batèla she’d made with Falco. It was the night they had found the body of Sophia, Joseph Dubois’s former servant. Cass’s cheeks grew hot as she thought of Falco tugging at fabric and undoing laces, at the two of them tangled together beneath a blanket as their mouths tasted each other. Idiota, she cursed herself. She was certainly full of surprises. Unfortunately, not all of them would make Luca look at her with such tenderness.
“You’re starting to get winded. You should let me take a turn,” he said.
Cass shook her head. She’d force herself to row until her back was breaking and her hands were bleeding before she did that. Luca would reinjure his shoulder if he tried, and besides, she deserved to suffer. She had dishonored him with Falco. She had put her handmaid in harm’s way, and Siena had died. Cass didn’t know if she would ever forgive herself.
“Cass? What is it?” Luca asked.
But Cass couldn’t knock. Even though she thought of the servants as family, she and Luca were criminals, with large bounties on their heads. She had to assume that anyone would turn them in for a life-changing amount of gold. Men had betrayed their real families for much less.
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date: 3/18/2014
Pages: 336
Age range: 14 years
“Alice and
Harvey’s relationship is raw, honest, moving, and unapologetic in its
depiction of their individual, and collective, pain.”
Ever since a devastating nuclear
war, humanity has lived on spaceships far above Earth's radioactive
surface. Now, one hundred juvenile delinquents -- considered expendable
by society -- are being sent on a dangerous mission: to recolonize the
planet. It could be their second chance at life...or it could be a
suicide mission.
CLARKE was arrested for treason,
though she's haunted by the memory of what she really did. WELLS, the
chancellor's son, came to Earth for the girl he loves -- but will she
ever forgive him? Reckless BELLAMY fought his way onto the transport pod
to protect his sister, the other half of the only pair of siblings in
the universe. And GLASS managed to escape back onto the ship, only to
find that life there is just as dangerous as she feared it would be on
Earth.
Confronted with a savage land and
haunted by secrets from their pasts, the hundred must fight to survive.
They were never meant to be heroes, but they may be mankind's last
hope.
Reviews:
Booklist
The Bulletin
About the Author
Kass Morgan received a bachelor's degree from Brown University
and a master's from Oxford University. She currently works as an editor
and lives in Brooklyn, New York.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Clarke
The door slid open, and Clarke knew it was time to die.
Her eyes locked on the guard's
boots, and she braced for the rush of fear, the flood of desperate
panic. But as she rose up onto her elbow, peeling her shirt from the
sweat-soaked cot, all she felt was relief.
She'd been transferred to a
single after attacking a guard, but for Clarke, there was no such thing
as solitary. She heard voices everywhere. They called to her from the
corners of her dark cell. They filled the silence between her
heartbeats. They screamed from the deepest recesses of her mind. It
wasn't death she craved, but if that was the only way to silence the
voices, then she was prepared to die.
She'd been Confined for treason,
but the truth was far worse than anyone could've imagined. Even if by
some miracle she was pardoned at her retrial, there'd be no real
reprieve. Her memories were more oppressive than any cell walls.
The guard cleared his throat as
he shifted his weight from side to side. "Prisoner number 319, please
stand." He was younger than she'd expected, and his uniform hung loosely
from his lanky frame, betraying his status as a recent recruit. A few
months of military rations weren't enough to banish the specter of
malnutrition that haunted the Colony's poor outer ships, Walden and
Arcadia.
Clarke took a deep breath and rose to her feet.
"Hold out your hands," he said,
pulling a pair of metal restraints from the pocket of his blue uniform.
Clarke shuddered as his skin brushed against hers. She hadn't seen
another person since they'd brought her to the new cell, let alone
touched one.
"Are they too tight?" he asked, his brusque tone frayed by a note of
sympathy that made Clarke's chest ache. It'd been so long since anyone
but Thalia—her former cell mate and her only friend in the world—had
shown her compassion.She shook her head.
"Just sit on the bed. The doctor's on his way."
"They're doing it here?" Clarke
asked hoarsely, the words scraping against her throat. If a doctor was
coming, that meant they were forgoing her retrial. It shouldn't have
come as a surprise. According to Colony law, adults were executed
immediately upon conviction, and minors were Confined until they turned
eighteen and then given one final chance to make their case. But lately,
people were being executed within hours of their retrial for crimes
that, a few years ago, would have been pardoned.
Still, it was hard to believe
they'd actually do it in her cell. In a twisted way, she'd been looking
forward to one final walk to the hospital where she'd spent so much time
during her medical apprenticeship—one last chance to experience
something familiar, if only the smell of disinfectant and the hum of the
ventilation system—before she lost the ability to feel forever.
The guard spoke without meeting her eyes. "I need you to sit down."
Clarke took a few short steps and
perched stiffly on the edge of her narrow bed. Although she knew that
solitary warped your perception of time, it was hard to believe she had
been here—alone—for almost six months. The year she'd spent with Thalia
and their third cell mate, Lise, a hard-faced girl who smiled for the
first time when they took Clarke away, had felt like an eternity. But
there was no other explanation. Today had to be her eighteenth birthday,
and the only present waiting for Clarke was a syringe that would
paralyze her muscles until her heart stopped beating. Afterward, her
lifeless body would be released into space, as was the custom on the
Colony, left to drift endlessly through the galaxy.
A figure appeared in the door and
a tall, slender man stepped into the cell. Although his shoulder-length
gray hair partially obscured the pin on the collar of his lab coat,
Clarke didn't need the insignia to recognize him as the Council's chief
medical advisor. She'd spent the better part of the year before her
Confinement shadowing Dr. Lahiri and couldn't count the number of hours
she'd stood next to him during surgery. The other apprentices had envied
Clarke's assignment, and had complained of nepotism when they
discovered that Dr. Lahiri was one of her father's closest friends. At
least, he had been before her parents were executed.
"Hello, Clarke," he said
pleasantly, as if he were greeting her in the hospital dining room
instead of a detention cell. "How are you?"
"Better than I'll be in a few minutes, I imagine."
Dr. Lahiri used to smile at
Clarke's dark humor, but this time he winced and turned to the guard.
"Could you undo the cuffs and give us a moment, please?"
The guard shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not supposed to leave her unattended.""You can wait right outside the door," Dr. Lahiri said with exaggerated patience. "She's an unarmed seventeen-year-old. I think I'll be able to keep things under control."
The guard avoided Clarke's eyes as he removed the handcuffs. He gave Dr. Lahiri a curt nod as he stepped outside.
"You mean I'm an unarmed eighteen-year-old," Clarke said, forcing what she thought was a smile. "Or are you turning into one of those mad scientists who never knows what year it is?" Her father had been like that. He'd forget to program the circadian lights in their flat and end up going to work at 0400, too absorbed in his research to notice that the ship's corridors were deserted.
"You're still seventeen, Clarke," Dr. Lahiri said in the calm, slow manner he usually reserved for patients waking up from surgery. "You've been in solitary for three months."
"Then what are you doing here?" she asked, unable to quell the panic creeping into her voice. "The law says you have to wait until I'm eighteen."
"There's been a change of plans. That's all I'm authorized to say."
"So you're authorized to execute me but not to talk to me?" She remembered watching Dr. Lahiri during her parents' trial. At the time, she'd read his grim face as an expression of his disapproval with the proceedings, but now she wasn't sure. He hadn't spoken up in their defense. No one had. He'd simply sat there mutely as the Council found her parents—two of Phoenix's most brilliant scientists—to be in violation of the Gaia Doctrine, the rules established after the Cataclysm to ensure the survival of the human race. "What about my parents? Did you kill them, too?"
Dr. Lahiri closed his eyes, as if Clarke's words had transformed from sounds into something visible. Something grotesque. "I'm not here to kill you," he said quietly. He opened his eyes and then gestured to the stool at the foot of Clarke's bed. "May I?"
When Clarke didn't reply, Dr. Lahiri walked forward and sat down so he was facing her. "Can I see your arm, please?" Clarke felt her chest tighten, and she forced herself to breathe. He was lying. It was cruel and twisted, but it'd all be over in a minute.
She extended her hand toward him. Dr. Lahiri reached into his coat pocket and produced a cloth that smelled of antiseptic. Clarke shivered as he swept it along the inside of her arm. "Don't worry. This isn't going to hurt."
Clarke closed her eyes.
She remembered the anguished look Wells had given her as the guards were escorting her out of the Council chambers. While the anger that had threatened to consume her during the trial had long since burned out, thinking about Wells sent a new wave of heat pulsing through her body, like a dying star emitting one final flash of light before it faded into nothingness.
Her parents were dead, and it was all his fault.
Dr. Lahiri grasped her arm, his fingers searching for her vein. See you soon, Mom and Dad.
His grip tightened. This was it.
Clarke took a deep breath as she felt a prick on the inside of her wrist.
"There. You're all set."
Clarke's eyes snapped open. She
looked down and saw a metal bracelet clasped to her arm. She ran her
finger along it, wincing as what felt like a dozen tiny needles pressed
into her skin.
"What is this?" she asked frantically, pulling away from the doctor.
"Just relax," he said with
infuriating coolness. "It's a vital transponder. It will track your
breathing and blood composition, and gather all sorts of useful
information."
"Useful information for who?"
Clarke asked, although she could already feel the shape of his answer in
the growing mass of dread in her stomach.
"There've been some exciting
developments," Dr. Lahiri said, sounding like a hollow imitation of
Wells's father, Chancellor Jaha, making one of his Remembrance Day
speeches. "You should be very proud. It's all because of your parents."
"My parents were executed for treason."Dr. Lahiri gave her a disapproving look. A year ago, it would've made Clarke shrink with shame, but now she kept her gaze steady. "Don't ruin this, Clarke. You have a chance to do the right thing, to make up for your parents' appalling crime."
There was a dull crack as
Clarke's fist made contact with the doctor's face, followed by a thud as
his head slammed against the wall. Seconds later, the guard appeared
and had Clarke's hands twisted behind her back. "Are you all right,
sir?" he asked.
Dr. Lahiri sat up slowly, rubbing
his jaw as he surveyed Clarke with a mixture of anger and amusement.
"At least we know you'll be able to hold your own with the other
delinquents when you get there."
"Get where?" Clarke grunted, trying to free herself from the guard's grip.
"We're clearing out the detention
center today. A hundred lucky criminals are getting the chance to make
history." The corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk. "You're going
to Earth."
CHAPTER 2
Wells
The Chancellor had aged. Although it'd been less than six weeks since Wells had seen his father, he looked years older. There were new streaks of gray by his temples, and the lines around his eyes had deepened.
"Are you finally going to tell me why you did it?" the Chancellor asked with a tired sigh.
Wells shifted in his chair. He could feel the truth trying to claw
its way out. He'd give almost anything to erase the disappointment on
his father's face, but he couldn't risk it—not before he learned whether
his reckless plan had actually worked.Wells avoided his father's gaze by glancing around the room, trying to memorize the relics he might be seeing for the last time: the eagle skeleton perched in a glass case, the few paintings that had survived the burning of the Louvre, and the photos of the beautiful dead cities whose names never ceased to send chills down Wells's spine.
"Was it a dare? Were you trying to show off for your friends?" The Chancellor spoke in the same low, steady tone he used during Council hearings, then raised an eyebrow to indicate that it was Wells's turn to talk.
"No, sir."
"Were you overcome by some temporary bout of insanity? Were you on drugs?" There was a faint note of hopefulness in his voice that, in another situation, Wells might've found amusing. But there was nothing humorous about the look in his father's eyes, a combination of weariness and confusion that Wells hadn't seen since his mother's funeral.
"No, sir."
Wells felt a fleeting urge to touch his father's arm, but something other than the handcuffs shackling his wrists kept him from reaching across the desk. Even as they had gathered around the release portal, saying their final, silent good- byes to Wells's mother, they'd never bridged the six inches of space between their shoulders. It was as if Wells and his father were two magnets, the charge of their grief repelling them apart.
"Was it some kind of political statement?" His father winced slightly, as though the thought hit him like a physical blow. "Did someone from Walden or Arcadia put you up to it?"
"No, sir," Wells said, biting back his indignation. His father had apparently spent the past six weeks trying to recast Wells as some kind of rebel, reprogramming his memories to help him understand why his son, formerly a star student and now the highest-ranked cadet, had committed the most public infraction in history. But even the truth would do little to mitigate his father's confusion. For the Chancellor, nothing could justify setting fire to the Eden Tree, the sapling that had been carried onto Phoenix right before the Exodus. Yet for Wells, it hadn't been a choice. Once he'd discovered that Clarke was one of the hundred being sent to Earth, he'd had to do something to join them. And as the Chancellor's son, only the most public of infractions would land him in Confinement.
Wells remembered moving through the crowd at the Remembrance Ceremony, feeling the weight of hundreds of eyes on him, his hand shaking as he removed the lighter from his pocket and produced a spark that glowed brightly in the gloom. For a moment, everyone had stared in silence as the flames wrapped around the tree. And even as the guards rushed forward in sudden chaos, no one had been able to miss whom they were dragging away.
"What the hell were you thinking?" the Chancellor asked, staring at him in disbelief. "You could've burned down the whole hall and killed everyone in it."
It would be better to lie. His father would have an easier time believing that Wells had been carrying out a dare. Or perhaps he could try to pretend he had been on drugs. Either of those scenarios would be more palatable to the Chancellor than the truth—that he'd risked everything for a girl.
The hospital door closed behind him but Wells's smile stayed frozen in place, as if the force it had taken to lift the corners of his mouth had permanently damaged the muscles in his face. Through the haze of drugs, his mother had probably thought his grin looked real, which was all that mattered. She'd held Wells's hand as the lies poured out of him, bitter but harmless. Yes, Dad and I are doing fine. She didn't need to know that they'd barely exchanged more than a few words in weeks. When you're better, we'll finish Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. They both knew that she'd never make it to the final volume.
Wells slipped out of the hospital and started walking across B deck, which was mercifully empty. At this hour, most people were either at tutorials, work, or at the Exchange. He was supposed to be at a history lecture, normally his favorite subject. He'd always loved stories about ancient cities like Rome and New York, whose dazzling triumphs were matched only by the magnitude of their downfalls. But he couldn't spend two hours surrounded by the same tutorial mates who had filled his message queue with vague, uncomfortable condolences. The only person he could talk to about his mother was Glass, but she'd been strangely distant lately.
Wells wasn't sure how long he'd been standing outside the door before he realized he'd arrived at the library. He allowed the scanner to pass over his eyes, waited for the prompt, and then pressed his thumb against the pad. The door slid open just long enough for Wells to slip inside and then closed behind him with a huffy thud, as if it had done Wells a great favor by admitting him in the first place.
Wells exhaled as the stillness and shadows washed over him. The books that been evacuated onto Phoenix before the Cataclysm were kept in tall, oxygen-free cases that significantly slowed the deterioration process, which is why they had to be read in the library, and only then for a few hours at a time. The enormous room was hidden away from the circadian lights, in a state of perpetual twilight.
For as long as he could remember, Wells and his mother had spent Sunday evenings here, his mother reading aloud to him when he was little, then reading side by side as he got older. But as her illness progressed and her headaches grew worse, Wells had started reading to her. They'd just started volume two of Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire the evening before she was admitted to the hospital.
He wove through the narrow aisles
toward the English Language section and then over to History, which was
tucked into a dark back corner. The collection was smaller than it
should've been. The first colonial government had arranged for digital
text to be loaded onto Phoenix, but fewer than a hundred years later, a
virus wiped out most of the digital archives, and the only books left
were those in private collections—heirlooms handed down from the
original colonists to their descendants. Over the past century, most of
the relics had been donated to the library.
Publication date: 3/18/2014
Pages: 400
Synopsis:
Soon, Elusion® will change the world and life as we know it.
A new technology called Elusion
is sweeping the country. An app, a visor, and a wristband will virtually
transport you to an exotic destination where adventure can be pursued
without the complications—or consequences—of real life.
Regan is an Elusion insider. Or
at least she used to be. Her father invented the program, and her best
friend, Patrick, heir to the tech giant Orexis, is about to release it
nationwide. But ever since her father's unexpected death, Regan can't
bear to Escape, especially since waking up from the dream means crashing
back to her grim reality.
Still, when there are rumors of
trouble in Elusion—accusations that it's addictive and dangerous—Regan
is determined to defend it. But the critics of Elusion come from
surprising sources, including Josh, the handsome skeptic with his own
personal stakes. As Regan investigates the claims, she discovers a
disturbing web of secrets. She will soon have to choose between love and
loyalty . . . a decision that will affect the lives of millions.
Suspense, thrills, and romance
fuel this near-future story about the seductive nature of a perfect
virtual world and how far one girl will go to uncover the truth behind
the illusions.
Reviews:
Sophie Jordan
Elizabeth Norris
Meet the Author
Claudia Gabel and Cheryl Klam met when Claudia edited Cheryl's previous novels, Learning to Swim and The Pretty One.
Claudia works as an editor in New York, but she's also the author of
several books for tweens and teens, including the In or Out series and
the mash-up Romeo & Juliet & Vampires. They liked
working together so much that they decided to cowrite a bunch of things,
including movie proposals and TV sitcom scripts. And then one day they
had the idea for Elusion, and the rest is the future.
Claudia Gabel and Cheryl Klam met when Claudia edited Cheryl's previous novels, Learning to Swim and The Pretty One.
Claudia works as an editor in New York, but she's also the author of
several books for tweens and teens, including the In or Out series and
the mash-up Romeo & Juliet & Vampires.
They liked working together so much that they decided to cowrite a
bunch of things, including movie proposals and TV sitcom scripts. And
then one day they had the idea for Elusion, and the rest is the future.
Publication date: 3/18/2014
Pages: 352
Synopsis:
In Liz Coley's alarming and fascinating psychological mystery,
sixteen-year-old Angie Chapman must piece together the story of her
kidnapping and abuse. Pretty Girl-13
is a disturbing—and ultimately empowering—page-turner about accepting
our whole selves, and the healing power of courage, hope, and love.
Reviews:
Lauren Myracle
ALA Booklist
Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books
Cinda Williams Chima
Meet the Author
Liz Coley's short fiction has appeared in Cosmos
magazine and speculative fiction anthologies. Her passions beyond
reading and writing include singing, photography, and baking. She plays
competitive tennis locally in Ohio to keep herself fit and humble.
With a background in science, Liz follows her interest in understanding "the way we work" down many interesting roads. Pretty Girl-13's journey into the perilous world of dissociative identity disorder is one of them.
Publication date: 3/18/2014
Pages: 320
Edition: Reprint Edition
Age range: 12 - 17 Years
Synopsis:
My name is Tegan Oglietti, and on the last day of my first lifetime, I was so, so happy.
Sixteen-year-old Tegan is just like every other girl living in 2027--she's happiest when playing the guitar, she's falling in love for the first time, and she's joining her friends to protest the wrongs of the world: environmental collapse, social discrimination, and political injustice.
Sixteen-year-old Tegan is just like every other girl living in 2027--she's happiest when playing the guitar, she's falling in love for the first time, and she's joining her friends to protest the wrongs of the world: environmental collapse, social discrimination, and political injustice.
But on what should have been the
best day of Tegan's life, she dies--and wakes up a hundred years in the
future, locked in a government facility with no idea what happened.
Tegan is the first government
guinea pig to be cryonically frozen and successfully revived, which
makes her an instant celebrity--even though all she wants to do is try
to rebuild some semblance of a normal life. But the future isn't all she
hoped it would be, and when appalling secrets come to light, Tegan must
make a choice: Does she keep her head down and survive, or fight for a
better future?
Read an Excerpt
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Publication date: 3/20/2014
Series: Secrets of the Eternal Rose Series , #3
Pages: 336
Age range: 14 years
Publication date: 3/20/2014
Series: Secrets of the Eternal Rose Series , #3
Pages: 336
Age range: 14 years
Synopsis:
In the stunning conclusion to the
Secrets of the Eternal Rose tirlogy, there is nothing more dangerous
that a secret closely kept…
Cass and Luca are fugitives, on the run from the law and the deadly Order of the Eternal Rose. As they separate to pursue the only evidence that could save them, their worlds—and their romance—are torn apart by spiteful friends and murderous enemies.
When Cass finds herself ensnared in the Order’s twisted plot, Falco emerges once again as her only hope for freedom. But it turns out Luca has a shocking scheme of his own.
From ancient mercenaries to sly magicians, from clever courtesans to vengeful killers, no one can be trusted. In the breathtaking conclusion to the Secrets of the Eternal Rose trilogy, Cass must confront the Order and once and for all decide her destiny. Who will fly beside her when she finally finds her wings?
Cass and Luca are fugitives, on the run from the law and the deadly Order of the Eternal Rose. As they separate to pursue the only evidence that could save them, their worlds—and their romance—are torn apart by spiteful friends and murderous enemies.
When Cass finds herself ensnared in the Order’s twisted plot, Falco emerges once again as her only hope for freedom. But it turns out Luca has a shocking scheme of his own.
From ancient mercenaries to sly magicians, from clever courtesans to vengeful killers, no one can be trusted. In the breathtaking conclusion to the Secrets of the Eternal Rose trilogy, Cass must confront the Order and once and for all decide her destiny. Who will fly beside her when she finally finds her wings?
Reviews:
Kirkus Reviews
Cass and Luca return to Venice to clear their names and put an end to the Order of the Eternal Rose once and for all in this trilogy closer. On their heels are the apparently immortal Belladonna and her evil doctor. Also converging in Venice are the Order leader who has the Venetian Senate in the palm of his hand and Luca's illegitimate, psychotic half brother. There is danger aplenty, and plucky Cass soon finds herself in the thick of it. Having kicked one leg of the obligatory love triangle away in Belladonna (2013), Paul wedges it back in place by placing Falco and Cass in a fervent colloquy that Luca witnesses, leading to the also-obligatory estrangement of Cass from her betrothed. Much wringing of hands ensues over this, as well as the deaths of friends and servants incurred during her quest. Cass and the plot lurch from peril to peril with far too much telling and not enough showing; villainous dialogue is often helpfully interpreted in a sort of narrative play by play. Short chapters that end in minicliffhangers keep the pages turning, though, helping readers speed past the frequently purple prose. The rather interesting acceptance of prostitution as a legitimate career choice for young women in the late Renaissance goes largely unexamined, as does the relationship of Venice's Jews to the larger population, sparked by an irresponsibly throwaway scene. Formulaic, anachronistic, undemanding. (Historical mystery. 14 & up)
About the Author
Fiona Paul
is a writer, wanderer, and free spirit, with degrees in psychology and
secondary education. She’s traveled all over the world, and many of the
scenes in Venom, Belladonna and Starling were
inspired by real-life experiences (though she won’t tell you which
ones). She now makes her home in St. Louis, Missouri. You can visit
Fiona Paul at www.FionaPaulBooks.com, read her blog at
FionaPaulBooks.blogspot.com and follow her on Twitter at @fionawritesYA
Read an Excerpt
Chapter 1
When the last drop of light drained from the sky, Cass and Luca crept out of the shed where they had been hiding. Cass took a moment to stretch, her muscles grateful to be free of the cramped enclosure. After Luca had torn open his shoulder escaping from the Doge’s dungeons, the wound had festered, leaving him feverish and incapacitated for nearly a week. Cass knew each day that passed meant fewer people would be searching for them, but the waiting had been agony. She was desperate to resume her quest to destroy the Order of the Eternal Rose.
There was only one way to do
that—find the Book of the Eternal Rose and pray it contained enough
evidence of wrongdoing to bring the Order’s members to justice. Hatred
coiled inside of Cass like a tangle of serpents. She embraced it,
channeled it toward the task at hand. “The shore is this way,” she said.
Luca squeezed her fingers as they
turned off the path, and she relaxed slightly. The whispering tide
ebbed and flowed just out of sight. The wind was warm but brisk,
whipping the fabric of her dress up around her legs. Luca walked
stiffly, his injured arm cradled against his torso. They traveled east
along the water until Cass found what she was looking for—an old batèla tied to a wooden dock. She glanced around. A handful of cottages—all dark—stood nearby. The boat might belong to any of them.
Walking boldly out onto the dock, Cass knelt down and loosened the rope that moored the small rowboat. “Get in,” she told Luca.
He paused. “Is there no other way than to steal from peasants?”
“Our alleged crimes have gone
beyond mere theft,” Cass said. She didn’t remind him that they were
heading to Villa Querini so they could steal from her beloved aunt.
There was no other way. Cass and Luca would need money to return to
Florence and seek out the book. It was safer for Agnese if she believed
they were dead. “Besides, someone will probably find the craft and
return it.” Nimbly, Cass’s fingers worked through the knots while Luca
watched with a mixture of surprise and admiration.
“I had no idea your talents were so . . . varied,” he said.
Cass smiled. It felt like the first smile in days. “Wait until you see me row.”
And row she did. Wood ground
against metal as she pulled the oars, leaning into each stroke, her
muscles burning in protest as the boat moved slowly and steadily through
the lagoon. She scanned the water as she rowed, looking for other
craft, for boats that held soldiers, for anything out of the ordinary.
But the night was a curtain of blackness, with nothing but a hazy moon
to guide her. If they suddenly came upon another boat, there very well
might be a crash.
Luca took in each of her movements, the expression on his face suddenly making Cass feel shy.
“What?” she asked. She looked down at the water, her eyes tracing the
path of the wooden oar as it cut through the lagoon, before letting her
gaze return to her fiancé. He was still watching her. “You’re staring.”“I was thinking that each time I feel I know you, you surprise me again.” His voice was low but full of warmth, like if he were feeling a bit stronger, he might lean over and kiss her.
Cass fumbled one of the oars at that thought. As she reached out to retrieve it, she remembered a trip in a batèla she’d made with Falco. It was the night they had found the body of Sophia, Joseph Dubois’s former servant. Cass’s cheeks grew hot as she thought of Falco tugging at fabric and undoing laces, at the two of them tangled together beneath a blanket as their mouths tasted each other. Idiota, she cursed herself. She was certainly full of surprises. Unfortunately, not all of them would make Luca look at her with such tenderness.
“You’re starting to get winded. You should let me take a turn,” he said.
Cass shook her head. She’d force herself to row until her back was breaking and her hands were bleeding before she did that. Luca would reinjure his shoulder if he tried, and besides, she deserved to suffer. She had dishonored him with Falco. She had put her handmaid in harm’s way, and Siena had died. Cass didn’t know if she would ever forgive herself.
She followed the southern
coastline of the Giudecca around to the east and then turned south
before reaching San Giorgio Maggiore. The shore of San Domenico appeared
out of the mist, its tall grass blowing back and forth as if beckoning
to her. Cass navigated the boat past an open field and around to
Agnese’s dock. She looped a coil of rope around one of the mooring
posts. Tying what she hoped was a secure knot, Cass rose slowly to her
feet in the wobbling craft.
Luca took her arm and steadied
her as she alighted from the boat. She turned to give him her hand as he
stepped from the batèla after her.
They stood at the edge of the dock, uncertain, a pair of silhouettes
backlit by the moon. Cass couldn’t believe she was home again. It had
been only a week, but the place felt alien to her. Patches of the
normally neatly manicured lawn were unkempt, the shrubbery that framed
the front of the villa beginning to overtake the grass. Her knees went a
bit quivery, and her heart rose into her throat. Giuseppe had never
neglected his gardening duties. What did it mean?“Cass? What is it?” Luca asked.
Rather than explain why the
unruly hedges seemed a harbinger of bad tidings, Cass stepped from the
dock onto the lawn. Luca was close behind her. As she neared the front
door, she could see the draperies of black fabric that covered the door
and all of the windows.
Draperies that meant someone was dead.
A shudder moved through Cass. She
reached out for the carved molding around the door to steady herself,
trying to deny to her brain what her heart was screaming. Her aunt was
fine—she had to be. For all Cass knew, the swatches of fabric might be
for her. Perhaps after failing to locate them, the Senate had
declared Cass and Luca dead. Agnese could have hung the ceremonial
draperies to honor Cass, despite having no body to bury.
Luca rested a hand on her back. His touch gave her the strength to
move forward, but the front door was locked, the villa completely quiet.
Cass didn’t know what she’d been expecting. It was late—of course the
place would be secure. She wondered who might answer the door if she
knocked. Bortolo, the butler, had been Agnese’s servant for more than
twenty years, but age had taken its toll and Cass had no doubt he was
dozing somewhere. Agnese’s handmaid, Narissa, might still be lurking
about, mending chemises by candlelight.But Cass couldn’t knock. Even though she thought of the servants as family, she and Luca were criminals, with large bounties on their heads. She had to assume that anyone would turn them in for a life-changing amount of gold. Men had betrayed their real families for much less.
Instead, Cass led Luca around to
the back of the villa, to the garden, where she was dismayed to find
that Agnese’s rosebushes looked as if they hadn’t seen water in days.
The stems were gnarled and twisted, like witches’ fingers; the blooms
hung low. Even the marigolds had withered, their petals littering the
dirt like a field of golden teardrops.
Luckily, the servants’ door was
unlocked, and Cass and Luca slipped quietly into the kitchen. And then
she knew for certain. It wasn’t merely the faint smell of decay, masked
by rosewater and the tinge of something medicinal. It was a feeling that
overwhelmed her the instant she set foot inside the villa. A feeling of
emptiness.
A feeling of death.
Publication date: 3/18/2014
Pages: 336
Age range: 14 years
Synopsis:
What if you'd been living your life as if you were dying—only to find out that you had your whole future ahead of you?
When sixteen-year-old Alice is
diagnosed with leukemia, her prognosis is grim. To maximize the time she
does have, she vows to spend her final months righting wrongs—however
she sees fit. She convinces her friend Harvey, who she knows has always
had feelings for her, to help her with a crazy bucket list that's as
much about revenge (humiliating her ex-boyfriend and getting back at her
archnemesis) as it is about hope (doing something unexpectedly kind for
a stranger). But just when Alice's scores are settled, she goes into
remission.
Now Alice is forced to face the
consequences of all that she's said and done, as well as her true
feelings for Harvey. But has she caused irreparable damage to the people
around her—and to the one person who matters most?
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