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The Meadowbrook Murders

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Secrets don't die.

It’s the first week of senior year at Meadowbrook Academy. For Amy and her best friend Sarah, that means late-night parties at the boathouse, bike rides through their sleepy Connecticut town, and the crisp beginning of a New England fall.

Then tragedy strikes: Sarah and her boyfriend are brutally murdered in their dorm room. Now the week Amy has been dreaming about for years has turned into a nightmare, especially when all eyes turn to her as the culprit. She was Sarah’s only roommate, the only other person there when she died—or so she told the police to cover for her own boyfriend’s suspicious whereabouts. And even though they were best friends, with every passing day, Amy begins to learn that Sarah lied about a lot of things.

Liz, editor of the school newspaper and social outcast, is determined to uncover the truth about what happened on campus, in hopes her reporting will land a prestigious scholarship to college. As Liz dives deeper into her investigation, the secrets these murdered seniors never wanted out come to light. The deeper Liz digs, the messier the truth becomes – and with a killer still on campus, she can’t afford to make any mistakes.
My bare feet hit the floor and I rub my eyes as I swing open the door into the common room, my vision blurry from sleep. I bump into my desk before finding my way to the ­baby-​­blue mini fridge. Sarah had surprised me with it last week when we moved in. She had already filled it with our ­favorites—​­cans of Diet Coke, little glass pots of French yogurts, single servings of hummus and guacamole. Students aren’t supposed to have their own appliances in the dorms, but Sarah shrugged when I brought up the rule.
“No one stopped me.” She smiled and began explaining the ­color-​­coded labels she made to keep the groceries or­ganized.
I swing the door open and reach inside for a plastic cup of iced coffee, saved from yesterday’s outing into town.
It’s watery and too sweet. But it’ll do until I get to the dining hall.
I knock on Sarah’s door. “Sar? You up?”
No one answers.
“Cool silent treatment, but can we talk about last night?”
I take a sip from the straw, then another, everything around me a little fuzzy. The curtains are drawn, and the room is dark, but sun peeks through the corners. The digital clock below our TV flashes 8:00. Shit. I overslept. Senior Sanction is in an hour. A full day of welcome rituals reserved for our class, while we’re still the only ones on campus. Maybe Sarah left for breakfast already, didn’t wake me up as part of her I’m‑­pissed‑­at‑­you campaign.
I pad back into my room and fumble as I call Sarah. The line goes straight to voicemail. Her recorded message rings in my ear and my shoulders tense. She ran a ­six-​­foot extension cord from the outlet near her door to make sure she could charge her phone right next to her bed while she slept, said she’d rather die than wake up with less than 20 percent battery.
“Sarah?” I call again, stepping into the common space.
That’s when I notice it.
The stench.
The rotten smell of iron. Pungent and everywhere, lodged in my throat. My nostrils. My stomach.
My heart pounds as I dial Sarah again, wait for a ring that doesn’t come.
“I can’t come to the phone right ­now . . .” her voice bleats in my ear.
Suddenly I’m lightheaded, like I can barely breathe. Because once the rest of the room comes into focus, I realize it’s not only the odor that’s odd.
© Allie Holloway
Jessica Goodman is the New York Times bestselling author of They’ll Never Catch Us and They Wish They Were Us. The Counselors is her third novel. She is the former op-ed editor at Cosmopolitan magazine, where she won a National Magazine Award in personal service. She has also held editorial positions at Entertainment Weekly and Huffpost. Follow Jessica on twitter @jessgood and Instagram @jessicagoodman. View titles by Jessica Goodman

About

Secrets don't die.

It’s the first week of senior year at Meadowbrook Academy. For Amy and her best friend Sarah, that means late-night parties at the boathouse, bike rides through their sleepy Connecticut town, and the crisp beginning of a New England fall.

Then tragedy strikes: Sarah and her boyfriend are brutally murdered in their dorm room. Now the week Amy has been dreaming about for years has turned into a nightmare, especially when all eyes turn to her as the culprit. She was Sarah’s only roommate, the only other person there when she died—or so she told the police to cover for her own boyfriend’s suspicious whereabouts. And even though they were best friends, with every passing day, Amy begins to learn that Sarah lied about a lot of things.

Liz, editor of the school newspaper and social outcast, is determined to uncover the truth about what happened on campus, in hopes her reporting will land a prestigious scholarship to college. As Liz dives deeper into her investigation, the secrets these murdered seniors never wanted out come to light. The deeper Liz digs, the messier the truth becomes – and with a killer still on campus, she can’t afford to make any mistakes.

Excerpt

My bare feet hit the floor and I rub my eyes as I swing open the door into the common room, my vision blurry from sleep. I bump into my desk before finding my way to the ­baby-​­blue mini fridge. Sarah had surprised me with it last week when we moved in. She had already filled it with our ­favorites—​­cans of Diet Coke, little glass pots of French yogurts, single servings of hummus and guacamole. Students aren’t supposed to have their own appliances in the dorms, but Sarah shrugged when I brought up the rule.
“No one stopped me.” She smiled and began explaining the ­color-​­coded labels she made to keep the groceries or­ganized.
I swing the door open and reach inside for a plastic cup of iced coffee, saved from yesterday’s outing into town.
It’s watery and too sweet. But it’ll do until I get to the dining hall.
I knock on Sarah’s door. “Sar? You up?”
No one answers.
“Cool silent treatment, but can we talk about last night?”
I take a sip from the straw, then another, everything around me a little fuzzy. The curtains are drawn, and the room is dark, but sun peeks through the corners. The digital clock below our TV flashes 8:00. Shit. I overslept. Senior Sanction is in an hour. A full day of welcome rituals reserved for our class, while we’re still the only ones on campus. Maybe Sarah left for breakfast already, didn’t wake me up as part of her I’m‑­pissed‑­at‑­you campaign.
I pad back into my room and fumble as I call Sarah. The line goes straight to voicemail. Her recorded message rings in my ear and my shoulders tense. She ran a ­six-​­foot extension cord from the outlet near her door to make sure she could charge her phone right next to her bed while she slept, said she’d rather die than wake up with less than 20 percent battery.
“Sarah?” I call again, stepping into the common space.
That’s when I notice it.
The stench.
The rotten smell of iron. Pungent and everywhere, lodged in my throat. My nostrils. My stomach.
My heart pounds as I dial Sarah again, wait for a ring that doesn’t come.
“I can’t come to the phone right ­now . . .” her voice bleats in my ear.
Suddenly I’m lightheaded, like I can barely breathe. Because once the rest of the room comes into focus, I realize it’s not only the odor that’s odd.

Author

© Allie Holloway
Jessica Goodman is the New York Times bestselling author of They’ll Never Catch Us and They Wish They Were Us. The Counselors is her third novel. She is the former op-ed editor at Cosmopolitan magazine, where she won a National Magazine Award in personal service. She has also held editorial positions at Entertainment Weekly and Huffpost. Follow Jessica on twitter @jessgood and Instagram @jessicagoodman. View titles by Jessica Goodman

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