SLOAN HARLOW’s debut YA thriller, Everything We Never Said, is packed with dark romance, high stakes and plot twists.
Read on for an extract of Everything We Never Said…
ABOUT THE BOOK
Dark romance, high stakes and plot twists abound in Sloan Harlow’s debut YA thriller, perfect for fans of Colleen Hoover.
The dead keep the best secrets . . .
It’s been months since Ella’s best-friend, Hayley, died and everywhere she looks she sees reminders of her – including Sawyer, Hayley’s boyfriend. Soon, the two grow closer, finding comfort in each other.
Racked with guilt, Ella turns to Hayley’s journal, but what she finds leaves her terrified. The Sawyer in these pages is nothing like the kind and thoughtful boy she knows. Torn, Ella finds herself having to make a choice. Yet making the wrong one could have fatal consequences . . .
EXTRACT
Chapter 1
Ella
Thick waves of rain assault my bedroom window, the lightning and thunder of a Georgia storm cracking this Monday morning wide open. I’ve been awake for hours, listening to the wind howl, fantasising that a swirling gale will rip through my wall and sweep me away.
The floor creaks just outside my room. I can see Mum’s shadow shift beneath the door. The wood groans beneath her feet. The sound of indecision. To knock on her daughter’s door or not?
Mum leaves, her footfalls retreating back to her bedroom. Not, apparently.
A year ago, she would have burst in, and I would have gotten an earful for still being under the covers. A year ago, her silence would have been inconceivable. But a year ago, everything was different. I’ve earned this silence, heavy as a stone around my neck. And with this penance, I throw back the covers and do the impossible:
I get ready for my first day of senior year at North Davis High.
Even though it feels like a different lifetime, I still remember how stressed I was on the first day of 11th grade. No amount of argan oil could sleek away the Georgia humidity from my frizzy black hair. The cat-eye makeup that had looked so femme fatale the night before now made me look like I wanted to hold Gotham City for ransom with laughing gas.
Panicked, I had texted a selfie to my favourite person in the world with the caption Help.
Hayley’s response had been immediate. Are you kidding? You look hot AF. Just come over real quick, I can help your hair. Georgia summers got nothing on my straightener.
But today?
Today, I put on the first thing my toes touch on the bedroom floor: the same jeans I wore yesterday (and the day before that, and the day before that) and a grey sweatshirt stained with last week’s salsa. I can’t remember the last time I looked in a mirror.
Grief has opened a canyon between me and that stupid girl from a year ago, whose greatest disasters were bad eyeliner and flyaways. How I hate her.
How I long for her.
Walking back into the halls of North Davis High, I feel like I’m not returning as Ella, but as Shadow Ella, the living ghost girl. The thought feels like a paper cut on my heart. I wish I were a ghost. Maybe then I could stretch across the realms and actually still talk to Hayley. Tell her the important things.
Like the fact that Albert Wonsky now has her locker. She’d groan and say something like Please, please rescue my pictures of Pedro Pascal before my husband is drowned in anime porn, and I would laugh and tell her, Sorry, too late.
I’d tell her the dent is still there. The one from when I kicked a locker after getting a B in Latin. And so is the dent she kicked right next to it. ‘For plausible deniability,’ she had said. ‘Not what that means,’ I’d said back.
I’d tell her there’s still pink birthday candle wax smeared in the alcove by the music room. The one where Sawyer Hawkins and I had crouched, grinning madly as we jumped out with balloons and a lit cupcake to scream, ‘Happy birthday!’
Sawyer.
His name feels like a fist twisting my stomach. I can’t think about him today. It’s already too much. If I do, my rib cage will crack all over again.
Which is why this is the exact moment Sawyer walks into view. There he is, at the end of the hall, towering above Mike Lim as they discuss something that has Sawyer’s handsome face breaking out into a crooked grin.
It hits me so hard, I have to stop walking. I lean against a wall and clutch my books so tightly that the words CALCULUS I will probably be embossed into my sternum for days.
As if he can sense my presence, Sawyer suddenly glances in my direction. I stop breathing. For the first time since the funeral, I’m seeing Sawyer’s soft brown eyes.
Except there’s nothing soft about the look he’s giving me. Sawyer, the only boy I’ve ever known to celebrate month anniversaries with tiny, perfect gifts, who happily supplied us with popcorn and Sprite throughout an entire Twilight marathon when Hayley felt sick, who loved my best friend as much as I did . . .
That Sawyer is currently shooting me a look of such fury that I instantly feel like puking.
I knew it. He blames me.
I should hold his gaze. I should let his judgment sear me. It’s what I deserve, for what I stole from him. From her.
But instead, I whirl around, swallowing a sob, ready to sprint down the hall, out of school, maybe forever. But I end up slamming directly into Mr Wilkens.
‘Oof! Easy, there, tiger!’ The school psychologist stumbles back, his hands shooting out to grasp my shoulders and keep me from falling.
‘God, I’m so sorry,’ I choke out, mortified.
‘No, no, Ella, you’re fine. I’m fine.’ He ducks his chin, trying to catch my eye. ‘Hey. Hey. I’m glad we bumped into each other. How are you?’
I shrug, not trusting my voice.
‘That well, huh?’ Mr Wilkens is usually clean shaven, but he has some scruff along his jaw. His typically bright blue eyes look smudged today, the colour of bruises. Maybe he’s one of those counsellors who actually cares about his students. Maybe he’s sad this morning too.
It’s a nice thought.
‘Ella,’ he says, ‘I know today is hard. And I hope you know I’m here for you.’ He looks like he wants to say more, but the bell rings, interrupting his thought. ‘Ah, saved by the bell.’ He laughs. ‘Don’t be late to class. We’ll talk soon, okay?’
He watches me walk away, concern furrowing his brow. It’s so kind, how he’s worried. How he wants to help. Don’t bother, Mr. Wilkens, I should tell him. Save your effort and time for students who aren’t lost causes. Students who deserve it.
Students who didn’t kill their best friends.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sloan Harlow was interested in writing from a very young age. Everything We Never Said, is her debut novel. She lives in Georgia with her black cat, Pabu, trying to eat as much Ube ice cream as possible.
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