Its been five years since Summer Marks was brutally murdered in the woods.
As the book begins, everyone wrongly thinks Mia and Brynn killed Summer, their best friend.
Oliver has exclusively shared with EW the official cover forBroken Things, as well as an excerpt.
Credit: Charles Grantham
Read on below, and pre-order the book ahead of its Oct. 2 releasehere.
BrynnNow
Five years ago, when I had just turned thirteen, I killed my best friend.
I chased her down and cracked her over the head with a rock.
Hodder & Stoughton
Then we knifed her twice in the throat, and five times in the chest.
Afterward, Mia and I split up.
I was more careful.
He never said where he had gone.
He was lying, obviously.
He was the one who orchestrated the whole thing.
That was the year Summer started growing up, leaving the rest of us behind, changing the rules.
Maybe we were all a little jealous of her.
It was found, later, just outside his garage, behind his dads lawn mower.
Owen, Mia, and me, Brynn.
The Monsters of Brickhouse Lane.
Never mind that the case against Mia and me never even made it out of family court.
Try as hard as they could, the cops couldnt make the facts fit.
And half the information we told them was illegally obtained, since wed never even been cautioned.
Never mind that Owen was acquitted in criminal court, not guilty, free to pass go.
Never mind, either, that we didnt do it.
In books, secret worlds are accessible by doors or keys or other physical objects.
That day, however, a curious thing happened when they set off into the woods.
FromThe Way into Lovelornby Georgia C. Wells, 1963
Your physicals look fine.
Paulie bends over my file, scrubbing her nose with a finger.
A big pimple is growing just above her right nostril.
Blood pressures great, liver looks good.
Id say youre in good shape.
Thanks, I say.
But the most important thing is how youfeel.
When she leans back, her blouse strains around the buttons.
And she cant dress for hell.
Its like she buys clothes for someone elses body too-tight Lycra blouses or too-big skirts and man shoes.
Maybe she Dumpster-dives her whole wardrobe.
But she could make anything look good.
Garbage fashion, she called it.
She was going to be a famous actress, and write her memoir.
She was going to do so many things.
I feel good, I say.
Paulie adjusts her glasses, a nervous habit.
Six rehabs since eighth grade, she says.
I want to believe youre ready for a change.
Four Corners is different, I say, dodging the question I know she wants to ask.
I have my own room, bigger even than my room at home.
Theres a pool and a sauna.
Theres a volleyball court on a bit of scrubby lawn and a flat-screen TV in the media room.
If it werent for all the therapy sessions, it would be like staying at a nice hotel.
At least, I think it would be.
Ive never stayed at a hotel.
Im glad to hear it, Paulie says.
Her eyes are fish-big, wide and sincere behind her glasses.
I dont want to see you back here in six months.
You wont, I say, which is kind of true.
Im not going to come back to Four Corners.
Im not leaving at all.
Life in bite-size portions.
It turns out that after a first trip to rehab, its easy to hopscotch.
I dont like lying, especially to people like Paulie.
I get nightmares, panic attacks.
Sometimes I hear the hiss of an insult, a voice whisperingpsycho, devil, killer.
In rehab, I can be whoever I want.
And that means, finally, I dont have to be a monster.
Lovelorn had its own weather, just as it had its own time.
FromThe Way into Lovelornby Georgia C. Wells
MiaNow
Holy mother of funk.
Abby, my best friend, holds up a moldering piece of fabric between two white-gloved fingers.
Whatever it used to be a jacket?
Dont ask, I say.
She shakes her head.
Did your mom stash a dead body in here or something?
she says, and then, realizing what shes said, quickly stuffs the cloth into a lawn-and-leaf bag.
Thats okay, I say.
Thats one of the things I love about Abby: she forgets.
She legitimately fails to remember that when I was twelve, I was accused of murdering my best friend.
Partly, thats because Abby moved here only two years ago.
Shed heard about the murder, sure everyones heard about it but secondhand is different.
But in Twin Lakes it was personal.
Five years later, I still cant walk in town without everyone glaring at me or whispering awful things.
I guess everyone blames her for raising a monster.
At a certain point, it just became easier to stay inside.
Luckily or maybe unluckily she has her own online marketing business.
Its the first time shes left the house for more than an hour since the murder.
But then again, she didnt exactly have a choice.
Abby extracts a stack of ragged newspapers from beneath a broken standing lamp.
Now we know what was major news in she squints 2014.
Maybe you should sell that.
Its still in the box, right?
Abby climbs to her feet with difficulty, using a TV stand for leverage.
Shes five-four and weighs 180 pounds, has thyroid problems and prediabetes.
Shes also insanely beautiful.
When she was ten, she started a YouTube channel all about fashion and beauty.
Theres hardly room to breathe.
The Piles have seen to that.
Sure, I say.
If you like your veggies with a side of black mold.
Outside, the sky is a weird color.
The clouds are a seasick green.
Were supposed to have a few bad days of storms maybe even a tornado although nobody really believes that.
I heave the box into the Dumpster parked in our driveway.
Back inside, Abby is red-faced, coughing, cupping a hand to her mouth.
She chokes out the words, eyes watering.
I think its an old pizza or something.
The sky looks like its about to throw up.
Abby obviously feels embarrassed thatImembarrassed.
We barely made a dent.
This is not entirely true.
I can see several bare spots in the carpet.
The TV and TV console have been revealed in the living room.
I wonder whether we still have cable.
I force a smile.
More for us to do tomorrow.
Maybe well even find a buried treasure.
Before she leaves, she grips my shoulders.
I wont find you tomorrow suffocated under a pile of dirty laundry and old newspapers?
I force a smile.
That awful shredding feeling is still there, churning up my insides.
But Abby wants to get out.
And I dont blame her.
Ive been wanting out for as long as I can remember.
Go, I say, sidestepping her.
Before a tornado sucks you somewhere over the rainbow.
She rolls her eyes and gives her stomach a slap.
Id like to see a tornado try.
Youre beautiful, I call after her, as she heads for the door.
I know, she calls back.
After Abbys gone, I stand there for a minute, inhaling slowly without breathing too deeply.
The curtains, ragged and slick with stains, twist in the wind.
Its dark for four oclock, and getting darker every second.
But Im hesitant to turn on one of the overhead lights.
The Piles look bad in the dark, sure.
Formless and soft and strange.
In the light, theres no way to pretend.
My mom is crazy.
She cant get rid of anything.
She holds on to matchbooks and sandwich bags, broken garden rakes and empty flowerpots.
Maybe things would have been different if Dad had stayed.
She wasnt totally normal back then, but she wasnt totally screwy, either.
But Dad didnt stay, and Mom fell apart.
And its all my fault.
