Two strangers search for the truth behind bizarre occurrences no one else dares to discuss—only to discover that they’re connected by secrets that could destroy them both. A thrilling and twisty novel by the acclaimed author of the Mindy’s Book Studio pick I’ll Stop the World.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Lauren Thoman’s You Shouldn’t Be Here, which is out August 1st 2024.
When sixteen-year-old Angie Stewart starts hearing a mysterious voice in her house, she’s thrilled at the possibility of a ghost. Finally, something interesting is happening in her boring hometown of East Henderson, Pennsylvania. But why is she the only one who can hear it? And what does it want from her?
Meanwhile, first-year teacher Madelyn Zhao just got the keys to her new home, which is located close to her job, within walking distance of a dog park—and, most importantly, in the town where her cousin went missing several years ago. No one in East Henderson wants to talk about what happened, but Madelyn is determined to find answers.
As the two strangers search for clues, their investigations begin to point toward the same dark place. But by the time they realize that the truth could be deadly, it’s too late to turn back. And someone out there will stop at nothing to make sure their secrets stay buried.
CHAPTER ONE
Among the projects that have ground to a halt due to the pandemic is the much-anticipated North Ridge Business Park in East Henderson, which was set to open sometime in 2022. The Raymond Realty Group’s 100-acre park, which was in the early stages of construction, has been in development since 2018 and was projected to create nearly 2,000 jobs. “It’s a real shame,” Doug Raymond, CEO of Raymond Realty Group, told us on a Zoom call. “North Ridge would’ve been a beautiful addition to East Henderson, and we’re so sad to let it go. But in the current economic and cultural climate, we just didn’t see a viable way to proceed.” Raymond clarified later on that he was indeed referring to the number of businesses who pulled out of the project due to financial hardship, and not to the state of his company, which he assured us is “chugging along just fine.”
—Excerpt from the Philadelphia Inquirer story “Coronavirus Takes a Wrecking Ball to Construction Plans,” September 2020
“I’m telling you, it’s a ghost.”
Angie twirled around her bedroom, arms splayed wide as if to scoop up the paranormal energy like a sail, brown hair swishing around her face. “Can’t you feel it?”
Her best friend dropped into the deflated black beanbag in the corner, a tangle of dark hair falling across his forehead. “I feel like you have reached an impressive new level of boredom.”
“Bas,” Angie groaned, placing her hands on her hips and glaring down at him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. I think you’ve finally let East Henderson get to you. In like, a clinical way.”
“I’m not imagining it. My house is actually haunted.”
She hadn’t been sure at first, but now she was. It started with small sounds while she was alone in the house: a book dropping or a door closing, little things that could be blamed on neighbors or wind or her own brain playing tricks on her. But over the past couple of days, it had grown into more than that. Food smells when no one was cooking. Snippets of muffled conversation, like she was listening through a door. And then last night, singing. Only a few notes, and too faint to make out the lyrics, but this time, she was sure it hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. The voice was female, bright and beautiful, and completely unfamiliar. It came from right outside her bedroom door, drifting down the hall, like it was walking to her father’s room. But when Angie checked, there was no one there.
She’d heard it a couple of times since, never lasting for more than a few seconds, always just barely out of reach. No other explanation made sense. It had to be a ghost.
Bas—short for Sebastián, but his parents were the only ones who called him that—leaned forward, bracing his long arms on his knees. The cuffs of his jeans leaped higher, exposing several inches of his bony brown legs. He’d gone through a growth spurt that summer, shooting up to tower nearly six inches over Angie. She was still getting used to it. In elementary school, she’d been the taller one, and for most of middle and high school, they’d been eye to eye. When she looked at him now, his chin was where his eyes should be. It was weird, and she didn’t think she liked it.
His clothes were having a similar problem adjusting; everything was too tight, too short. He tried to disguise it with hoodies and long socks, but he wasn’t fooling anyone except himself.
She wished he could give some of that unwanted lankiness to her. Now, next to him, she felt like a toadstool. Her legs were too short, her face too round, making her look younger than she was. A few times that summer, people had actually assumed she was his little sister, which had felt both mortifying and vaguely racist. Bas was Mexican and deeply tanned, while Angie was a quarter Chinese and held a rather vampiric attitude toward sunlight. But apparently some people just saw two non-white teens with dark hair and assumed they were part of a matched set. “Have you considered the more obvious explanation?” Bas asked, tugging his socks up again. “Which is?”
He raised a thick eyebrow. “The voice you’ve been hearing . . . it’s a woman, right?”
Angie narrowed her eyes. She had a feeling she knew where he was going, and willed him to make a U-turn. “Yeah . . .”
Bas shrugged. “Maybe your dad is dating.” “He is not.”
“Angie, I know you don’t want to hear this, but your dad having a girlfriend is actually preferable to your house being haunted.”
“That’s debatable,” Angie grumbled.
“Plus,” Bas went on, “it’s been, what, two years since your mom left? How long do you expect him to go without . . . you know, companionship?”
“First of all, gross,” Angie said, wrinkling her nose. “And second of all, my dad is not the type to bring some random woman home without telling me. And third of all, gross.” She sat down on her bed, the cheap spring mattress creaking under her weight, and covered her eyes with her hands. “Why would you put that image in my head?”
“Come on, it’s never occurred to you that he might not want to be alone forever?”
“He’s not alone. He’s got me. As he likes to remind me every freaking day.”
“You know that’s not the same thing.” “Where would he even meet anyone?” “Apps?”
Angie snorted. “I shudder to imagine the type of woman who would go for my dad’s dating profile. ‘Favorite food: frozen egg rolls. Favorite book: Star Trek novelizations.’ His photo is probably a bathroom selfie of him giving the Vulcan salute in a short-sleeved button-down.”
“Your mom went for him.”
“My mom left.” The words came out sharper than she’d intended, their edges filed to points. But even though she hadn’t meant to, she kind of hoped they’d drawn a little blood.
Maybe if they had, he’d let it go. And she wouldn’t have to admit that before her mom left for good, she’d been gone all the time. And now her dad was gone all the time. And the one thing they had in common was Angie.
Maybe she drove them away.
Bas opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, deciding against whatever he had planned to say. He dipped his head to scratch the back of his neck.
Angie gazed out the window over her bed, through the lacy cream curtains her mom had hung just two months before she’d left. They’ll brighten up the place, she’d said. See? Aren’t they pretty?
Angie should probably take them down. They didn’t go with anything else in her room. Not the CHVRCHES and Lorde and MCR posters on her walls. Not the piles of ripped jeans, graphic tees, and chunky sweaters that littered her floor. Not the haphazard rows of horror and sci-fi novels erupting from her floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, their spines spiderwebbed and pages soft from countless rereads.
Not Angie herself.
Maybe the curtains had been the last straw. Beautiful, delicate, and completely out of place, just like her mom. Maybe her mother had looked at them in Angie’s messy cave of a room and seen how much they didn’t belong there.
How much she didn’t belong there, with Angie.
The irony was that Angie looked like her. But in all the wrong ways. She had her curves, but not her height. Her bold features, but not the sophistication to pull them off. Her wavy hair, but not the skill to tame it.
Her daughter. But not the one she wanted.
Angie reached out, bunching the gauzy fabric in her fist. They looked stupid anyway. She’d never liked them, even before her mom left. They just weren’t her. Not that her mom had ever really seen her. She’d only ever seen the daughter she wished she’d had. The daughter whose room looked nice with lace curtains.
Rip them down.
Angie’s fingers fell away from the curtains. Before she’d even processed that she hadn’t done it, the fabric had settled back into place as if she’d never touched it at all.
She closed her eyes. Maybe Bas was right. Maybe the voice she’d been hearing was just a real-life woman her dad had been hiding from her. Maybe he didn’t want her to know he’d moved on, when she still hadn’t.
Except . . . it didn’t feel right. Even though she hadn’t been able to make out anything the voice had said yet, she couldn’t shake the sense that it was talking to her. It wasn’t something she’d overheard. It was something she was meant to hear.
She wished it would say something now. If Bas could hear it, he’d understand.
And then she realized, he could.
She whirled around. “Bas, I’m brilliant.” He raised an eyebrow. “Congratulations?” “We’re going to prove it’s a ghost.”
“We?”
“We just need to get a few things first.” Angie’s brown eyes glimmered. How had she not thought of this before? It was so obvious. She pretended she didn’t notice Bas’s frown, and stepped back into her combat boots, discarded earlier at the foot of her bed. “How much money do you have?”
