Gossip Girl meets Happy Death Day in this YA horror novel following high school outcast and anonymous social media gossip Ruby, who comes face-to-face with her own ghost dressed in a blood-splattered prom dress. With less than a week until the dance, Ruby must unmask her killer—or die trying.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Amy Christine Parker‘s You’re Dead To Me, which is out now!
Ruby is a scholarship senior at elite Oleander High School with a chip on her shoulder and an attitude to match—which she puts to good use as the infamous local anonymous gossip blogger ReputationKiller. When she’s outed as the voice behind the account, the entire town turns against her.
But after she’s scared witless by a vision of her own ghost dressed in a blood-splattered prom dress, she is faced with an awful truth. Someone out there doesn’t just hate her—they want her dead.
With less than a week until the prom, Ruby starts investigating. Turns out Oleander Bay isn’t the picture-perfect resort town it purports to be. With so many secrets, scandals, and people hell-bent on covering them up at all costs, the murderer could be anyone. Can Ruby beat the clock counting down to prom—and her death—and survive the night?
Chapter One
Choke
I get online and pull up the day’s news, so it looks like I’m doing something other than spying. The first image is of the Mannequin Man, this creepy serial killer currently using Oleander Bay as his hunting grounds. It’s a freeze-frame of some security foot- age taken outside a gas station. The image is grainy and out of focus, but I can still make out his matte black mask made to look like a mannequin face and the black hoodie he wears. My heart squeezes in my chest, and I tighten my grip on the mouse. It’s as if he’s staring through the computer at me. He looks more like a slasher movie murderer than a real-life one, like Michael Myers or Ghostface—inhuman. So far his victims are all from my side of town, which is surreal because South Oleander has always been relatively safe—even if the Oleander Elite claim it isn’t.
The headline beneath the photo reads “Mannequin Man Claims
His Fifth Victim.”
My palms start to sweat. Is it someone I know? Out of the first four victims he’s murdered, I’ve known two. Fernando, who owned a Cuban bakery a few miles from my house, and James, this kid I used to go to school with.
Anton leans closer so he can read over my shoulder. “Crap.
They found her in the South Oleander Mall parking lot.”
“Two gunshot wounds,” I say. “Like all the others—the head and heart.”
I stare at the victim, who looks enough like my mom that I feel sick. She had a husband and two kids. Thinking about them makes me want to cry. I’ve lost people close to me too, in horrible ways. I was fifteen when I lost my grandparents, and I still miss them every day. If it was my mom in that parking lot? No. I don’t want to imagine it.
Anton shakes his head. “Bet this’ll be enough to close the mall for good.”
I sigh. “Remember freshman year? When we camped out at the Barnes and Noble for hours, then stuffed ourselves with Cin- nabons?”
Anton laughs. “And raced each other on those scooters that looked like stuffed animals? Yeah, I do.”
The mall will be just another casualty now. The South Olean- der I love is being destroyed piece by piece.
Suddenly Magnus lets out a laugh so loud it reverberates across the library.
I peer over my computer at the Bling Brigade again. They’re huddled together, talking quietly. From the conspiratorial looks on their faces, it’s obvious they’re up to something that might be worth recording—for future use. But no way my phone’s going to pick up anything from here.
I slip out of my seat, waving at Anton to stay put. We’ll attract attention together. With his mop of dark curls and glassy-smooth brown skin, he is straight-up pretty. Besides, he makes a point to stand out with his style—he wants to be noticed.
I am practically invisible to most people. I mean, I don’t con- sider myself plain or anything. I have a perfectly nice head of brown hair, and my eyes are hazel, same as Anton’s. But my goal is to be forgettable, one of the masses. It makes investigating people so much easier.
I head for the deserted bookshelves tucked under the staircase, closest to the Serenity Circle. I pretend I’m browsing and aim my phone camera at Magnus, who stretches languidly as he continues making cutting remarks to the Bling Brigade about the other students in the library, just loudly enough so most of the main floor overhears. As he talks, he strokes his collarbone with one hand, a self-satisfied gesture he probably thinks is sexy. It sets my teeth on edge. That boy is so confident in his indestructibility. He deserves what’s coming to him, and so does his father.
“Enjoy your last day on top,” I murmur.
Suddenly, a rustling sound breaks my concentration, coming from somewhere in the stacks. I glance down the row I’m in. No one’s there.
Swish.
I hear it again and lower my phone. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flicker of movement one row over. A blur of black material, the dull pounding of feet on carpet.
“Hello?” I ask in a low voice.
I rise on my toes so I can peer through the shelves. Someone rushes past on the other side, so fast I can’t tell who it is. They’ve got their sweatshirt hood pulled too far over their face.
“EEEEEEEEEEE!”
A girl with red hair rounds the corner and runs headlong at me, eyes wild. She slams me into the bookshelf. Hard. Pain blossoms across my upper arm, and I nearly drop my phone.
What the hell?
The girl shrieks again, louder, and keeps on running. Cursing softly, I rub my arm. A second later, the person in the hoodie turns down the aisle and comes straight for me. They’re wearing a featureless black mask, beetle-shell shiny, all hard angles . . . and carrying a gun. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
The Mannequin Man is here. In the school library. I’m frozen in place as he hurtles toward me.
This is it. I’m going to die.
This thought knifes through my brain as he stops abruptly, a few feet away.
Laughing softly, the Mannequin Man raises the gun and aims it at my head.
