When We Were Monsters

From the #1 At an elite boarding school, 8 students are selected for an exclusive program, but only one will walk away with a lifechanging opportunity to realize their creative dreams.; Effy is piecing together a story about the tragic betrayal that led to her mother''s death. Arlo hopes to publish a novel--but he''s also trying to start a new chapter with Effy after he broke her heart and ghosted 3 years earlier. Everyone has a compelling reason to be there--they all want a big break--but only the most ambitious will prevail as the students are eliminated one by one. Their mentor is the one and only Meredith Graffam. An enigmatic writer, director and actress, whose unorthodox teaching methods push them past the breaking point. Under Graffam''s tutelage, the students reveal their darkest secrets, take unthinkable risks and slowly start to turn on one another. But Graffam never expected they would turn on <her . . .<

Autorentext
Jennifer Niven is the New York Times and internationally bestselling author of All the Bright Places, Holding Up the Universe and Breathless. Her books have been translated in over 75 languages, and have won literary awards around the world. When she isn't working on multiple book and TV projects, Jennifer also oversees Germ, a literary web magazine for high school age and beyond. Jennifer divides her time between coastal Georgia and Los Angeles. Find her at jenniferniven.com and on social.

Klappentext

From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of All the Bright Places comes “a standout dark academia thriller” (e. lockhart, author of We Were Liars) about the monsters who walk among us—even in the glittering upper echelons of society.

A dead teacher at an elite boarding school. Four students who had every reason to want her gone. Who is the monster?

At an elite New England boarding school, eight students are selected for an exclusive storytelling workshop with the one and only Meredith Graffam—an enigmatic writer, director, and actress. For sixteen days, they will live in the isolated estate of the school’s founder, surrounded by snowy woods and a storm-tossed seas. Only one of the chosen will walk away with a lifechanging opportunity to realize their creative dreams.

Everyone, including Graffam, has a compelling reason to be there—Effy, the orphan, Isaac, the legacy, Ness, the wallflower, Ramon, the outsider, and Arlo, whose unexpected arrival leaves Effy spiraling—but only the most ambitious will last the term. Graffam’s unorthodox methods push the students past the breaking point, revealing their darkest secrets, taking unthinkable risks, and slowly starting to turn on one another. But Graffam never expected they would turn on her . . .

Leseprobe
Effy

Wednesday, January 7

I glance behind us, through the back window of the van, no longer able to make out the distant gleam of campus. Even with the brights on, Murton Wood is the darkest place on earth.

By contrast, the Moss looks warm and welcoming silhouetted against the sky, perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. At forty rooms and over fourteen thousand square feet, its aging beauty makes me think of all the best houses in literature. Manderley. Thornfield Hall. Wuthering Heights.

The seven of us have spent the van ride huddled over our phone screens, making the most of cell service while we still have it. Dean Booker pulls into the drive, gravel crunching beneath the wheels, and silences the engine.

For a moment, we sit there, phones forgotten, staring up at the house. Like every good Brighton and Hover worth their salt, I’ve heard the stories of Jan Term, that coveted experience enjoyed by only a choice few. Jan Term, which says to us—­and everybody else—­that we are the visionaries of our class, the ones poised to change the world through our art.

“We’re here,” someone says, and I feel the words more than hear them.

The van door opens, letting in a rush of cold air. Ness begins to gather her things, which have, in true Ness fashion, exploded across the seat. “This is what I don’t like about winter,” she’s saying. “The in and out. Heat. Cold. Heat. Cold. The swaddling up head to toe like a penguin.” Even when she complains, Ness sounds cheerful. It’s one of the things I love most about her. Her lightness. Her joy.

One by one, my classmates spill out. I continue to sit there, suddenly wondering why I came, wishing I was home with Gran, a thousand things running through my head:

This is your last year at Brighton and Hove.

You only have five more months left of school.

What if you and Ness go to separate colleges and don’t stay friends?

Why is life so full of endings?

A rap on the window and I jump. A face presses against it, wild coils of black hair, glasses, breath fogging me in. Ness rubs at the fog. Mists it up again. Rubs at it. Mists it up again. Then writes Open! backward. Everyone else stands in the drive, loosely assembled around Dean Booker, better known as Books, a bear of a guy, affable and folksy.

I join them outside in the night, my breath creating clouds. Ness, Isaac Williams, Ramon Santos, Joey Fiske, Peter Tobin, and Leela Kim. Seven, including me.

“You may not know,” Books is saying, “that the tradition of Jan Term began in 1926. But it wasn’t until after Hove’s death in 1942 that students were invited to stay here.”

“I thought there were eight of us,” I whisper to Ness, but she isn’t listening because a woman, barely older than we are, is making her way toward us from the house. She has a round, pretty face framed by a waterfall of coppery hair and wears overalls speckled with splashes of paint.

“Drea Garcia,” she says, shaking hands. She speaks with a faint Spanish accent. “I’m Meredith’s assistant.”

Meredith. As in Meredith Graffam. One of the hottest talents in books, theater, and film. And one of the most controversial. I would have traveled to another continent to study with her, but instead she has come to us.

We follow Books and Drea along a path between the house and the cliffs. Below us, the ocean pounds against the rocks, and I can almost feel the spray of water on my skin. I make the mistake of looking down. The drop is sheer—­no bottom, just darkness.

I hurry after the others, across the brick courtyard, onto a sweeping veranda, and then finally through the wide, arched doors of the house.

We wind our way to a large room, papered in gold. At the far end is a gilded balcony, a grand piano in the alcove beneath it. The ceilings soar upward like a cathedral. A lone portrait of a man hangs above the fireplace. This would be Moss Hove, the school’s cofounder, who fled California and his conservative oil baron family. Who fell in love with his friend Zachary Brighton. And who—­two decades after they established Brighton and Hove—­accidentally drowned offshore.

“Housekeeping will come once a week,” Books tells us. “Wesley, our caretaker, will remain on-­site. Ms. Graffam has brought her own chef, who will provide your meals. If you need anything, let Wesley know. He has the master key to the gates that let you in or out of the property.”

Drea starts handing out index cards. Our names, numbers, and emails are printed there, as well as room assignments and Wi-­Fi info.

“Aren’t there supposed to be eight of us?” Ramon asks.

“Our missing student had a flight delay,” Drea says. Then she holds up another card. “Each night, you’ll receive one of these under your door, giving you the schedule for the following…