Published: February 28th, 2023
Publisher: HQ
Genre: Romantic Suspense, Psychological Thrillers
Format: Paperback, Kindle, Audiobook
Today I’m thrilled to be able to share with you the first chapter of Never Never. Thank you to HQ for allowing me to share this sneek peek with you all.
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1
Charlie
A crash. Books fall to the speckled linoleum floor. They skid a few feet, whirling in circles, and stop near feet. My feet. I donโt recognize the black sandals, or the red toenails, but they move when I tell them to, so they must be mine. Right?
A bell rings. Shrill.
I jump, my heart racing. My eyes move left to right as I scope out my environment, trying not to give myself away.
What kind of bell was that? Where am I?
Kids with backpacks walk briskly into the room, talking and laughing. A school bell. They slide into desks, their voices competing in volume. I see movement at my feet and jerk in surprise. Someone is bent over, gathering up books on the floor; a red-faced girl with glasses. Before she stands up, she looks at me with something like fear and then scurries off. People are laughing. When I look around I think theyโre laughing at me, but itโs the girl with glasses theyโre looking at.
โCharlie!โ someone calls. โDidnโt you see that?โ And then, โCharlieโฆwhatโs your problemโฆhelloโฆ?โ
My heart is beating fast, so fast.
Where is this? Why canโt I remember? โCharlie!โ someone hisses. I look around. Who is Charlie? Which one is Charlie?
There are so many kids; blond hair, ratty hair, brown hair, glasses, no glassesโฆ
A man walks in carrying a briefcase. He sets it on the desk.
The teacher. I am in a classroom, and that is the teacher. High school or college? I wonder.
I stand up suddenly. Iโm in the wrong place. Everyone is sitting, but Iโm standingโฆwalking.
โWhere are you going, Miss Wynwood?โ The teacher is looking at me over the rim of his glasses as he riffles through a pile of papers. He slaps them down hard on the desk and I jump. I must be Miss Wynwood.
โShe has cramps!โ someone calls out. People snicker. I feel a chill creep up my back and crawl across the tops of my arms. Theyโre laughing at me, except I donโt know who these people are.
I hear a girlโs voice say, โShut up, Michael.โ
โI donโt know,โ I say, hearing my voice for the first time. Itโs too high. I clear my throat and try again. โI donโt know. Iโm not supposed to be here.โ
There is more laughing. I glance around at the posters on the wall, the faces of presidents animated with dates beneath them. History class? High school.
The manโthe teacherโtilts his head to the side like Iโve said the dumbest thing. โAnd where else are you supposed to be on test day?โ
โIโฆ I donโt know.โ
โSit down,โ he says. I donโt know where Iโd go if I left. I turn around to go back. The girl with the glasses glances up at me as I pass her. She looks away almost as quickly.
As soon as Iโm sitting, the teacher starts handing out
papers. He walks between desks, his voice a flat drone as he tells us what percentage of our final grade the test will be. When he reaches my desk he pauses, a deep crease between his eyebrows. โI donโt know what youโre trying to pull.โ He presses the tip of a fat pointer finger on my desk.
โWhatever it is, Iโm sick of it. One more stunt and Iโm sending you to the principalโs office.โ He slaps the test down in front of me and moves down the line.
I donโt nod, I donโt do anything. Iโm trying to decide what to do. Announce to the whole room that I have no idea who and where I amโor pull him aside and tell him quietly. He said no more stunts. My eyes move to the paper in front of me. People are already bent over their tests, pencils scratching.
Fourth Period
History
Mr. Dulcott
There is a space for a name. Iโm supposed to write my name, but I donโt know what my name is. Miss Wynwood, he called me.
Why donโt I recognize my own name? Or where I am?
Or what I am?
Every head is bent over their papers except mine. So I sit and stare, straight ahead. Mr. Dulcott glares at me from his desk. The longer I sit, the redder his face becomes.
Time passes and yet my world has stopped. Eventually, Mr. Dulcott stands up, his mouth open to say something to me when the bell rings. โPut your papers on my desk on the way out,โ he says, his eyes still on my face. Everyone is filing out of the door. I stand up and follow them because I donโt know what else to do. I keep my eyes on the floor, but I can feel his rage. I donโt understand why heโs so angry with me. I am in a hallway now, lined on either side by blue lockers.
โCharlie!โ someone calls. โCharlie, wait up!โ A second later, an arm loops through mine. I expect it to be the girl with the glasses; I donโt know why. Itโs not. But, I know now that I am Charlie. Charlie Wynwood. โYou forgot your bag,โ she says, handing over a white backpack. I take it from her, wondering if thereโs a wallet with a driverโs license inside. She keeps her arm looped through mine as we walk. Sheโs shorter than me, with long, dark hair and dewy brown eyes that take up half her face. She is startling and beautiful.
โWhy were you acting so weird in there?โ she asks. โYou knocked the shrimpโs books on the floor and then spaced out.โ
I can smell her perfume; itโs familiar and too sweet, like a million flowers competing for attention. I think of the girl with the glasses, the look on her face as she bent to scoop up her books. If I did that, why donโt I remember?
โIโโ
โItโs lunch, why are you walking that way?โ She pulls me down a different corridor, past more students. They all look at meโฆlittle glances. I wonder if they know me, and why I donโt know me. I donโt know why I donโt tell her, tell Mr. Dulcott, grab someone random and tell them that I donโt know who or where I am. By the time Iโm seriously entertaining the idea, weโre through a set of double doors in the cafeteria. Noise and color; bodies that all have a unique smell, bright fluorescent lights that make everything look ugly. Oh, God. I clutch at my shirt.
The girl on my arm is babbling. Andrew this, Marcy that. She likes Andrew and hates Marcy. I donโt know who either of them is. She corrals me to the food line. We get salad and Diet Cokes. Then we are sliding our trays on a table. There are already people sitting there: four boys, two girls. I realize we are completing a group with even numbers. All the girls are matched with a guy. Everyone looks up at me expectantly, like Iโm supposed to say something, do something. The only place left to sit is next to a guy with dark hair. I sit slowly, both hands flat on the table. His eyes dart toward me and then he bends over his tray of food. I can see the finest beads of sweat on his forehead, just below his hairline.
โYou two are so awkward sometimes,โ says a new girl, blonde, across from me. Sheโs looking from me to the guy Iโm sitting next to. He looks up from his macaroni and I realize heโs just moving things around on his plate. He hasnโt taken a bite, despite how busy he looks. He looks at me and I look at him, then we both look back at the blonde girl.
โDid something happen that we should know about?โ she asks. โNo,โ we say in unison.
Heโs my boyfriend. I know by the way theyโre treating us. He suddenly smiles at me with his brilliantly white teeth and reaches to put an arm around my shoulders.
โWeโre all good,โ he says, squeezing my arm. I automatically stiffen, but when I see the six sets of eyes on my face, I lean in and play along. Itโs frightening not knowing who you areโeven more frightening thinking youโll get it wrong. Iโm scared now, really scared. Itโs gone too far. If I say something now Iโll lookโฆcrazy. His affection seems to make everyone relax. Everyone exceptโฆhim. They go back to talking, but all the words blend together: football, a party, more football. The guy sitting next to me laughs and joins in with their conversation, his arm never straying from my shoulders. They call him Silas. They call me Charlie. The dark-haired girl with the big eyes is Annika. I forget everyone elseโs names in the noise.
Lunch is finally over and we all get up. I walk next to Silas, or rather he walks next to me. I have no idea where Iโm going. Annika flanks my free side, winding her arms through mine and chatting about cheerleading practice. Sheโs making me feel claustrophobic. When we reach an annex in the hallway, I lean over and speak to her so only she can hear. โCan you walk me to my next class?โ Her face becomes serious. She breaks away to say something to her boyfriend, and then our arms are looped again.
I turn to Silas. โAnnika is going to walk me to my next class.โ
โOkay,โ he says. He looks relieved. โIโll see youโฆlater.โ He heads off in the opposite direction.
Annika turns to me as soon as heโs out of sight. โWhereโs he going?โ
I shrug. โTo class.โ
She shakes her head like sheโs confused. โI donโt get you guys. One day youโre all over each other, the next youโre acting like you canโt stand to be in the same room. You really need to make a decision about him, Charlie.โ
She stops outside a doorway.
โThis is meโฆโ I say, to see if sheโll protest. She doesnโt. โCall me later,โ she says. โI want to know about last night.โ
I nod. When she disappears into the sea of faces, I step into the classroom. I donโt know where to sit, so I wander to the back row and slide into a seat by the window. Iโm early, so I open my backpack. Thereโs a wallet wedged between a couple of notebooks and a makeup bag. I pull it out and flip it open to reveal a driverโs license with a picture of a beaming, dark-haired girl. Me.
Charlize Margaret Wynwood
2417 Holcourt Way
New Orleans, LA
Iโm seventeen. My birthday is March twenty-first. I live in Louisiana. I study the picture in the top left corner and I donโt recognize the face. Itโs my face, but Iโve never seen it. Iโmโฆpretty. I only have twenty-eight dollars.
The seats are filling up. The one beside me stays empty, almost like everyone is too afraid to sit there. Iโm in Spanish class. The teacher is pretty and young; her name is Mrs. Cardona. She doesnโt look at me like she hates me, like so many other people are looking at me. We start with tenses.
I have no past. I have no past.
Five minutes into class the door opens. Silas walks in, his eyes downcast. I think heโs here to tell me something, or to bring me something. I brace myself, ready to pretend, but Mrs. Cardona comments jokingly about his lateness. He takes the only available seat next to me and stares straight ahead. I stare at him. I donโt stop staring at him until finally, he turns his head to look at me. A line of sweat rolls down the side of his face.
His eyes are wide. Wideโฆjust like mine.
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I don’t know about you guys, but that chapter has me needing to read the full story! If you want to pre-order the book, there are purchase links at the end of this post.
Let me know in the comments if this is one you’re planning to read.
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MEET THE AUTHORS:
Colleen Hoover
Colleen Hoover is the #1 New York Times and International bestselling author. Born in Sulphur Springs, Texas in 1979, she became a publishing phenomenon thanks to the rise in popularity of her books on soical media, particularly Tik Tok. She is the founder of The Bookworm Box, a non-profit book subscription service and bookstore in Sulphur Springs, Texas. Colleen lives in Texas with her husand and their three boys.
Tarryn Fisher
Tarryn Fisher is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of twelve novels. Born a sun hater, she currently makes her home in Seattle, Washington with her children, husband, and psychotic husky. Tarryn writes about villains.
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