Seventeen-year-old Alexandra killed her father.
It was an accident, but he’s dead all the same. Now all she wants is to find her place in her new school, keep her head down until graduation, and try to fix her relationship with her resentful mother.
But then a stranger named Logan shows up, claiming he knows her. And that’s not even the weirdest thing. According to Logan, her father wasn’t the only one killed in the accident—she was too.
While trying to uncover her past, Alexandra and Logan discover a horrifying truth about her new school and the more they dig, the more dangerous it becomes for Alexandra and her friends.
With no idea who to trust, she races to piece her life back together and take hold of her future before she loses it – and herself – completely.
Seventeen-year-old Alexandra killed her father.
It was an accident, but he’s dead all the same. Now all she wants is to find her place in her new school, keep her head down until graduation, and try to fix her relationship with her resentful mother.
But then a stranger named Logan shows up, claiming he knows her. And that’s not even the weirdest thing. According to Logan, her father wasn’t the only one killed in the accident—she was too.
While trying to uncover her past, Alexandra and Logan discover a horrifying truth about her new school and the more they dig, the more dangerous it becomes for Alexandra and her friends.
With no idea who to trust, she races to piece her life back together and take hold of her future before she loses it – and herself – completely.
THE IDEA THAT I have no control over who I am makes me want to puke.
No, it makes me want to punch her first, for making us sit through this insufferable speech. Then I’ll puke.
The way she’s standing at the front of our class with her perfectly coiffed hair. Uniform pressed just right. Skirt exactly one inch below her knees. It makes my skin itch. She’s the walking poster child for Pine Cliff Academy. She’s perfection personified. I gag.
“In conclusion, scientists believe that both nature and nurture affect a person’s character. That nurture expounds on what nature endows. Who we are, our personalities and individual identities, not to mention our future, are an accumulation of other people’s influences and genetics and not, as many would like to believe, our own choice. Thank you.”
The classroom erupts into applause as the tiny know it all frame of Kimberly Marshall steps out from behind the podium. All our eyes are on her and she’s basking in the attention, something she clearly doesn’t get much of outside the classroom. She’s bursting with words and opinions she can’t wait to share with anyone who will listen.
Usually no one does, but today we have no choice but to listen. Held captive at our desks until the bell rings as student after student wax poetic about some preordained topic. A topic that our English teacher, Ms. Walker, assigned, proving Kimberly’s point that we don’t have any choice in anything whatsoever.
When the applause dies down, Kimberly returns to her seat in front of me. Her perky ponytail swings in my face and my stomach drops. My palms are slick with sweat. Any minute now, Ms. Walker will call my name, expecting me to take my place behind that podium with my rebuttal. An argument that we do have some sense of control over our fates, our identities, our personalities.
I believe this, I have to believe this. But it’s hard enough to prove on the best of days. Even more so in front of a class of reform school kids who all wear the same iron-crisp uniforms, have the same haircuts, and listen to the same terrible music.
“Alexandra? Care to share your response on the Nature vs Nurture debate?” Ms. Walker’s voice sounds distant, as if she’s speaking to me from another plane, because I’ve left my body on the floor in a puddle of social anxiety. Slipped right out of myself, my world tipping one way, then the other.
I stand on wobbly legs, rub my palms on my tights. I force one foot in front of the other as I drag myself to the front of the class.
Everything is muted, a sea of distorted faces, one blurring into the next. They are my peers, but I am still getting to know these faces. I’m still the new kid, thrown into the awkward hierarchy of a new school six months ago. They are my peers, but they aren’t exactly my friends.
I take a deep breath to try to push my body’s natural responses away and nurture a calmer and collected presence. My argument, after all, is that we are in control of our own fate. Something I’ll have already failed to prove if I can’t even control my anxiety enough to get the words to leave my mouth.
“I, uh... Hi,” I stammer, sweat starting to pool under my arms. My face flushes from the eyes pointed in my direction. “I’m Alexandra, and today I will be speaking to you about, uh, how humans have the capacity to defy both nature and nurture to write their own future?” The words are out, but I’ve lingered on the last one, my voice raised, turning my stance into a question. Mom would say I sound like there’s nothing but empty space between my ears. Which are as hot as a stove burner, and likely just as red.
I glance desperately at Ms. Walker for help. She oozes cool; a short black bob, thick framed glasses that match the matte of the nose ring she wears with rebellious pride. She can’t be much older than us. She has to know that she’s putting us through hell, making us stand up here and defend our existence in the hierarchy of high school. Especially in a high school that’s more of a reform school, full of troubled students who will do anything to rebel against the structure forced upon them.
Because that’s what it all boils down to, doesn’t it? It’s not nature vs nurture; it’s survival of the fittest. Those at the top always reign, while the rest of the outcasts are left to flail in their wake. Somehow, I managed to find my way to the top. I don’t belong there, but I’m desperate to cling to the safety of it. Otherwise, this experience would be even more excruciating.
I’m staring, my words stalled to a stop. Ms. Walker motions gently with her hands for me to keep going, a small thumbs up of encouragement. But I’m a deer in headlights, the fluorescent beams on the ceiling screaming at me, and I can’t remember a single thing I’m supposed to say.
“We—as humans, I mean… have the capacity to make choices and those choices are what secure our future. We grow and adapt and change depending on our experiences. Everything we do is an active decision that makes up who we are as, uh, humans.”
A couple of muffled laughs, a few whispers. I’m clearly killing it up here. I take another deep breath, remembering where I’m supposed to take this argument. But my train of thought is derailed by the boy in the front row.
Kyle Larson.
Kyle is one of the reject jocks who thinks he's still the captain of the football team, even though there is no football team here. The Academy prefers we put our efforts into "more realistic things" such as academics. He’s built like a linebacker, too, which he uses to his intimidating advantage.
Kyle was one of the first people I met when I started here, and that meeting is not something I remember fondly. I stood at my locker that first morning, my back to the hallway traffic as I fumbled with my lock, when a body slammed into me. I went flat against the locker, dropping all my books, instinctively whipping my head around to see what happened. Kyle was standing there, his hands raised in a faux apologetic stance.
“Welcome to the Academy!” he snarled, laughing as he walked away. That was all the introduction I needed to know that Kyle Larson is an asshole—by nature and by choice.
Kyle’s gears are turning, I can smell the burning, and he has that evil glint in his eye that makes my entire body freeze. An easy target.
“Ms. Walker, I have a question.” He waves his hand in the air, playing the role of astute student, though I know better than to believe it. Ms. Walker, however, takes the bait and gives him the floor. “If what Alexandra is saying is true, and we make choices, and those choices control our future. Does that mean that she chose to kill her father?”
The air is sucked out of the room. A tremor builds in my hands, and I know I’m done for. Once that starts, there’s no turning back. The tears spring to my eyes, pressing against the rims and threatening to spill over. I try to steady my breath, to tame the storm, but it’s too late.
“Out, now.” Ms. Walker points Kyle to the door, sending him to Headmaster Johnson’s office. She’s on her phone immediately, texting furiously, so she doesn’t see that it’s me who is moving, my feet retreating at a rapid pace. All I can think of is being anywhere but here. Those eyes burning into me, judging me, mocking me. My guilt a swirling tornado, sucking me in and blaming me for my father’s death.
I burst out of the English classroom, my feet picking up speed as I tear down the hallway. The pressure behind my eyes grows, wet seeping out of the socket. The dam is about to burst, and the new girl can’t be caught falling apart in the middle of the hallway. I’d never live that down. I dip into the closest bathroom, falling into the closest stall, and slam the door behind me. I climb up onto the toilet, my shoes braced on each side of the seat. I curl myself into a fetal ball, head between my legs to catch my breath.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember Dr. Dave’s instructions for when my body is falling out from under me, and I’ve lost all control. Breathe, he’d say. Inhale, one, two three, exhale.
Kyle may be a jerk, but he’s not wrong. That’s the part that hurts the most. I did kill my father. Not on purpose, but he’s dead all the same. I’m no longer just parts, but barbed wire and broken glass stuffed in between. Because I was driving, so it’s my fault. Not the deer’s. Even though it looked me right in the eye as it jumped in front of the car. Even though I had no time to realize I shouldn’t be able to see it that closely before I ran us right into its body. Even though it was an accident, it was still my fault.
I chose to get behind the wheel that day. I chose not to pay enough attention.
The door of my stall shakes, the looping handwriting on the wall that’s much too pretty for the crude words it spells starts convulsing. The handle jiggles as two small, leather clad feet peek up at me from under the stall door. There is a quiet knock.
“Alexandra?” It’s the soothing, welcome whisper of my friend Hannah. I met her my first week here, tucked into the heels of my other friend, Kayla. They are my saviors. The popular girls, plucking the new girl from nowhere and giving her immediate coveted status in the sea of students. Hannah’s more on the shy side than exuberant Kayla, but she has this endearing habit of showing up out of nowhere every time I need her. “I heard what happened in English—are you okay?”
A snort escapes my nose, followed by a sniffle. I pull a wad of toilet paper from the dispenser and press it against my face. Blow. Toss it into the toilet and flush my sorrows away. Recomposed, I stretch out and unlock the stall door. Hannah immediately swings it open, a smile playing at her lips as she sees me—a gargoyle perched on the toilet seat. Just as frightening, no doubt.
“Who knew that the Nature vs Nurture debate would send me spiraling, huh?” I offer weakly, taking her extended hand and climbing down from my perch. Hannah disappears into her sweater, hiding behind her soft brown curls. The bangles lining her arms tinkle as she moves. The girl wears so many accessories, as if they’ll somehow protect her. She pulls me out of the stall and leads me to the sink, faucets at the ready. But my reflection in the mirror catches me off guard.
Auburn hair falling from its plait. Mascara tears. Red blotches across my pale skin. I look like shit. But I can’t stop staring at this image of myself. Who I’ve become, who this school is trying to make me.
Me: Seventeen. Favorite color: Pink. Favorite Singer: Taylor Swift. Favorite Book: Little Women.
I spent the summer in cute colorful dresses, listening to Kayla drone on about the Kardashians, or mostly, boys. I felt weightless and on top of the world.
But also me: Killer of father. Redeeming my future. Struggling to make my mother proud.
And I can’t forget that no matter how hard I try.
When you have a near-death experience, your life is supposed to flash in front of your eyes. In my case, my life flashed in front of my mother’s eyes. I spent three long months in the hospital under the watchful eye of doctors and the scratchy fabric of bandages as they pieced me back together. Then I was pushed out front in a wheelchair, my mother jumping out of our packed minivan to greet me and drag me here without a second thought. A fresh start.
“Here, some reinforcements?” Hannah offers me her makeup bag and the opportunity to touch up my now blotchy, mascara-streaked face. I paw through the case, pull out her mascara, find the gloss, and get to work.
My pale face stares back at me. Not long ago, it was a cross stitch of small scars from where shards of glass from the windshield sliced me open. When no matter what I did, I was a walking billboard for the worst day of my life. I figured I would have to live the rest of my days doused in foundation and cover up. But other than one small scar above my right eyebrow, the only marks left on me now are the ones you can’t see.
My eyes meet Hannah’s in the mirror. “Here, try a little liner,” she offers, holding out a charcoal pencil.
“Yeah, no thanks. That’s not really me,” I shrug, to Hannah’s disappointment. She and Kayla make themselves up on the reg but no matter how many YouTube tutorials I watch, it just doesn’t feel natural. I can’t get the hang of anything other than some basic mascara and a bit of lip gloss. Mom says that’s all I need, anyway. That I’m beautiful just the way I am. Some days I even believe her.
Hannah stares at me for a beat, long enough to make me feel a little self-conscious. I avert my eyes, throw the make-up back in the case, and hand it back to her.
“You ready?” she asks, trying to instill confidence in me. I breathe it in, collect myself. Everyone will have heard about my outburst in class by now, the rumor mill hard at work, but what does it matter? What do these people matter? If I can make it through another year, I’ll be graduating and can get the hell out of here.
The Unforgettable Alexandra Shaw is a fast-paced mix of mystery/YA. Alexandra Shaw attends an academy, akin to a correctional institute for delinquents. However, things are not as they seem on the surface. Alexandra soon finds out that perhaps what she believes to be true may not be the objective truth about her past, involving her parents and even an old flame, Logan. The book is well-written and the descriptions make for a smooth reading experience.
The issue I have with the story is the way the plot unravels. Everything gets quite confusing when Alexandra begins remembering her past. The flashbacks are frequent enough to warrant the reader wondering why the story did not begin earlier to show the transitions in her life. The story begins at a point where it feels like the climax has already passed. Logan enters so suddenly, and it feels too easy the way Alexandra found him, too coincedental that she could just go on Andy's Instagram. I think that could have been an opportunity for further development in the thrilling aspect and foreshadowing events to come.
I didn't like how the revelation came out to Alexandra about her real past and the truth about what happened. The parts feel too fragmented in terms of mentioning Kyle's story and the inconsistency of the characters such as Kayla. I suppose Hannah seemed to be the most sensible character. The book certainly made me feel horrified for Alexandra and hope that she could get out of the situation as fast as possible. Unfortunately, though bad things happen in the story which is the norm for a story, there is no resolution and buildup to the revelations, so when the aftermath occurs of Alexandra finding out about her past, it is rather easy to disengage as the reader. There can be lots more to explore within Alexandra's story, so I think for the second book some things to think through would most likely be related to how the author will be able to sustain the sense of mystery, since I wonder what will happen since Alexandra is quite alone now, without Logan or Hannah to help her. There could be an epilogue to create even more tension and interest for the second book in this duology.
The story ends in a cliffhanger, so be prepared to wait for the second book in the series. I commend the author for the hard work put into fleshing out the ideas in their imagination.