{"product_id":"genuine-fraud-isbn-9780385744782","title":"Genuine Fraud","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES\u003c\/i\u003e BESTSELLER • A “compulsively readable” (\u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e) thriller told in reverse—a mind-bending vision of female friendship and betrayal that could only come from the author of the global phenomenon \u003ci\u003eWe Were Liars\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn development as an original streaming series starring and executive produced by \u003ci\u003eThe Summer I Turned Pretty\u003c\/i\u003e’s Rain Spencer!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A brilliant, twisty thriller—I loved it!”—Karen M. McManus, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eOne of Us Is Lying\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You will devour it.”—Gayle Forman, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eIf I Stay\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eHave you ever wanted to be someone else?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eImogen lives at the Playa Grande Resort in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. She spends her days working out in the hotel gym and telling other guests how she was forced out of Stanford.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut Imogen isn’t really Imogen. She’s Jule. And she’s on the run from something. Or someone. Which means . . . where is the real Imogen?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRewind: Jule and Imogen are the closest of friends. Obsessed with each other, even. Imogen is an orphan, an heiress; she and Jule spend a summer together in a house on Martha’s Vineyard, sharing secrets they’d never reveal to another soul.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut that was months ago. Where is Immie now? And why is Jule using her name?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eDon’t miss the We Were Liars series\u003cbr\u003eWE WERE LIARS • FAMILY OF LIARS • WE FELL APART\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cu\u003e\u003cb\u003eMore Praise for E. Lockhart’s \u003ci\u003eGenuine Fraud\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"Compulsively readable.\"\u003c\/b\u003e —\u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Moves at a breakneck speed.”\u003c\/b\u003e —\u003ci\u003eMarie Claire\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"If there are two things you can count on E. Lockhart for it's \u003cb\u003ebadass ladies and killer atmosphere—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eGenuine Fraud \u003c\/i\u003ehas both in droves.\" —\u003ci\u003eBustle\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"An addictive and shocking feminist thriller.\" \u003c\/b\u003e—Lena Dunham\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"Built craftily enough to reward \u003cb\u003erepeat readings\u003c\/b\u003e.\"—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“As with E. Lockhart's previous novel, the best-selling \"We Were Liars,\" [readers] will likely finish the last page and \u003cb\u003eflip right back to the beginning to search for clues \u003c\/b\u003ethey missed.” —\u003ci\u003eChicago Tribune\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"The coming-of-age plot and complicated friendship between its two main characters make \u003ci\u003eGenuine Fraud \u003c\/i\u003eseem like it could be \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eGirls\u003c\/i\u003e for a younger set\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —\u003ci\u003eVanity Fair\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eGenuine Fraud\u003c\/i\u003e keeps you \u003cb\u003eon the edge of your seat \u003c\/b\u003eguessing what happened.\"—\u003ci\u003ePopSugar\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A \u003cb\u003esophisticated\u003c\/b\u003e, emotionally literate whodunit.\" —\u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“\u003cb\u003eFans of E. Lockhart’s \u003ci\u003eWe Were Liars\u003c\/i\u003e will love this\u003c\/b\u003e . . . and definitely won’t see the ending coming.” —\u003ci\u003eHelloGiggles\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Fast-paced storytelling . . . an unsettling but thoroughly satisfying read.\"—\u003ci\u003eBuzzfeed\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Tangled secrets, diabolical lies and, ultimately, \u003cb\u003ea mind-blowing outcome\u003c\/b\u003e are crafted with the plotted precision we expect (and love!) from E. Lockhart.” —\u003ci\u003eJustine Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A bracing pace, a slew of far-flung locations, and a storyline that runs mostly in reverse \u003cb\u003ewill keep readers on their toes\u003c\/b\u003e, never entirely sure of what these girls are responsible for or capable of.” —\u003ci\u003ePW\u003c\/i\u003e, Starred Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eCaptivating\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, Starred Review\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“\u003cb\u003eAn excellent choice \u003c\/b\u003erecommended for teens and adults who love twisty mysteries, stories about class conflict, and tough-as-nails teen girls.” —\u003ci\u003eSLJ\u003c\/i\u003e, Starred Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This thriller from the author of\u003ci\u003e We Were Liars \u003c\/i\u003ewill...\u003cb\u003ekeep readers guessing\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e, Starred Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003cb\u003eIntoxicating\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —\u003ci\u003eThe Horn Book\u003c\/i\u003e, Starred Review\u003cb\u003eE. Lockhart \u003c\/b\u003eis the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the LIARS novels: \u003ci\u003eWe Were Liars\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eFamily of Liars\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eWe Fell Apart\u003c\/i\u003e. \u003ci\u003eWe Were Liars\u003c\/i\u003e is also an original series on Prime Video. Her other books include \u003ci\u003eAgain Again\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eGenuine Fraud\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks\u003c\/i\u003e. She has been a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize and the National Book Award and an honoree for the Printz Award. She lives in Brooklyn, New York.\u003cp\u003eBegin here:\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Third week in June, 2017\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Cabo San Lucas, Mexico\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e It was a bloody great hotel.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The minibar in Jule’s room stocked potato chips and four different chocolate bars. The bathtub had bubble jets. There was an endless supply of fat towels and liquid gardenia soap. In the lobby, an elderly gentleman played Gershwin on a grand piano at four each afternoon. You could get hot clay skin treatments, if you didn’t mind strangers touching you. Jule’s skin smelled like chlorine all day.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The Playa Grande Resort in Baja had white curtains, white tile, white carpets, and explosions of lush white flowers. The staff members were nurselike in their white cotton garments. Jule had been alone at the hotel for nearly four weeks now. She was eighteen years old.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e This morning, she was running in the Playa Grande gym. She wore custom sea-green shoes with navy laces. She ran without music. She had been doing intervals for nearly an hour when a woman stepped onto the treadmill next to her.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e This woman was younger than thirty. Her black hair was in a tight ponytail, slicked with hair spray. She had big arms and a solid torso, light brown skin, and a dusting of powdery blush on her cheeks. Her shoes were down at the heels and spattered with old mud.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e No one else was in the gym.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Jule slowed to a walk, figuring to leave in a minute. She liked privacy, and she was pretty much done, anyway.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “You training?” the woman asked. She gestured at Jule’s digital readout. “Like, for a marathon or something?” The accent was Mexican American. She was probably a New Yorker raised in a Spanish-speaking neighborhood.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I ran track in secondary school. That’s all.” Jule’s own speech was clipped, what the British call BBC English.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The woman gave her a penetrating look. “I like your accent,” she said. “Where you from?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “London. St. John’s Wood.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “New York.” The woman pointed to herself.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Jule stepped off the treadmill to stretch her quads.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I’m here alone,” the woman confided after a moment. “Got in last night. I booked this hotel at the last minute. You been here long?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “It’s never long enough,” said Jule, “at a place like this.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “So what do you recommend? At the Playa Grande?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Jule didn’t often talk to other hotel guests, but she saw no harm in answering. “Go on the snorkel tour,” she said. “I saw a bloody huge moray eel.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “No kidding. An eel?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “The guide tempted it with fish guts he had in a plastic milk jug. The eel swam out from the rocks. It must have been eight feet long. Bright green.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The woman shivered. “I don’t like eels.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “You could skip it. If you scare easy.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The woman laughed. “How’s the food? I didn’t eat yet.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Get the chocolate cake.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “For breakfast?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Oh, yeah. They’ll bring it to you special, if you ask.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Good to know. You traveling alone?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Listen, I’m gonna jet,” said Jule, feeling the conversation had turned personal. “Cheerio.” She headed for the door.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “My dad’s crazy sick,” the woman said, talking to Jule’s back. “I’ve been looking after him for a long time.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e A stab of sympathy. Jule stopped and turned.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Every morning and every night after work, I’m with him,” the woman went on. “Now he’s finally stable, and I wanted to get away so badly I didn’t think about the price tag. I’m blowing a lot of cash here I shouldn’t blow.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “What’s your father got?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “MS,” said the woman. “Multiple sclerosis? And dementia. He used to be the head of our family. Very macho. Strong in all his opinions. Now he’s a twisted body in a bed. He doesn’t even know where he is half the time. He’s, like, asking me if I’m the waitress.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Damn.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I’m scared I’m gonna lose him and I hate being with him, both at the same time. And when he’s dead and I’m an orphan, I know I’m going to be sorry I took this trip away from him, d’you know?” The woman stopped running and put her feet on either side of the treadmill. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry. Too much information.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “S’okay.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “You go on. Go shower or whatever. Maybe I’ll see you around later.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The woman pushed up the arms of her long-sleeved shirt and turned to the digital readout of her treadmill. A scar wound down her right forearm, jagged, like from a knife, not clean like from an operation. There was a story there.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Listen, do you like to play trivia?” Jule asked, against her better judgment.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e A smile. White but crooked teeth. “I’m excellent at trivia, actually.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “They run it every other night in the lounge downstairs,” said Jule. “It’s pretty much rubbish. You wanna go?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “What kind of rubbish?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Good rubbish. Silly and loud.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Okay. Yeah, all right.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Good,” said Jule. “We’ll kill it. You’ll be glad you took a vacation. I’m strong on superheroes, spy movies, YouTubers, fitness, money, makeup, and Victorian writers. What about you?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Victorian writers? Like Dickens?”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Yeah, whatever.” Jule felt her face flush. It suddenly seemed an odd set of things to be interested in.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I love Dickens.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Get out.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I do.” The woman smiled again. “I’m good on Dickens, cooking, current events, politics . . . let’s see, oh, and cats.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “All right, then,” said Jule. “It starts at eight o’clock in that lounge off the main lobby. The bar with sofas.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Eight o’clock. You’re on.” The woman walked over and extended her hand. “What’s your name again? I’m Noa.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Jule shook it. “I didn’t tell you my name,” she said. “But it’s Imogen.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Ember","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302448910565,"sku":"NP9780385744782","price":12.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780385744782.jpg?v=1767727934","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/genuine-fraud-isbn-9780385744782","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}