{"product_id":"shiny-happy-people-isbn-9780593904084","title":"Shiny Happy People","description":"\u003cb\u003eA twisted and thrilling genre-bending novel that shines a light on the terrors of the U.S. opioid epidemic, Clay McLeod Chapman has written an instant classic about a mysterious new drug plaguing a small town and the haunting side effects. \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt sixteen, Kyra is still haunted by the horrors she saw growing up with her drug-addicted mother. She doesn’t feel like she belongs anywhere—and disturbing dreams come to her at night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen a new party drug makes its way to her high school, Kyra’s life becomes an actual nightmare. A video challenge spreads among the students—and though she doesn’t participate, Kyra can’t escape the inexplicable side effects.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEveryone around her seems to be mysteriously changing, including the people she loves the most. Her brother has a new personality overnight. Her best friend suddenly feels like a stranger. The only other person who seems to notice the eeriness is Logan, the new boy at school. Like Kyra, he has steered clear of the party scene.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen the strangeness begins to feel sinister—or unnatural—Kyra is determined to find out exactly what is behind the mysterious drug. As she and Logan get closer to the truth, the line between Kyra’s past and present blurs . . . and she will need to face the terrors inside herself, or lose everyone she loves.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Clay McLeod Chapman is one of my favorite horror storytellers working today.”—Jordan Peele\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“The most ambitious novel yet from a writer quietly redefining the emotional contours of contemporary horror.”—\u003ci\u003eVulture \u003c\/i\u003eon\u003ci\u003e Wake Up and Open Your Eyes\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e★ \"Classic horror fans will absolutely love this tense, paranoia-fueled story ... \u003cb\u003eA fast-paced tribute to horror \u003c\/b\u003eand sf greats.\" —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“As creepy as a vine that wraps around you and refuses to let go. \u003ci\u003eShiny Happy People \u003c\/i\u003eis \u003cb\u003ea wild ride through the uncanny valley\u003c\/b\u003e.” —Goldy Moldavsky, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Mary Shelley Club\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"In his chilling YA debut, Chapman (Wake Up and Open Your Eyes, for adults) blends harrowing psychological terror with visceral body horror to deliver \u003cb\u003ea nightmare steeped in paranoid ambiance\u003c\/b\u003e. Claustrophobic prose interspersed with haunting dream sequences touch on themes of addiction, conformity, family abandonment, and trauma.\"—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e Clay McLeod Chapman writes novels, comic books, and children’s books, as well as for film and TV. He is the author of many adult horror novels, including \u003ci\u003eThe Remaking\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eWhisper Down the Lane\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eGhost Eaters\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eWhat Kind of Mother\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eWake Up and Open Your Eyes, \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eAcquired Taste\u003c\/i\u003e. \u003ci\u003eShiny Happy People\u003c\/i\u003e is his debut book for young readers.Prologue\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eParty Favors\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhat’s in my drink?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSome guy in the kitchen simply handed Jenna a red Solo cup and she took it. She didn’t ask—­didn’t know—­what it was until the vodka struck her tongue. Now she’s gasping at the burn as the li­quid fire funnels down her throat, blossoming in her belly like one big Molotov cocktail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hoooooly shit!” She laughs, vodka dribbling down her chin. It literally burns to breathe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJenna is ready for another.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd another.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne month. That’s it. Only one more month until everyone at Greenfield High can kiss her dimpled ass goodbye and she’s out of this town, off to college, \u003ci\u003ebuh-­bye,\u003c\/i\u003e bon voyage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eCheers to that.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe finds the dance floor. Or maybe the dance floor finds her. Everyone else merely dances around her, thrashing planets orbiting the sun. She’s the center of this solar system, a galaxy of classmates spiraling to the beat. The music seeps in, dull vibrations sinking deeper—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhoa, what’s happening?\u003c\/i\u003e—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eand deeper and—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eHow tipsy am I?\u003c\/i\u003e—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe sound system is cranked up so loud, she can see the discarded debris of Solo cups vibrating on the table, countertop, shelves every time the bass kicks in: \u003ci\u003edum-­dum-­dum-­dum.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe humidity in the basement thickens. Everyone’s hair is wet, slickened tendrils clinging to their temples. The occasional blast of a camera flash from someone’s phone ignites the whole room, solar flares of pics bursting all around, momentarily blinding her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI am a star!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe feels the heat radiating off her body in these rippling waves, distorting the air. She doesn’t know what the song is anymore, a scorched techno beat burning the wallpaper away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGabe comes out of nowhere. He’s been hobbling on crutches these last couple of weeks after a skateboard accident. Look at him now. Crutch-­free. Practically \u003ci\u003estrutting.\u003c\/i\u003e Grinning ear to ear. \u003ci\u003eHe’s radiant. Perfect. My God, it’s like his skin is glowing down here in the basement.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat boy shines. He’s a meteorite heading straight for her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eCollision in T minus three seconds . . .\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEveryone splits down the middle, bodies breaking off and forming a valley.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eTwo seconds . . .\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe makes eye contact with Gabe, yearning for him, feeling the very gravity of his presence pulling them together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOne second . . .\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe dance beat thickens as Gabe stops in front of her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eImpact!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJenna presses her palm flat against his chest, right where his heart is, and she swears she feels the vibrations of the beat radiating from him. His heart is one enormous speaker cone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEveryone else melts away. It’s just her and Gabe now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJenna feels outside her own body. She watches as Gabe takes her hand . . . guides her up the stairs . . . leads her down the hall . . . escorts her into the bedroom . . . closes the door behind him and . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGabe kisses her. Thin vibrations tremble through his soft lips, so Jenna closes her eyes and tastes the sound. The sweetest beat. He’s brought the music with him. \u003ci\u003eHow considerate.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne second, Jenna is vertical. The next . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe’s horizontal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe two topple onto the bed. Jenna is in Gabe’s arms and laughing all the way down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhose room even is this?\u003c\/i\u003e Jenna doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. It has no personality. Just navy blue wallpaper and boring decor straight out of a Pottery Barn catalog. Peel back the pastel layers of suburban bliss, and these McMansions all look the same, anyway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s Jenna’s room now. Correction: Jenna \u003ci\u003eand\u003c\/i\u003e Gabe’s. They’re ripping at each other’s sticky clothes, peeling them all off, layer by layer, as if they’re skinning each other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGabe presses his lips against hers, mashing their mouths. \u003ci\u003eDeep\u003c\/i\u003e impact. The meteor of his flesh, his bones, his whole aura collides into her own, and the song inside her just . . . \u003ci\u003eexplodes.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJenna’s about to disintegrate under the brunt of his body, the light from the sun snuffing out in one last frantic gasp of air. She wishes he’d be a little more tender with her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eSlow down,\u003c\/i\u003e she wants to say. \u003ci\u003eJust a little slower—­\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere’s a record scratch within Gabe’s skin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eSkkkkrtch!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe music completely halts in his body. His bones lock. Spine goes rigid. Everything within him suddenly petrifies, and Jenna can’t find the rhythm anymore. She loses the beat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLoses him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhat happened? What’s wrong?\u003c\/i\u003e When she opens her eyes, she sees Gabe hovering directly above her. His eyes have rolled up into his skull, leaving behind nothing but white.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA bubbling spume seeps out from his mouth. It cascades down her face. Jenna tries to wipe it away, out from her eyes, but there’s too much. \u003ci\u003eSick,\u003c\/i\u003e she thinks. \u003ci\u003eHe’s sick—­\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJenna tries to move, slide out from under Gabe’s locked body, but he won’t budge. His arms are two pillars at either side, pinning her in place. She can’t free herself. Can’t escape.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Gabe?” she hears herself ask, but for some reason it doesn’t sound like her. Doesn’t seem as if his name came from her mouth. Someone else must’ve said it. “What’s wrong—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGabe starts to judder. His body is a rocket launched into the cosmos, battling g-forces that buckle against his very bones. He must be having some kind of epileptic fit or—­or—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOh God,\u003c\/i\u003e Jenna thinks, \u003ci\u003ehe’s\u003c\/i\u003e—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003edying—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOD’ing.\u003c\/i\u003e He must be in some kind of toxic shock. \u003ci\u003eWhat’s he on? What did he take?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGabe rolls off of Jenna and sprawls across the bed, spasming like a windup toy that won’t stop twisting, his torso turning in one direction, legs heading in the other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJenna gasps for air, sitting up. \u003ci\u003eCall 911. Now!\u003c\/i\u003e What did she do with her phone?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhere the hell’s my—­\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDownstairs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGabe hasn’t stopped convulsing. The spasms only grow worse, the jarring music shocking his body. The foam thickens. The froth is darker. Rustier. Blood. \u003ci\u003eIt’s blood . . .\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhat should I do?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe song keeps skipping in her head, that mental record needle caught in the groove, looping the same frantic lyrics over and over—­\u003ci\u003eWhat should I do what should I do what should I . . .\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHelp. She needs to find help.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSomeone downstairs will know what to do. But she doesn’t want to leave Gabe like this. She can’t just abandon him, can she? What if he—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eGo. Now. GO.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJenna bursts out from the room and races through the hall. Back down the steps. She plunges into the basement, into that sweating mass of bodies. They’ve only gotten sweatier, from the looks of it. Wetter. It’s like they’re all one massive, writhing heap of limbs, twisting and twining into one another. She can’t tell where one body stops and the next starts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Help,” she shouts, but her voice can’t reach over the music.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo she tries again. Louder this time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“HELP ME!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe dancing stops even as the music carries on. Everyone turns toward Jenna. Her face is laced with tears, streaking her makeup. Raccoon eyes. Chest heaving. “Gabe’s over . . . over . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOver . . . \u003ci\u003ewhat\u003c\/i\u003e? Over \u003ci\u003eher\u003c\/i\u003e? \u003ci\u003eOver the river and through the woods?\u003c\/i\u003e What’s she trying to say?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eDosing.\u003c\/i\u003e Just say it. \u003ci\u003eOver—­\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“. . . dosing.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne guy—­Jenna doesn’t know his name, Tim or Jim or Slim—­steps up. She’s probably passed him in the hall a million times, but they’ve never talked before.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I took a CPR course,” TimSlimJim says. He swallows before add­ing, “Once.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJenna’s already turning back toward the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe hallway has lengthened itself. The house won’t stay solid, messing with her, trying to keep her away from Gabe. \u003ci\u003eWhich room were we in?\u003c\/i\u003e All the doors look the same now . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eIs it this room?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWrong door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThis one?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNope, try again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhere is he?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhy can’t she find—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThere he is!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGabe sits upright at the edge of the bed. Perfectly still. \u003ci\u003ePoised\u003c\/i\u003e is the first word that pops into Jenna’s mind. \u003ci\u003eWhat’s going on? Why is he . . . ?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFine. Perfectly fine. He’s so utterly composed right now, it doesn’t compute. There’s no foam spilling out from his mouth. No blood. No convulsions. Gabe is so completely, so utterly . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eSerene\u003c\/i\u003e. As if nothing happened.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere’s no music inside him. Not anymore. The beat is all gone. Gabe’s head turns toward her in almost too smooth of a movement, as if his neck swivels. A grinning action figure.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Let’s party,” he says.","brand":"Delacorte Press","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233547170021,"sku":"NP9780593904084","price":19.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593904084.jpg?v=1767736546","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/shiny-happy-people-isbn-9780593904084","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}