{"product_id":"the-twin-isbn-9780593124963","title":"The Twin","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe instant \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn this twisty psychological thriller from the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eTHE CELLAR\u003c\/i\u003e, Ivy wants to share everything with her twin sister . . . until her twin starts to push her out of her own life.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIvy and Iris haven’t lived together for years—when their mother and father divorced, each parent got custody of one twin. But after a tragic accident takes their mom’s life, the devastated sisters are reunited, and Iris moves in with Ivy and their dad. Iris takes their mom’s death especially hard. She barely talks, spending hours alone in her room. Ivy can’t stand to see Iris so sad. She promised Iris that she can share her life now. After all, they’re sisters. Twins. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eIt’s a promise that Iris takes seriously. And before long, Ivy’s friends, her teachers, and even her boyfriend fall under Iris’s spell. Soon Ivy begins to think there’s something wrong with her twin. It’s almost like Iris is out to get her. Ivy tells herself she’s being paranoid. It’s not like she’s in any danger from her twin. . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Twin \u003c\/i\u003eis an unputdownable read that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very end.\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for THE TWIN:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eAn instant \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e “This fast-paced thriller\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e will be a hit.” –\u003ci\u003e SLJ\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePraise for Natasha Preston:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A\u003cb\u003e deeply disturbing \u003c\/b\u003etale that explores what can push someone to kill and what people will do to survive. . . . \u003cb\u003ekeeps tensions high to the final page\u003c\/b\u003e.\" –\u003ci\u003ePW\u003c\/i\u003e, on \u003ci\u003eThe Lost\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\"Preston weaves \u003cb\u003ea terrifying tale\u003c\/b\u003e. . . . A fast-paced, plot-driven page-turner.\" –\u003ci\u003eKirkus\u003c\/i\u003e, on \u003ci\u003eThe Lost\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\"Keeps readers on edge. . . . A great addition to the thriller shelves. \u003cb\u003eRecommended for fans of Stephen King, Jennifer Barnes, and Ally Carter\u003c\/b\u003e.\" –\u003ci\u003eSLJ\u003c\/i\u003e, on \u003ci\u003eYou Will Be Mine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Preston is skilled in building \u003cb\u003ean atmosphere of paranoia and claustrophobia\u003c\/b\u003e.\" –\u003ci\u003ePW\u003c\/i\u003e, on \u003ci\u003eYou Will Be Mine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Preston's latest mystery reads like an homage to a nostalgic Fear Street novel. . . . An \u003cb\u003eenjoyable blend of mystery and horror.\u003c\/b\u003e\" –\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, on \u003ci\u003eYou Will Be Mine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A fresh take on a murder mystery thriller. Rich with plot twists and suspense, \u003cb\u003ereaders will not want to put it down\u003c\/b\u003e.\" –\u003ci\u003eVOYA\u003c\/i\u003e, on \u003ci\u003eYou Will Be Mine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Will keep readers \u003cb\u003eintrigued.\u003c\/b\u003e\" –\u003ci\u003eSLJ\u003c\/i\u003e, on \u003ci\u003eAwake\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003cb\u003eRipped-from-the-headlines\u003c\/b\u003e.\" –\u003ci\u003eSLJ\u003c\/i\u003e, on \u003ci\u003eThe Cellar\u003c\/i\u003eNatasha Preston is the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Cellar, The Cabin, Awake, You Will Be Mine\u003c\/i\u003e, and, her latest, \u003ci\u003eThe Lost\u003c\/i\u003e. A UK native, she discovered her love of writing when she shared a story online--and hasn't looked back. She enjoys writing romance, thrillers, gritty YA, and the occasional serial killer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eVisit Natasha online at natashapreston.com and follow @AuthorNPreston on Twitter and @authornatashapreston on Instagram.1\u003cbr\u003eI dig the tips of my yellow-­painted fingernails into the firm leather seat as Dad drives us home on the verge of breaking the speed limit. He’s anxious to get back, but I would rather he slowed down. My stomach dips, and I hold my breath, squeezing my eyes closed as he takes a sharp corner.\u003cbr\u003eWith my muscles locked into place, I raise my eyes to the rearview mirror. Thankfully, Dad’s eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s a tightness to them that’s unsettling. He’s a good driver, and I trust him with my life, but I’m not a fan of this speed.\u003cbr\u003eThe car, a black Mercedes, is immaculate and still smells brand-­new a year on, so I’m surprised that he’s driving so fast on dusty country roads.\u003cbr\u003eEverything is going to be different now, and he seems to be in a hurry to start our new life.\u003cbr\u003eIt’s not right. We need to slow down, savor the ease of what our lives used to be, because the new one waiting for us in just five minutes, I don’t want. Things weren’t perfect before, but I want my old life back.\u003cbr\u003eThe one where Mom was still alive.\u003cbr\u003eIt’s spring, her favorite season. Flowers have begun to brighten our town, turning the landscape from a dull green to a rainbow of color. It’s my favorite time of year, too, when the sun shows itself and the temperature warms enough so you don’t need a coat.\u003cbr\u003eI’m always happier in spring. But right now, it might as well be winter again. I don’t feel my mood lifting, and I definitely don’t care that I’m not wearing a stupid coat.\u003cbr\u003eMy twin sister, Iris, is in the front passenger seat. She’s staring out the window, occasionally starting a short conversation. It’s more than I’ve done. There’s been nothing but silence from me. It’s not because I don’t care; it’s because I don’t know what to say. There are no words for what has happened.\u003cbr\u003eEverything I think of seems dumb and insignificant. Nothing is big enough to fill the enormous void left by our mom.\u003cbr\u003eThe warm spring sun shines into the car, but it’s not strong enough to hurt my eyes. I don’t want to close them again anyway. Every time I do, I see her pale face. So pale she didn’t look real. Her once rosy cheeks gone forever. It was like staring at a life-­size porcelain doll.\u003cbr\u003eI wish I hadn’t gone to the funeral home to see her. My last image of her will be her lifeless body.\u003cbr\u003eWhen I go back to school, I’ll be fine. I’ll swim and study until it doesn’t hurt anymore.\u003cbr\u003eOr I’ll want that to work, but I know it’s going to take more than a couple of distractions to make the pain disappear.\u003cbr\u003eWe turn down our road and my toes curl in my tennis shoes.\u003cbr\u003eI swallow a lump that leaves my throat bone-­dry.\u003cbr\u003eDad slows, pulling into our drive and parking out front. Our house feels like it’s in the middle of nowhere, but there are about ten houses nearby and it’s a five-­minute drive into town. I love the quiet and the peace of my hometown, but I feel like it’s going to drive me crazy. Right now I need loud and fast-­paced. I need distractions and lots of them.\u003cbr\u003eIris gets out of the car first, her butt-­length, silky blond hair blowing in the warm breeze. She’s home with me and Dad forever now.\u003cbr\u003eOur mom died after falling off a bridge while out running two weeks ago. She was by a farm and the land was uneven and hilly. It had been raining and there was mud on the ground. The rail on the steep side of the short bridge was low, there more for guidance than safety, and she slipped off. The bridge wasn’t very high, apparently, but she hit her head and died instantly. That’s what the police told us.\u003cbr\u003eMom ran to keep fit and healthy so she could be around for me and Iris longer, but it ended up killing her.\u003cbr\u003eHer death is still impossible to process. I haven’t lived with my mom or Iris for six years, since she and Dad divorced, but her permanent absence weighs heavy in my stomach like lead.\u003cbr\u003eWhen I was ten and our parents sat me and Iris down to explain they were separating, I had been relieved. It had been coming for a long time, and I was sick of hearing arguments while I pretended to sleep upstairs. The atmosphere was cold at best, our parents barely speaking but smiling as if I couldn’t see through the crap mask.\u003cbr\u003eIris and I have never had a conversation about it, but the separation was a surprise to her. She shouted and then she cried while I sat still, silently planning how I would tell them I wanted to live with Dad. It wasn’t an easy choice for anyone, but we had to make one. Dad and I had always been close; we share a lot in common, from movies and music to hobbies and food. He’s the one to give us clear guidelines, without which I would crumble. Mom was laid back, sometimes too much, and I would never get anything done.\u003cbr\u003eBesides, Mom always wanted to live in the city, and I never liked how densely it’s populated.\u003cbr\u003eMom and Iris moved out; then they moved away to the city. I have spent school holidays flitting between houses, sometimes missing out on time with my twin thanks to conflicting schedules. She would be with Dad while I was with Mom.\u003cbr\u003eNone of our family members, friends, or even neighbors could understand it. You don’t separate twins. I get it—­we’re supposed to be able to communicate without speaking and literally feel each other’s pain. But Iris and I have never been like that. We’re too different.\u003cbr\u003eWe’re not close, so although she’s my sister, it feels more like a distant cousin is moving in.\u003cbr\u003eShe still has her bedroom here, which she and Dad re­decorated last year when she visited for the summer. But she’s brought a lot of stuff with her from Mom’s. The trunk is full of her things.\u003cbr\u003eI watch her walk to the front door as Dad cuts the engine. She has a key to the house, of course, so she lets herself in.\u003cbr\u003eDad scratches the dark stubble on his chin. He usually shaves every morning. “Are you okay, Ivy? You’ve barely said a word the entire time we’ve been on the road.”\u003cbr\u003e“I’m fine,” I reply, my voice low and gravelly.\u003cbr\u003eFine, the modern I’m not okay definition of the word, is what I mean here. Everything has changed in the blink of an eye. Two weeks is all it has taken to turn my world upside down. And what about Iris? She was closer to Mom than anyone. What right do I have to fall apart when she has lost even more than me?\u003cbr\u003e“You can talk about it. Whenever you want.”\u003cbr\u003e“I know, Dad. Thanks.”\u003cbr\u003eHis eyes slide to the house. “Let’s go inside.”\u003cbr\u003eI take a long breath and stare at the front door.\u003cbr\u003eI don’t want to go inside. When I go back in there, our new normal starts. I’m not ready to let go of the old just yet. Until I walk through that door, my twin isn’t living with us again because our mom has died.\u003cbr\u003eThat’s all total rubbish, obviously. Not walking through that door changes nothing, but I can pretend. I need longer.\u003cbr\u003e“Ivy?” Dad prompts, watching me in the mirror with caution in his blue eyes, almost afraid to ask me if everything is okay again in case I crumble.\u003cbr\u003e“Can I go to Ty’s first? I won’t be long.”\u003cbr\u003eHis brow creases. “We just got home. . . .”\u003cbr\u003e“I’ll be back soon. I need a little time. It will give you an opportunity to check in with Iris too. She’s going to need you a lot, sometimes without me.”\u003cbr\u003eHe opens his door. “One hour.”\u003cbr\u003eI get out, my heart lighter knowing I have an extra sixty minutes, which I can stretch to seventy before he’ll call. “Thanks, Dad.”\u003cbr\u003eShutting the car door, I look back at the house.\u003cbr\u003eWhat?\u003cbr\u003eThe hairs on my arms rise. Iris is watching me from the second-­floor window.\u003cbr\u003eBut she’s not in her bedroom.\u003cbr\u003eShe’s in mine.","brand":"Delacorte Press","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301755113701,"sku":"NP9780593124963","price":14.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593124963.jpg?v=1767741946","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-twin-isbn-9780593124963","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}