The St. Ambrose School for Girls by Jessica Ward

Available now

CW: mental illness, suicidal ideation, gaslighting, murder, child abuse, sexual abuse, self harm, homophobia, bullying. Read with care.

Reader Friends, my favorite author has released a new book that doesn’t include my all-time, hands down, favorite group of fictional people in Caldwell! It left me a little wary but a whole lot of intrigued.

And she left me emotionally wrecked. This book is going to twist you up in so many ways and take you right on back to the emotional roller coaster that is high school. This book tackles some extremely heavy topics like suicide and mental illness and Ward lays out her writing process in her Author’s Note and I felt the care and love she has for her characters. Definitely check the content warnings on this one and I realize how wild it is to love a book that is this dark and heavy.

Oh, and Jessica Ward is J.R. Ward, aka The Warden, author of the Black Dagger Brotherhood series.

From the Publisher:

When Sarah Taylor arrives at the exclusive St. Ambrose School, she’s carrying more baggage than just what fits in her suitcase. She knows she’s not like the other girls—if the shabby, all-black, non-designer clothes don’t give that away, the bottle of lithium hidden in her desk drawer sure does.

St. Ambrose’s queen bee, Greta Stanhope, picks Sarah as a target from day one and the most popular, powerful, horrible girl at school is relentless in making sure Sarah knows what the pecking order is. Thankfully, Sarah makes an ally out of her roommate Ellen “Strots” Strotsberry, a cigarette-huffing, devil-may-care athlete who takes no bullshit. Also down the hall is Nick Hollis, the devastatingly handsome RA, and the object of more than one St. Ambrose student’s fantasies. Between Strots and Nick, Sarah hopes she can make it through the semester, dealing with not only her schoolwork and a recent bipolar diagnosis, but Greta’s increasingly malicious pranks.

Sarah is determined not to give Greta the satisfaction of breaking her. But when scandal unfolds, and someone ends up dead, her world threatens to unravel in ways she could never have imagined. The St. Ambrose School for Girls is a dangerous, delicious, twisty coming-of-age tale that will stay with you long after you turn the last page.

This book contains so many of my favorite tropes: boarding school, scandal, mean girls getting what they deserve (not that anyone really deserves murder,) dark secrets, and strong female friendships. All of the characters felt real and fully developed, especially Sarah. You could feel how desperately she wanted away from her home, but also how much she knew she didn’t fit in with the rich girls at the elite St. Ambrose. She was so aware of her mental illness and how tightly she had to keep it in control to guard her secret from everyone. When all of that stress, exacerbated by the horrible bullying from Greta and her girlfriends, leads to Sarah making some very dark and misguided decisions, my heart broke. You could feel how lonely and isolated she felt, even when she was constantly surrounded by her teachers, roommate, and advisors.

This is one of those novels where every character has a dark secret to hide. It seemed like every secret was darker and more disturbing than the last. (Like I said, it’s real doozy of a book!) All of those layers of secrets really added to the impact of the plot twist and made the ending one of the most explosive I’ve read. I absolutely loved it and flew through it in just one sitting.

If you want to add this dark and explosive thriller to your shelf, you can click on the cover above, or here, for ordering information.

This post may contain affiliate links, including Amazon Associate links, and I may earn from qualifying purchases. All opinions and mistakes are my own. Like those commas. I never get those right.

Horror Quickie - The Last House on Needless Street

Available Now

Reader friends, this book contains all the content warnings. It’s a rough, rough read but the writing itself is phenomenal.

From the Publisher:

In a boarded-up house on a dead-end street at the edge of the wild Washington woods lives a family of three.

A teenage girl who isn’t allowed outside, not after last time.
A man who drinks alone in front of his TV, trying to ignore the gaps in his memory.
And a house cat who loves napping and reading the Bible.

An unspeakable secret binds them together, but when a new neighbor moves in next door, what is buried out among the birch trees may come back to haunt them all.

The Last House on Needless Street is an intricately crafted puzzle that reveals itself to be extraordinarily dark and horrifying. It’s full of unreliable narrators and complex characters set in a dark and depressing part of the neighborhood. This neighborhood also borders a forest and that can only be home to horrific secrets. Not going to lie, it took until the last 50 or so pages for me to fully realize what was actually going on in the story and I was completely blown away. While this is one of the hardest books I’ve read in a long time, Ward’s ability to weave such an intricate story and pull off that level of a reveal was extraordinary to experience.

Highly recommend it, but know this is a hard and trauma filled story going in. If you want to add this book to your collection, you can find ordering information here or click on the book cover.

This post contains affiliate links, including Amazon Associate links, and I may earn from qualifying purchases.

Blog Tour! Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers

Reader Friends, this book blew me away. It’s a raw, emotional coming-of-age story that features an honest look at the pressures we put on people to stay on the path that was set for them, even when that path is no longer what they want. In Honey Girl, Grace Porter is a driven, focused, Type A scientist who is finished her doctorate and is awaiting to start her dream job. But before she goes back to the real world, she and her two best friends take a quick trip to Las Vegas for some fun and relaxation. Except Grace, known to everyone as Porter, wakes up on her last morning in Vegas hungover and married. Married to a beautiful woman named Yuki with rosebud cheeks who lives across the country and hosts a late night radio show about the supernatural. For someone as straight-laced and focused as Porter is, this is wildly out of character but deep down, she desperately wants to learn more about her new wife and wants to take a chance on love. But Porter has to deal with her overbearing father, known to all as the Colonel, and his constant pressure to begin her new career. Porter is burnt out and doesn’t know how to deal with all the changes in her life and this struggle will lead her across the country to discover if she can make a relationship work with a woman she knew for less than a day, and if she can overcome her own hang-ups about the life she set out to have, but no longer is convinced for her.

Honey Girl is a gorgeous story of family, the power of friendship, and the fear of risking everything for love. I fell in love with Grace and Yuki’s story and the wonderfully eclectic, tight-knit group of friends that were vital to each of them.

Read on for an excerpt from Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers:

One

Grace wakes up slow like molasses. The only difference is molasses is sweet, and this—the dry mouth and the pounding headache—is sour. She wakes up to the blinding desert sun, to heat that infiltrates the windows and warms her brown skin, even in late March.

  Her alarm buzzes as the champagne-bubble dream pops.

  Grace wakes in Las Vegas instead of her apartment in Portland, and she groans.

  She’s still in last night’s clothes, ripped high-waisted jeans and a cropped, white BRIDE t-shirt she didn’t pack. The bed is warm, which isn’t surprising. But as Grace moves, shifts and tries to remember how to work her limbs, she notices it’s a different kind of warm. The bed, the covers, the smooth cotton pillowcase beside her, is body-warm. Sleep-warm.

The hotel bed smells like sea-salt and spell herbs. The kind people cut up and put in tea, in bottles, soaking into oil and sealed with a little chant. It smells like kitchen magic.

She finds the will to roll over into the warm patch. Her memories begin to trickle in from the night before like a movie in rewind. There were bright lights and too-sweet drinks and one club after another. There was a girl with rose-pink cheeks and pitch-black hair and, yes, sea-salt and sage behind her ears and over the soft, veiny parts of her wrists. Her name clings to the tip of Grace’s tongue but does not pull free.

The movie in Grace’s head fast-forwards. The girl’s hand stayed clutched in hers for the rest of the night. Her mouth was pretty pink. She clung to Grace’s elbow and whispered, “Stay with me,” when Agnes and Ximena decided to go back to the hotel.

Stay with me, she said, and Grace did. Follow me, she said, like Grace was used to doing. Follow your alarm. Follow your schedule. Follow your rubric. Follow your graduation plan. Follow a salt and sage girl through a city of lights and find yourself at the steps of a church.

Maybe it wasn’t a church. It didn’t seem like one. A place with fake flowers and red carpet and a man in a white suit. A fake priest. Two girls giggled through champagne bubbles and said yes. Grace covers her eyes and sees it play out.

“Jesus,” she mutters, sitting up suddenly and clutching the sheets to keep herself steady.

She gets up, knees wobbling. “Get it together, Grace Porter.” Her throat is dry and her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth. “You are hungover. Whatever you think happened, didn’t happen.” She looks down at her t-shirt and lets out a shaky screech into her palms. “It couldn’t have happened, because you are smart, and organized, and careful. None of those things would lead to a wedding. A wedding!”

“Didn’t happen,” she murmurs, trying to make up the bed. It’s a fruitless task, but making up the bed makes sense, and everything else doesn’t. She pulls at the sheets, and three things float to the floor like feathers.

  A piece of hotel-branded memo paper. A business card. A photograph.

Grace picks up the glossy photograph first. It is perfectly rectangular, like someone took the time to cut it carefully with scissors.

In it, the plastic church from her blurry memories. The church with its wine-colored carpet and fake flowers. There is no Elvis at this wedding, but there is a man, a fake priest, with slicked back hair and rhinestones around his eyes.

In it, Grace is tall and brown and narrow, and her gold, spiraling curls hang past her shoulders. She is smiling bright. It makes her face hurt now, to know she can smile like that, can be that happy surrounded by things she cannot remember.

Across from her, their hands intertwined, is the girl. In the picture, her cheeks are just as rose-pink. Her hair is just as pitch-black as an empty night sky. She is smiling, much like Grace is smiling. On her left hand, a black ring encircles her finger, the one meant for ceremonies like this.

Grace, hungover and wary of this new reality, lifts her own left hand. There, on the same finger, a gold ring. This part evaded her memories, forever lost in sticky-sweet alcohol. But there is it, a ring. A permanent and binding and claiming ring. 

  “What the hell did you do, Porter?” she says, tracing it around her finger.

She picks up the business card, smaller and somehow more intimate, next. It smells like the right side of the bed. Sea salt. Sage. Crushed herbs. Star anise. It is a good smell.

On the front, a simple title:

ARE YOU THERE?

   brooklyn’s late night show for lonely creatures

  & the supernatural. Sometimes both.

   99.7 FM

  She picks up the hotel stationery. The cramped writing is barely legible, like it was written in a hurry.

I know who I am, but who are you? I woke up during the sunrise, and your hair and your skin and the freckles on your nose glowed like gold. Honey-gold. I think you are my wife, and I will call you Honey Girl. Consider this a calling card, if you ever need a—I don’t know how these things work. A friend? A—

 Wife, it says, but crossed out.

 A partner. Or. I don’t know. I have to go. But I think I had fun, and I think I was happy. I don’t think I would get married if I wasn’t. I hope you were, too.

What is it they say? What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas? Well, I can’t stay.

Maybe one day you’ll come find me, Honey Girl. Until then, you can follow the sound of my voice. Are you listening?

Excerpted from Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers, Copyright © 2021 by Morgan Rogers

Published by Park Row Books

Morgan Rogers is a queer black millennial. She writes books for queer girls that are looking for their place in the world. She lives in Maryland and has a Shih Tzu named Nico and a cat named Grace that she would love to write into a story one day. HONEY GIRL is her debut novel. 

Author Website

Twitter: @garnetmorgue

Instagram: @garnetmorgue

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Buy Links: 

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Thank you to Park Row Books for the advanced copy of this title. All opinions and mistakes are my own. This post may contain affiliate links and I earn from qualifying purchases.