#hollyjackson

“Arthur was standing just behind Oliver and Reyna, now shooting a closed-mouth smile as he caught Red’s eye.”

“Arthur had sat with her the whole time, calmly directing her, as though he could tell when she was zoning in and out, or when she was panicking about the size of the RV and how small everything looked from up here.”

“Red liked his glasses, standing out against his tan skin and curly dark brown hair. She wondered whether she needed glasses; faraway things seem to have gotten farther and fuzzier lately. Another thing to add to the to-worry list, because she couldn’t do anything about it. Yet. Arthur caught her looking, smiling as he ran a finger over the light stubble on his chin.”

“What’s up?” she said. “Deathly allergic to cheese puffs?”

“No, thankfully,” Arthur said, feeling his way as he sat down on the sofa bed.”

“Red turned back to Arthur. “Well, good thing you’re not spending a whole week in this cramped RV. Oh…wait.” Red smiled at him.

“I know, right.”

“Red guessed Arthur didn’t much like his friends at his own school, because he’d been coming to all their parties and hangouts since senior year began. And that was okay, because she liked having him around. He always asked how she was and how was her day, even though Red usually answered with lies or exaggerated stories with only faint traces of the truth. He showed interest when Red wasn’t interesting at all. And there was that time he dropped her home after that New Year’s Eve party and let her sit in his car, warming up in the dry air of the heater before she had to go inside the cold house and find whatever mess her dad had left for her. Arthur didn’t know that was happening, he thought they were just talking, talking the night away at two in the morning outside her house. A small kindness he never knew he’d given her. She should give him one back.”

“Well, if you did it, why haven’t you checked it off?” Arthur said, pointing to the small empty box on the see-through flesh of her hand. “Here.” He stood up, grabbing one of Maddy’s pens from the table that she’d used in an earlier game of Hangman. He uncapped it and leaned toward Red, pressing the felt-tip end against her skin. Gently, he drew two lines: a check mark in the little box. “There you go,” he said, standing back to admire his handiwork.

Red looked at her hand. And it felt stupid to admit it to herself, but the sight of that little check mark did change something in her. Small, minuscule, a tiny firework bursting in her head, but it felt good. It always felt good, checking off those boxes. She held out her hand proudly for Maddy to examine and got the nod of approval she was looking for. Arthur was still watching her, a look in his eyes, a different one that Red couldn’t decipher.”

“Red wasn’t any help, was she? Standing here looking at the moon.

“It’s big tonight,” Arthur said, following her eyes to the sky.”

“Must say, exploding the tire with your mind was a slightly drastic measure.”

Arthur clicked his tongue. “Desperate times,” he said.

“What do you think it could have been, really?”

He shrugged. “Probably a sharp rock or glass, like Oliver said.” And was Red imagining it, or did his voice sometimes soften for her? No, he was just nice to everybody.”

“At least it’s only raw tomatoes,” Red said, “so you can still eat pizza.”

“What is she talking about?” Oliver said, almost there with the final nut.

“Oh, my allergy.” Arthur smiled, somehow staying with her. That was rare. Red lost most people at least a few times a day, sometimes a few times per conversation. “I know, not sure life would be worth it without pizza. I’d just have to have a perma-rash.”

“Hey, grow a beard and no one would know,” she said. It would probably look good on him too.”

“Need to get yourself an outside job, then,” she said. “Dog-walker?”

Arthur shook the expression out of his face, recovering as he turned to her.

“Farmer?” he countered.

“Nature conservationist?” she said.

“Ooh, nice.”

Red had another one: “Axe-murderer?” she said.

“I hear that’s taken.”

“And Arthur was crouched here, next to her.

“I tried to get you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Last chances to smile, to laugh, to tell Arthur she liked him and it was okay that he didn’t like her back because she was unlikable at times, she knew that”

“Red watched the dark shape of Arthur struggle with his, fiddling with the front of his jeans. Close enough to reach out and touch. To hold hands, even, if they didn’t need both hands for this plan.”

“So,” he said, nodding his head back the way she’d just come. “Using a mirror to reflect one of us to bait a shot,” he summarized, again, better than Red ever could. “That’s smart,” he added.

“The Lavoys are very smart,” Red said.

“Want to know a secret?” Arthur said, his voice dipping into whispers, eyes flashing from behind his glasses. “I think you’re smarter.”

“I think you’re lying,” Arthur retorted, knocking away at it.

She looked up at him, that same drunk-warm feeling behind her eyes. Why was he so kind to her? And why did that make her want to be un-kinder back? Because she didn’t deserve it, that was why. She was just Red. Just Red and Just Arthur, and they should probably just stay that way, because she didn’t know how to be somebody’s someone.

“That’s okay,” Arthur said, like he could read the thoughts racing behind her eyes. But he couldn’t, he didn’t know what lived back there, in her head. “Your secret is safe with me. It always is.”

“I don’t have secrets.” She hid behind a smile again. Oh, stop it, grinning like an idiot.

“International spy?” Arthur asked.

“I wish.”

“Your real name is Agatha?”

“Only if yours is Edgar.”

“Secret frog-racing champion?”

“You got me,” she said.

“Nice.”

“She stepped down, the shirts bundled in her arms. They smelled clean, and yet somehow they still smelled like him. The same as the hoodie he’d let her borrow after New Year’s Eve when he dropped her home. She’d slept in it that night, under her coat, and in the morning it only smelled like her. Arthur had never asked for it back. Maybe he was used to losing things too.”

“Red reached, stretching out her fingers, each one too aware of itself and of what she was making them do. She rested her hand on Arthur’s head just for a moment, near the back of his neck. Mom used to do that to her when she was upset, and Red didn’t even realize until right now that she missed it. She shouldn’t think of her, why did she keep thinking of her tonight?

Arthur glanced up, her hand sliding off. He caught it in one of his waiting hands, squeezed, his fingers warm against the cool of her knuckles.”

“Red?” Arthur’s voice interrupted the thought; he was standing behind her. She straightened up and turned.

His eyes were drawn and sad behind his glasses, lashes long and downcast.

He didn’t say anything, just raised his eyes to meet hers and then raised one hand.

There, on the back of his hand, written in that same black felt-tip pen against his tan skin, were the words: YOU OK?

Beside them were two options. YES with a square checkbox drawn next to it, riding up one knuckle. And below that, NO, with an empty box.

Arthur gave her the pen, pressing it into her hand, fingers warm against hers as they lingered there. Something passed between their eyes. Red held up the pen, uncapped it. She was always fine, when people asked. Of course she was fine, thanks, yes, she and Dad were doing just great, thank you. Fine, okay, fine. An elaborate lie squeezed into those two tiny words, the greatest gifts to a liar like her. No one asked for more detail if you were fine. But Arthur, he was really asking, she could tell. And so Red really answered.”

“Something touched her floating hand, in the darkness of the backs of her eyelids, the yellow glow of the overhead lights fighting through. Skin, fingers, intertwining through hers. Red opened her eyes, blinking in the new light, and there was Arthur. ”

“Arms around her waist again, locking on.

“I’ve got you, Red,” Arthur said in her ear, hoisting her to her feet, dragging her back up the steps, her body pressed against his.”

“Arthur drew Red’s head back, brushing the wayward hair out of her eyes, and the dirt and the grit.

“You’re okay.” His words against the back of her head, warm and spreading. One hand against her forehead. “You’re okay.”

“You okay?” Arthur asked her.

“You don’t care,” she replied.

He looked hurt by that, a flicker by his mouth.”

“Red staggered sideways, one leg buckling beneath her. Someone caught her.

Arthur.

His hands under her elbows, keeping her on her feet. He looked her in the eyes, blinking slowly, twin tears chasing down his face.

“Red,” he said, low, soft, almost too soft to cut through the air in this RV. “Look at me.”

She was looking at him.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

“What?” Red sniffed.

“It’s not your fault your mom died.”

“Arthur stroked his hand down the back of her hair, to the ends of her ponytail.”

A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder is a YA mystery, followed by Good Girl, Bad Blood which is a direct sequel.

This year, I found myself in the mood for YA murder mysteries, and when I heard of Holly Jackson’s A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder, I knew I had to pick it up. Before we get into the review, here’s a synopsis of Book 1;

The case is closed. Five years ago, schoolgirl Andie Bell was murdered by Sal Singh. The police know he did it. Everyone in town knows he did it.

But having grown up in the same small town that was consumed by the murder, Pippa Fitz-Amobi isn't so sure. When she chooses the case as the topic for her final year project, she starts to uncover secrets that someone in town desperately wants to stay hidden. And if the real killer is still out there, how far will they go to keep Pip from the truth?

The book was pretty much exactly what I expected - a teenager solving a murder case the police have long forgotten about. The whole concept seems a little hard to believe as a whole, seeing a seventeen-year-old high school girl running around solving a murder – but it works. (The story gave me Jughead and Betty vibes, if you watch Riverdale you’ll know what I mean.) Jackson’s writing and world building enables the reader to believe that such a thing is possible. She includes realistic elements such as spider diagrams drawn by Pip, which is exactly how a high school student would go about sorting through facts without having access to police files, etc. and the use of social media to find evidence in the case is also brilliant and realistic.

However, there were certain elements of the story which I didn’t quite like, one being a not-so-subtle hint at a possible murder suspect which the author seemed to have just thrown in there, but the characters made no comment about whatsoever. *spoilers* This hint was HH, the letters found in Andie’s journal which led Pip and Sal to the Ivy House Hotel. The pair knew that Andie was seeing an older guy before she died, which gave them reason to believe that said ‘older guy’ killed Andie. This is all fine, UNTIL they go the Ivy House Hotel and meet an older guy called Henry Hill (!!!) who acts super shady and there is ZERO mention of him being HH for the rest of the book. Now I know this may seem like a tiny little thing, but it drove me crazy.

All in all, I really enjoyed the story. It was fast paced, and though I felt there were certain parts which needed a little tweaking, I liked the ending and gave this book 3/5 stars!

The sequel, however, was AMAZING. I was getting extremely strong Bughead vibes throughout, and it was obvious that Jackson’s writing has improved since the first book and Good Girl, Bad Blood was UNPUTDOWNABLE. Here’s a synopsis;

Pip Fitz-Amobi is not a detective anymore. With the help of Ravi Singh, she released a true-crime podcast about the murder case they solved together last year. The podcast has gone viral, yet Pip insists her investigating days are behind her. But she will have to break that promise when someone she knows goes missing. Jamie Reynolds has disappeared but the police won’t do anything about it. And if they won’t look for Jamie then Pip will, uncovering more of her town’s dark secrets along the way… and this time EVERYONE is listening.

Why the hell would a teenager be able to solve a mystery that the police either don’t care about, or have simply given up on? What I love about these books, is the fact that Jackson makes it possible and believable, that yes, a high school senior is indeed able to do these things. And she wrote the books and showed us how. I love the modern elements used by the author in this book such as using a FitBit to track Jamie’s steps and heartrate, allowing them to figure out where he was when he disappeared. The fact that Pip and Sal now have a podcast, their active use and mentioning of social media and comments is exactly what makes this book believable. If any teenager nowadays was to solve a mystery, it would have to be done using the internet and Jackson knows this, and used it to create something amazing.

The ending destroyed me. Seeing what Pip had to go through, and the injustice of the Max Hastings trial is so real. I don’t know if there will be a third book in the series, but if there is I am definitely excited to see how Pip deals with the trauma of what she’s been through, and I’d love to see her solve a mystery at Oxford.