Retro

by Sofía Lapuente, Jarrod Shusterman

Genres: YA Science Fiction

Synopsis

What starts off as a lighthearted competition to live without modern technology for a year turns into a fight for survival in this unputdownable young adult thriller by New York Times bestselling author Jarrod Shusterman and debut author Sofía Lapuente.

It was never meant to happen this way.

Things were never supposed to get this out of hand.

After a cyberbullying incident at her school goes viral, Luna Iglesias finds herself at the heart of a brewing controversy. When the social media company Limbo—who are also implicated in the scandal—sweeps in with an offer that sounds like an opportunity to turn over a new leaf and receive a scholarship to the college of her dreams, she’s happy to jump on the new trend. It’s called the Retro Challenge, where contestants live without modern technology, wear vintage clothes, party as if the future weren’t already written, and fall in love as if they were living in a movie.

At first, the challenge is fun. But then things get dangerous. Kids start disappearing, including Luna’s friends. There are voices in the woods. Bloodred markings on the trees. And Luna increasingly begins to wonder if all these strange happenings are connected with the Retro Challenge.

Secrets. Lies. Betrayal. The weight of her family on her shoulders. There’s so much on the line for Luna, not to mention she’s falling in love with the last guy she expected. Unless she can figure out the truth behind who’s sabotaging the challenge, the next person to disappear may be Luna herself.

 

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Release date: January 24, 2023

Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 399

Sample

Chapter 1

Play 

You don’t know me yet. But here I stand, soaked in mud, blood stained  across my diamond disco dress—and I’m not even sure where I am.  My heart is splintered glass inside my chest. Un corazón roto. How I arrived is a story too twisted to believe.

So let me center myself and take in my surroundings. I’m trapped.  I was thrown into a sterile white room with no windows, the clos est thing to a jail cell I have ever seen. And the maddening silence  makes me wish this place came with a minibar and a lobotomy pick.  Anything to help me escape my current reality.

But isn’t that all the rage these days?

People hide behind an online profile, a facetuned image, or a  filter—when, in reality, their face doesn’t need a filter; it needs a  double cappuccino. Like my mom always said, La cara es el espejo del  alma. And how right she was—no matter how much you try to hide,  your eyes will always reflect who you truly are. And in my eyes, they  found someone who would never back down. I guess I’m difficult.  Which is basically why I’m here.

At least they had the decency to let me keep my Walkman. I press the headphones tight to my ears. It will help me tell my story. Let me introduce myself.

My name is Luna, but lately I’ve earned a few others. You might  think I’m locked away because I killed someone—or maybe you think  I robbed a bank. Assault and battery.

Not quite. But this year we did create a revolution, and I was  there on the front page.

Because this year we were invincible.

Or so we thought.

Now my heart is burned by the flames.

My friends disappeared, never to be seen again.

And the blood is dried on my hands.

My music fades out, and I wipe black tears of mascara from my  eyes. I don’t need a mirror to know that I probably look like a hungry,  rabid raccoon. The tape has ended, but the story is far from over—so  let’s bring it back to the very beginning.

To the first song of the soundtrack of my life.

 

2.  

“Girls Just Want to Have Fun”

—Cyndi Lauper 

I was innocent. She knew it and decided to bury me anyway— silent as a grave. No matter how harmful we know lies to be,  each one of us will tell ten to two hundred of them per day.  They come in all shapes and colors, from I love your haircut to I  have read and agree to these terms and conditions. Some are white  and others stained crimson red. But what they don’t teach you is that the most dangerous lies are the ones you don’t tell. Or at least that’s what I learned the day I got caught for  stealing.

It all went down the last day of summer, on one of those  Northern Californian afternoons where clouds threatened  darkly overhead. Instead of organizing a funeral for our summer  vacation, my friends and I enjoyed one last afternoon of saturated fats, inappropriate jokes, and brand-new clothes. It’s not  like there was much else to do in our small town anyway. The Monteverde Mall was always a second home to me, and  not just because when I was six I hid in the furniture store until  my mom rounded up a mall-cop search party. It was where I experienced my first true deception and mixed all the Play-Doh  colors, expecting to get a rainbow and got caca brown. I even  killed my first gaggle of zombies in the arcade. But most importantly, my family ran the little movie theater in the corner of  the top floor where I had a lifetime supply of radioactive-yellow  popcorn.

My mom had given me the day off, so my friends Samantha  and Mimi were pretending to be my personal shoppers, though I  didn’t remember hiring them. Samantha had her mind made up  that I was a pop star partying in Malibu, and Mimi, like a seagull,  was distracted by anything shiny. A match made in department  store heaven.

“Luna, you’ll be literally irresistible in this,” Samantha said,  holding up a microscopic emerald blouse.

“Thanks, but I think it’ll fit you better . . . it’s too sexy for  me,” I told her.

Mimi threw an arm over my shoulder. “Like my mom always  says, the sexiest thing you can wear are your values.” As whacky as Mimi could be, she was always somehow  super wise.

“I see how all the guys look at you ever since you got your  braces off.” Samantha nudged me. “This year boys are going to be  lining up to meet you.”

I smiled. “No blouse, no guy could make me feel luckier  than having you two.”

Samantha grabbed my hands teasingly, making me dance  with her. “Come on—love and hormones are in the air.” “Then where’s my gas mask?” I laughed.

“Give it up,” Mimi said. “The last time Luna had a boyfriend, she was eating sand at playtime, and we all know how that ended.”

The rest of our department store experience consisted of  Mimi and me pretending that we could afford more than one  article of clothing while Samantha spent forever in the dressing  room taking selfies in all the clothes. Or at least that’s what we  thought she was doing.

As we were wrapping things, up Mimi received a call. She  hung up the phone, looking concerned. “I have to go. My cat is  fighting my iguana again.”

I would have asked questions but had learned better by  this point. Although I did very much care for the well-being of  Professor Meowmington and Juanita.

We hugged Mimi goodbye, and she headed for the exit, but  not without winking to a guy in the cologne section. Mimi had  no problem hitting on anyone at school, not because she was  especially confident, but because she lived on her own planet— and it always blew my mind.

Left to our own devices, there was a weird air between  Samantha and me.

“I had a lot of fun today,” Samantha said, looking down.  “Thanks for inviting me out with you and Mimi . . . you know  how my other friends are.”

“Don’t mention it.” I knew exactly what she meant. Samantha and I were well aware that we came from entirely different  worlds.

She was the popular one.

And let’s just say I was made up of different ingredients. Her life was about beautiful blond hair, social media followers, and grades so high, they set the curve. She was the “perfect”  friend, and it had always been that way, ever since we were  kids on the same soccer team. We never hung out together at  school, but I was the first one Samantha called when she won  class vice president or became a cheerleading captain. When her  grandmother passed away. When she needed to relax and have  fun. Because with me, for better or worse, she could always be  herself. She didn’t have to try to be perfect.

“I have to use the restroom,” Samantha said. “Would you  mind holding on to this for me?” She extended her orange back pack.

“No problem, girl.” I took it and slung it over my shoulder. While I waited, I flipped through Limbo—the social media  app that had devoured all the others. If you didn’t have a Limbo  profile, you practically didn’t exist. My friends and I were always  coming up with new dances, having fun with trends, or just killing time. One time Mimi went kind of viral with a kitty-face  filter, licking her dad’s elbow, which was hilarious. Anyway, as I stood there in the department store, a scent  drifted up my nose. The divine aroma of white chocolate macadamia, coming from CookieWorld, the bakery just next door. I  followed the fragrance, drooling like a bulldog. Samantha seemed  a little off, and a surprise cookie would put a smile on her face.  But as soon as I crossed the exit, I heard an ear-splitting screech. The sound of alarms.

I hovered awkwardly, confused, until a hand grasped my  shoulder, spinning me around.

Store security—a man dressed in a yellow-and-black  uniform, with the weathered demeanor of a retired cop.

“Ma’am. I’ll need you to open the bag,” the guard ordered,  pointing with his baton. I had almost forgotten I was still wearing Samantha’s backpack. I pulled it off and opened the zipper,  finding a cheer team sweatshirt.

“Would you mind showing me what’s underneath?” the  security guard added. No longer so tense, I dug a little deeper . . . Revealing the sparkle of silver.

A snarl of it—a brand-new space-gray phone, an unboxed  smartwatch, a pair of designer sunglasses, and necklaces still  with the tags on. There I stood, holding up hundreds of dollars  of stolen merchandise, struck to the core with panic.

Samantha was going to steal all these things. 

I asked myself how over and over again. How the girl who  always followed the rules, who never copied homework, was  capable of taking so much merchandise—clearly I didn’t know  her as well as I thought I did, which freaked me out.

“You’re coming with me,” the security guard growled, blocking the exit. “It’ll be up to the store manager to decide whether  or not you’re going to spend the night behind bars.”

“Jail? I can’t go to jail!” I wailed, pulling away. I was starting  to make a scene. Shoppers circled around.

“This isn’t my fault! I didn’t do this!”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “Then who did?”

But I couldn’t open my mouth to utter her name. I couldn’t  move. All I could do was stare into her eyes—because Samantha  was frozen in place, face blanched, watching the scene unfold  from a distance. I waited for her to step forward—for her to take  responsibility. But she didn’t.

“If it wasn’t you, then who did?” the security guard repeated.

Samantha. Please say something! I screamed inside my head. But Samantha said nothing. She was going to let me take  the fall for this. Her eyes screamed I’m sorry, and I could see that  she’d never intended for me to walk out of the store with that  backpack, but everything else about her face told me that this  was now my problem. It was her or me, and she chose herself.