Seasick

by Kristin Cast, Pintip Dunn

Genres: Young Adult; YA Mysteries & Thrillers

Synopsis

There's a killer on board a luxury yacht, and two former friends must team up to figure out which of their privileged classmates has a penchant for murder before they become victims themselves. Don't miss out on this gripping thriller from New York Times bestselling authors Kristin Cast and Pintip Dunn!

Ex–best friends Naya Morgan and Yana Bunpraserit have always felt like outsiders in their small Oklahoma town. But this year, everything changes when they’re inducted into an exclusive society of Yatesville High’s top recent graduates. Unimaginable opportunities await them, starting with a celebratory yacht trip to Bermuda. Despite the likely onslaught of microaggressions and backhanded compliments from their peers—in addition to their own rocky past—Yana and Naya are ready for an epic voyage.
Then one of their classmates is brutally murdered, leaving them stuck at sea with a killer. Yana and Naya may have avoided each other for years, yet as the body count rises, rekindling their friendship might be the only way they’ll both survive.

 

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Release date: June 11, 2024

Publisher: Delacorte Press

Print pages: 336

Sample

PROLOGUE

The ax skewered the man’s chest, its heavy, sharp metal blade buried in his blood-soaked T-shirt. Even from across the deck, with the steady rain plastering her hair against her cheeks, the girl smelled the coppery scent mixed with a putrid stench that made her stomach clench.

The bodies.

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and bit down hard. The smell came from the murdered corpses on nearly every level of the megayacht.

And blood. There was so much blood. From the handle of the ax to the splatter across the once-pristine chaise longues. From the girl’s bloody palms to the pool of crimson that stained the deck.

The girl swayed as if the Seraphina were tipping, sinking, drowning them. Black patches dotted her vision and acid surged up her throat, burning the back of her tongue.

She didn’t want to do this. She’d rather free dive with the sharks that lurked in the deep Atlantic waters, lured by the stink of death.

But it had to be done.

Shakily, she lowered herself to the deck and began to crawl toward the body. The night sky rumbled, and the wood dug into her palms. She took a tiny sip of air—and immediately gagged. The sour rot of flesh was now inside her.

Get it together, she ordered herself, swiping the punishing raindrops from her eyes. This is your new reality.

She arrived at the body. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—call it by name, by anything that was once alive. Clenching her teeth, she wrapped her hands around the wooden ax handle, slick with rain and blood. Her arms flexed. Her muscles bunched. And then she yanked with every last cell in her being.

The ax dislodged with a final gush of blood, and she fell back against the teakwood deck, banging her head. Lightning flashed just as bursts of pain exploded in her eyes—but she was okay. In fact, she was more than okay.

As the body count grew, so did her need for a weapon. The ax was essential. Or she would be next.  

EIGHTEEN HOURS EARLIER…

ONE

 

NAYA

8:46 A.M.

Naya Morgan was going to make everything fit into her suitcase if it was the last thing she did. She dropped to her knees, pinning down the top of the overflowing bag. Whoever wrote the email saying she could only bring one carry-on bag clearly did not understand how many outfits were needed for a weeklong trip to Bermuda. Besides the scheduled meals and team-building activities, who knew what they were going to do? The one thing she did know for sure was that each of her friends, the trendsetters of Yatesville, would be dressed to kill.

Her mom and stepdad’s tax bracket meant she would never actually be able to compete with the off-the-runway fashions of her peers, but she had to try. She had no plans to continue to be friends with her haughty group beyond this trip, but she didn’t want to be judged or ridiculed while on the boat, either.

So Naya had packed an ensemble (and a backup) for every possible situation, along with a copy of Sailing in Style—the guide she’d found in the ninety-nine-cent bin of her favorite indie bookstore—two family-sized boxes of cereal, and enough beef jerky to feed a small army. Some would call it overprepared. She called it necessary. After all, being “overprepared” was one of the reasons she’d received a coveted Yates Society scholarship and a place on the megayacht that would take her on the celebratory cruise of a lifetime. Not only had each of this year’s inductees graduated high school—though some lacked Naya’s academic achievement awards—but they’d also made it through the arduous, monthslong selection process and were being rewarded with this amazing adventure.

Naya’s forehead creased and a wash of embarrassment and anger heated her cheeks as she remembered the Rumor Has It article that had clearly been aimed at her acceptance into the society.

“Diversity inductee,” she grumbled.

Well, this diversity inductee had maintained a high GPA throughout high school, volunteered with different disaster relief programs, had been the president of the Pre-Med Club, and was a few months away from attending Johns Hopkins with the goal of one day becoming the chief of ER with a career longer than the existence of Grey’s Anatomy.

Naya threw her weight against her suitcase and zipped it closed before collapsing onto her back and stretching her arms overhead in triumph.

A wet nose nudged her elbow, and she rolled onto her stomach, smiling as Smoochie’s long tail shook his even longer Twinkie-shaped body. He rubbed against her like a cat, his wiry, terrier-mix fur tickling her arm.

She kissed the golden-white scruff on the top of his head, ignoring his cranky growl of protest.

“I’ll be back soon, Smoochie.” She continued to scratch behind his ears, refusing to tell him that she would be off to college and gone for good by the end of the summer.

Naya’s phone trilled and she reached up, grabbing it from her floral duvet.

Taylor.

Naya jumped to her feet and ran to her vanity. She had to do a once-over before answering the video call from her best friend. She would sooner die than look a complete mess. Her friends were perfect. So she had to be, too.

Flecks of pink paint drifted to the floor as she dropped into the chair and swiped her flat iron off the plate she used to keep from further scorching the garage-sale vanity she’d painted to match her floral wallpaper. The final video call ring sounded while she smoothed the flat iron through the baby hairs curling around her temple

Rose sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket-wrapped Smoochie onto her lap. “He is very good at burrowing.” She kissed the top of his head, leaving a dark-plum lipstick print on his fur. “Ready to go?” she asked, her amber gaze lifting to meet Naya’s. “I want to make sure you’re there in time to check your bag.”

“Almost.” Naya slid off the bed and plucked her flat iron from her swollen luggage.

“Life will be easier if you leave it behind,” Rose said with a laugh as Naya tried to cram the tool into the bag. “Your curls are beautiful.”

Naya jammed the flat iron into the suitcase and grunted as she sat on top to rezip it. “I like my hair better straight.”

Rose’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she touched the ends of her own tight curls.

A lump hardened in the back of Naya’s throat. Her mom was beautiful. She’d given Naya her heart-shaped face, round chin, and thick eyelashes, but her soft slopes, full curves, and the golden irises that blazed like stars against her deep-brown skin were completely Rose Morgan.

“Mom—”

Rose shook her head, and another warm gust of vanilla swirled past Naya. “Baby, explore different looks with your hair, your makeup. Just promise me you won’t get a tattoo until you’re grown.”

“Only four days and”—Naya checked her phone—“seven hours and thirteen minutes until I’m legal.”

Smoochie yawned and fixed his heavy-lidded gaze on Rose as she scratched the scruffy fur between his ears. “I mean grown grown—a real adult.”

Naya pinned one hand to her hip. “And how old is a real adult?”

Keys jingled as her stepdad leaned against the doorframe, spinning them around his pointer finger. “Thirty.”

Rose punctuated his quip with a laugh.

Naya sighed and rolled her eyes, completely aware of the way the gesture highlighted her seventeen-year-oldness, before grabbing the handle of her bag and righting its wheels.

“I got it,” Marcus said, dropping the keys into the pocket of his basketball shorts.

“I know neither of you are super excited about me going on this trip, but—”

Rose took Naya’s free hand in hers. “It’s not that I’m not excited for you. I’m happy you have this opportunity. Your dad and I have always only wanted what’s best for you. Marcus, too.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand, the creasing corners of her round eyes the only sign of her forty-four years.

Marcus draped his arm over Naya’s shoulder and pulled her against him. “We are so proud of you.”

Another squeeze of Naya’s hand from Mom. “You know that, right? ...