The Many Half-Lived Lives of Sam Sylvester

by Maya MacGregor

Genres: YA Contemporary; YA Social Themes; YA Coming of Age; YA Mysteries & Thrillers; YA LGBT & Pride

Synopsis

“Look no further for your next favorite read, because The Many Half-Lived Lives of Sam Sylvester has it all: a gripping murder mystery that will keep you turning pages, ghosts, romance, and a treasure trove of queer characters with depth and heart. Here’s something rare—a suspenseful story that also feels like a hug.” —Sarah Glenn Marsh, author of the Reign of the Fallen series

In this queer contemporary YA mystery, a nonbinary autistic teen realizes they must not only solve a 30-year-old mystery but also face the demons lurking in their past in order to live a satisfying life.

Sam Sylvester has long collected stories of half-lived lives—of kids who died before they turned nineteen. Sam was almost one of those kids. Now, as Sam’s own nineteenth birthday approaches, their recent near-death experience haunts them. They’re certain they don’t have much time left. . . .

But Sam's life seems to be on the upswing after meeting several new friends and a potential love interest in Shep, their next-door neighbor. Yet the past keeps roaring back—in Sam’s memories and in the form of a thirty-year-old suspicious death that took place in Sam’s new home. Sam can’t resist trying to find out more about the kid who died and who now seems to guide their investigation. When Sam starts receiving threatening notes, they know they’re on the path to uncovering a murderer. But are they digging through the past or digging their own future grave?

The Many Half-Lived Lives of Sam Sylvester explores healing in the aftermath of trauma and the fullness of queery joy.

 

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Release date: May 3, 2022

Publisher: Astra Young Readers

Print pages: 360

Sample

Just then, Shep comes weaving through the tables with her  tray, looking harried. We have US history together right after  lunch, and this is the first I’ve seen her all day. 
“Aidan,” she says, sliding her tray over next to Sky’s. “Will  wonders never cease?” 
“Hey, just because you made friends first doesn’t mean I  can’t,” Aidan protests. He has the bewildered look on his face of  someone who’s used to their friendship being currency, not a  bounced check. 
The cafeteria is at its peak crowd level, and the noise level  rises like a tide in the bay outside. Principal Frankel walks by  with a banana in her hand. 
She pauses beside us. “Afternoon, Sky, Shep. Billy, good to  see you making new friends.” 
I stare up at her, but I don’t think she realizes what she just  said. 
Aidan looks confused. “Who’s Bi—” 
Shep’s jaw is hanging open, her eyes glued to Principal  Frankel.
“Sam’s awesome!” Sky says brightly, raising his half pint of  chocolate milk into the air. “New student extraordinaire. Even  Aidan likes them, and he’s usually more interested in balls.” 
That snaps Shep out of her stare when she realizes what  Sky just said, and Sky looks like he wants to crawl inside his  milk carton and die of embarrassment. Weirdly, Aidan doesn’t.  Respect. 
Principal Frankel, though, goes a paler shade of white and  gives a tight nod, walking away with strides so straight she  looks like she turned to wood. I can’t help watching her retreat ing figure and wondering what just happened. I do not for one  minute think her reaction had anything to do with Sky saying  “balls.” 
I don’t really look like Billy. He was shorter and way blonder  than my dingy, dishwater natural hair. Scrawny where I’m  tall  and toned. Different faces. Maybe I just brought up the  memories of him. But the fact that both I and Principal Frankel  have looked at my face and seen Billy is chilling. The cafeteria  feels colder. 
“Who the eff is Billy?” Aidan says, jolting me back to the  table. 
“Nobody—” Shep starts. 
“Billy Clement,” I say at the same time. 
“That kid who died in Sam’s house a bazillion years ago?”  Sky says dubiously. 
Aidan shakes his head in a I don’t know what the hell you’re  saying way. “What kid?” 
“You moved here, what, three years ago?” Shep asks, looking  resigned at having to explain rather than discuss what Principal  Frankel just did. “This kid who died in ’eighty-nine. Supposedly  an accident, but we think it was murder, never solved.”
“No way,” Aidan says. He looks at me. “In your house? Oh,  shit, you live in that house? Someone said it was haunted or  something one day when we were walking into town, but I just  thought they were messing with me.” 
“Yeah.” I don’t know what else to say. Aidan’s looking at me  as if having someone die in my house increases my coolness  quotient, and it grosses me out a bit. Me, the macabre morbidity  magnet. 
The bell rings out just as a crack of thunder makes every one jump. 
Saved.