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Table of Contents
About The Book
What Sawyer’s seeing might mean murder. The second book in a series from the New York Times bestselling author of the Wake trilogy.
Jules should be happy. She saved a lot of people’s lives and she’s finally with Sawyer, pretty much the guy of her dreams. But the nightmare’s not over, because she somehow managed to pass the psycho vision stuff to Sawyer. Excellent.
Feeling responsible for what he’s going through and knowing that people’s lives are at stake, Jules is determined to help him figure it all out. But Sawyer’s vision is so awful he can barely describe it, much less make sense of it. All he can tell her is there’s a gun, and eleven ear-splitting shots. Bang.
Jules and Sawyer have to work out the details fast, because the visions are getting worse and that means only one thing: time is running out. But every clue they see takes them down the wrong path. If they can’t prevent the vision from happening, lives will be lost. And they may be among the casualties…
Jules should be happy. She saved a lot of people’s lives and she’s finally with Sawyer, pretty much the guy of her dreams. But the nightmare’s not over, because she somehow managed to pass the psycho vision stuff to Sawyer. Excellent.
Feeling responsible for what he’s going through and knowing that people’s lives are at stake, Jules is determined to help him figure it all out. But Sawyer’s vision is so awful he can barely describe it, much less make sense of it. All he can tell her is there’s a gun, and eleven ear-splitting shots. Bang.
Jules and Sawyer have to work out the details fast, because the visions are getting worse and that means only one thing: time is running out. But every clue they see takes them down the wrong path. If they can’t prevent the vision from happening, lives will be lost. And they may be among the casualties…
Excerpt
Bang One
It’s been over a week since Sawyer kissed me and told me he was seeing a vision now, and it’s all I can think about. I can’t wait to get out of this apartment, which I am tethered to until Monday—that’s when the doc said my internal injuries will be healed enough so I can go to school again. My older brother and best friend, Trey, has been great, of course, slipping notes to Sawyer for me and delivering replies back to me. But for some reason Sawyer won’t explain his vision on paper. “It’s too . . . frightening. Too gruesome. Too . . . everything,” he wrote.
And me? I’m sick about it.
Absolutely sick.
Because it’s my fault. I was so relieved when my vision ended—no more snowplow crashing and exploding into Angotti’s restaurant, no more body bags in the snow, no more Sawyer’s dead face. After weeks of that stupid vision taunting me, and after nearly getting killed because of it, I was naive enough to think it was all over and I’d get to live a happy life. Relatively, anyway. Under the current parental circumstances, that is.
But then, once I got home from the hospital, Sawyer sent me that note. He had to see me, he said. That night, 2:00 a.m. And I wanted to see him, too. I eased my broken body down the stairs and we stood in the snowdrift surrounded by breathy clouds and he kissed me, and I kissed him back, and it was the most weirdly amazing feeling. . . .
And then the amazingness of my first kiss was over. He pulled away and looked at me, his gorgeous green eyes filled with fear, and his voice shook. You know that billboard?
Those words haunt me.
Obviously I was not only psychotic enough to have a vision, but I managed to give the stupid vision disease to the one person I was trying to save.
It’s beyond horrifying, sitting here knowing he must be experiencing the worst kind of frustration and pressure to act on the vision and—Did he say “gruesome”?
Let me say it one more time. Sick. That is what I am.
And so very sorry.
I rack my brain trying to figure out how this could have happened. Was it because he hugged me on the street the night before? Because he held my hand afterward in the hospital? Maybe there’s some kind of physical transference going on. I have no idea.
I have done something horrible to the boy I love, and I don’t know how to stop it.
All I know is that I need to get out of this hoardhole before I lose my mind.
Oh, wait.
It’s been over a week since Sawyer kissed me and told me he was seeing a vision now, and it’s all I can think about. I can’t wait to get out of this apartment, which I am tethered to until Monday—that’s when the doc said my internal injuries will be healed enough so I can go to school again. My older brother and best friend, Trey, has been great, of course, slipping notes to Sawyer for me and delivering replies back to me. But for some reason Sawyer won’t explain his vision on paper. “It’s too . . . frightening. Too gruesome. Too . . . everything,” he wrote.
And me? I’m sick about it.
Absolutely sick.
Because it’s my fault. I was so relieved when my vision ended—no more snowplow crashing and exploding into Angotti’s restaurant, no more body bags in the snow, no more Sawyer’s dead face. After weeks of that stupid vision taunting me, and after nearly getting killed because of it, I was naive enough to think it was all over and I’d get to live a happy life. Relatively, anyway. Under the current parental circumstances, that is.
But then, once I got home from the hospital, Sawyer sent me that note. He had to see me, he said. That night, 2:00 a.m. And I wanted to see him, too. I eased my broken body down the stairs and we stood in the snowdrift surrounded by breathy clouds and he kissed me, and I kissed him back, and it was the most weirdly amazing feeling. . . .
And then the amazingness of my first kiss was over. He pulled away and looked at me, his gorgeous green eyes filled with fear, and his voice shook. You know that billboard?
Those words haunt me.
Obviously I was not only psychotic enough to have a vision, but I managed to give the stupid vision disease to the one person I was trying to save.
It’s beyond horrifying, sitting here knowing he must be experiencing the worst kind of frustration and pressure to act on the vision and—Did he say “gruesome”?
Let me say it one more time. Sick. That is what I am.
And so very sorry.
I rack my brain trying to figure out how this could have happened. Was it because he hugged me on the street the night before? Because he held my hand afterward in the hospital? Maybe there’s some kind of physical transference going on. I have no idea.
I have done something horrible to the boy I love, and I don’t know how to stop it.
All I know is that I need to get out of this hoardhole before I lose my mind.
Oh, wait.
About The Author
Photograph © Ryan Nicholson Photography
Lisa McMann lives in Arizona. She is married to fellow writer and musician, Matt McMann, and they have two adult children. Her son is an artist named Kilian McMann and her daughter is an actor, Kennedy McMann. Lisa is the New York Times bestselling author of over two dozen books for young adults and children. So far she has written in genres including paranormal, realistic, dystopian, and fantasy. Some of her most well-known books are The Unwanteds series for middle grade readers and the Wake trilogy for young adults. Check out Lisa's website at LisaMcMann.com, learn more about The Unwanteds Series at UnwantedsSeries.com, and be sure to say hi on Instagram or Twitter (@Lisa_McMann), or Facebook (Facebook.com/McMannFan).
Product Details
- Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers (November 1, 2013)
- Length: 256 pages
- ISBN13: 9781442466258
- Ages: 14 - 99
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Awards and Honors
- MSTA Reading Circle List
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High Resolution Images
- Book Cover Image (jpg): Bang Hardcover 9781442466258(2.5 MB)
- Author Photo (jpg): Lisa McMann Photograph © Ryan Nicholson Photography(0.1 MB)
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