Nothing More to Tell will hit shelves Aug. 30, 2022.
Karen M. McManus is busy building her YA empire.
This year the author saw her novelYou’ll Be the Death of Mebecome an instant No.
‘Nothing More to Tell, by ‘Karen M. McManus’.Delacorte Press
“A favoritewhat?”
“Crime,” she says, still smiling.
“In general, or” I start cautiously.
“From the show,” she says, a note of impatience creeping into her voice.
I make a run at recover.
“Oh, yeah, of course.
They’re all so .
What’s the right word here?
“I’m obsessed with the Story case,” she says, and bamshe’s off.
She’s obviously aMotiveexpert, whereas I’m a more recent convert to the true-crime arm of journalism.
Truth be told, I wasn’t expecting to land an interview for this internship.
unconventional, to say the least.
Desperate times and all that.
Less than two months ago, in October of my senior year, my life was fully on track.
And then: one disaster after the other.
My first half dozen rejections were all short, impersonal form letters.
To be clear, I neither took nor posted the dick pics.
So when I applied toMotive,I took a different tack.
The girl beside me is still talking, wrapping up an impressively in-depth analysis of the Story family saga.
“Where do you go to school?”
“I’m a sophomore at Emerson.
Majoring in media arts with a minor in journalism, but I’m thinking about flipping those.”
“I’m still in high school,” I say.
“Wow, I didn’t realize this internship was even open to high school students.”
“So do you work for your school paper?”
Way to twist the knife, Emerson Girl.
“Not currently, no.”
“Then how”
“Brynn Gallagher?”
“Carly will see you now.”
“Emerson Girl’s eyes widen as I scramble to my feet.
I didn’t know she was doing the interviews herself.”
“Here goes nothing,” I say.
“Wish me luck.”
She gives me a thumbs-up.
“You got this.”
“Brynn, welcome,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say, grasping her hand.
“It’s so nice to meet you.”
The phraselarger than lifesprings to mind, even though Carly would be tiny without her four-inch heels.
But she radiates energy, like she’s lit from within.
“Help yourself to a drink if you’d like.”
“No thanks, I’m good.”
Carly folds her hands in front of her, and I can’t help but notice her rings.
She’s wearing one on almost every finger, all bold designs in rich gold.
Her nails are glossy with dark red polish and perfectly shaped, but short.
“All right,” she says, smirking a little.
“You know why you’re here, right?”
“For an interview?”
The smirk gets bigger.
“We received almost five hundred resumes for this internship.
Mostly local college and grad students, but a few willing to relocate for the opportunity.”
One of my producers, Lindzi, saw it first and forwarded it right away.”
Carly presses a button on her laptop, angles the screen toward me, andthere it is.
First, you made me laugh.
Out loud, once I clicked the link.
Then I actually went searching for articles you’d written, since you hadn’t bothered to include any.
I took fifteen minutes out of a very busy day to look you up."
She leans back in her chair, fingers steepled under her chin as her dark eyes bore into mine.
“That’s never happened before.”
I want to smile, but I’m not entirely sure she’s complimenting me.
“I was hoping you’d appreciate the honesty,” I hedge.
“And the, um, brevity.”
“Risky move,” Carly says.
“But bold, which I can respect.
It’s bullshit that you got fired for that, by the way.
Any idea who posted the pics?”
“I know exactly who it was,” I say, folding my arms tightly across my chest.
“But the guy denied it, and I couldn’t prove it.”
“I’m sorry,” Carly says.
“You deserved more support than that.
And your work is excellent.”
“The job description didn’t say you have to be in college,” I point out.
“That was an oversight,” Carly says.
I deflate, but only briefly.
She wouldn’t have brought me in if she weren’t at least considering waiving that requirement.
“I’ll work twice as hard as any college student,” I promise.
“I can be in the office anytime I’m not in school, including nights and weekends.
It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to be.”
“Why is that?”
Because it’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.
I’m from one of those families where people are effortlessly talented.
All of them knew from birth, pretty much, what they wanted to do.
“He never has.”
It seemed like the worst possible trait for a Gallagher, to not know what you want.
“You should work on the school paper,” he suggested.
I did, and for the first time, I found something that came naturally to me.
I don’t know how to explain that in an interview-friendly sound bite, though.
“Well stated,” Carly says politely.
She didn’t bring me in here because my software wassafe.
“You do realize we’re not theNew York Times,though, right?
It’s a risk to interrupt her, I know, but I can’t let her dismiss me.
“That’s something I wanted to talk to you about.
I have an actual resume I can show you, plus references.
But also, if you’re interested, I have a story idea.”
“An unsolved murder from my hometown.”
Carly raises her brows.
“Are you pitching me right now?
In the middle of an interview?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“Is that okay?”
“By all means,” she says, lips quirking.
“Go on.”
The clipping I’m looking for is right on top.
“Aw, look at how cute you were,” Carly says.
“Thanks, but I didn’t hang on to this because of the award.
I kept it for him.”
I tap my finger on the man in the picture young, handsome, and smiling.
Even in two-dimensional photo form, he’s brimming with energy.
“This was my English teacher, William Larkin.
He also got me started on the school paper.”
I never told him, which is something I’ll always regret.
“He was constantly trying to get students to live up to their potential,” I say.
“Or see it, if they didn’t think they had any.”
Bludgeoned with a rock in the woods behind Saint Ambrose.
Three of my classmates found the body.”
This time, I tap the boy in the picture, who’s wearing a medal identical to mine.
“Including him.”
Excerpted fromNOTHING MORE TO TELLC.
2022 by Karen M. McManus.
With permission from Random House Children’s Books.
