By Yvonne Woon
At the morning of her 16th birthday, Renée Winters used to be nonetheless a typical girl. She spent her summers on the seashore, had the proper ally, and had simply begun relationship the cutest man at school. not anyone she'd ever recognized had died. yet all that alterations whilst she unearths her mom and dad useless within the Redwood wooded area, in what seems to be a wierd double murder.
After the funeral Renée’s prosperous grandfather sends her to Gottfried Academy, a distant and mysterious boarding university in Maine, the place she reveals herself learning topics like Philosophy, Latin, and the “Crude Sciences.”
It’s there that she meets Dante Berlin, a good-looking and elusive boy to whom she feels inexplicably drawn. As they develop nearer, unexplainable issues start to ensue, yet Renée can’t cease herself from falling in love. It’s merely whilst she discovers a gloomy tragedy in Gottfried’s previous that she starts off to wonder whether the Academy is every thing it kind of feels.
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Extra resources for Dead Beautiful (A Dead Beautiful Novel)
Useless, she appeared older than traditional, as though she had elderly ten years. Her cheeks have been surprisingly sunken in, and her glasses have been nowhere to be noticeable. with no them, the surface less than her eyes appeared uncooked and uncovered, drooping down in circles just like the earrings of a tree. My father used to be a number of ft away, cash scattered round his physique. The flashlight slipped from my arms and landed softly within the airborne dirt and dust, rolling until eventually its beam shone on my father’s legs. As I stared at his boots, slumped unnaturally to each side, I felt my breath go away me. i needed to seem away, to run again to the line and contact for support, yet I couldn’t deliver myself to go away simply because I knew that those have been the final moments i'd ever have with my mom and dad. “Why? ” I choked out. whilst i used to be turning out to be up, my mom and dad had continually appeared to have a solution to even my toughest questions. yet now, for the 1st time, they have been silent. I wiped my eyes and touched my mother’s lips. They have been parted simply enough for me to work out a skinny shred of fabric peeking out. lightly, I pulled it from among her lips and held it in entrance of the sunshine. It was once tattered round the edges and had the gentle consistency of gauze. I became it over in my hand and regarded down at my mom. there have been no symptoms of violence, no bruises or scratches on her physique, no blood. however the gauze, the coins—this used to be the paintings of someone. The mere considered it made my center race. I grew to become and stared into the darkness, pondering if i used to be by myself. The woods appeared to be caving in on me, the tops of the timber circling and bending jointly. pictures of my mom and dad death clouded my brain, and that i felt dizzy and disoriented. preserving the fabric in my fist, I rested my head on my mother’s chest and closed my eyes, hearing the creaking of the bushes and hoping that after I opened them it might be morning and the woods will be empty and full of sun, and every thing will be transparent. round me the cool evening air blew in the course of the branches, and the shards of white textile fluttered at the floor, like moths clinging blindly to a reveal. The day they buried my mom and dad, I felt the 1st cold breath from my earlier. i used to be mendacity at the ground of our front room, looking at the bugs gathering at the edges of the windowpanes, while the doorbell rang. Annie’s mother, Margerie, who was once staying with me in the course of the funeral, spoke back the door. “Mr. Winters, I’m so completely happy you came,” she stated in a hushed voice. I listened. The quiet murmur of voices, the sound of boots scraping opposed to the mat, after which a deep cough. Footsteps. “Renée,” Margerie stated lightly. I didn’t circulation. toes stopped in entrance of me. I stared on the huge brown sneakers, the tassels, the creases embedded prior to the toe. “Renée, your grandfather is the following. ” I sat up. My hair used to be disheveled to the again of my head. “Hello, Renée,” my grandfather bellowed in a deep voice. He prolonged a wide leathery hand to assist me up. He had a professorial essence, with white hair, inordinately lengthy earlobes, and a fleshy, outsized face that appeared stretched with gravity.