Exclusive Chapter Reveal: Uninvited | Sophie Jordan | Chapter 4 | Giveaway

We are jumping for joy today to bring you the next UNINVITED chapter reveal. Each day this week a different site is revealing a chapter from Sophie Jordan's Uninvited. Today you get to read chapter 4 right here on OUaT. Tomorrow to end the week chapter 5 will be revealed and the Uninvited book trailer will make its debut HERE. Do not miss it!!!

Chapter 1 Reveal on 1/20: Mundie Moms

Chapter 2 Reveal on 1/21: Jenuine Cupcake

Chapter 3 Reveal on 1/22: Good Choice Reading
Chapter 4 Reveal on 1/23: One Upon A Twilight (that's us)
Chapter 5 Reveal on 1/24: A Good Addiction
The Official UNINVITED Trailer to be revealed on 1/24: Dark Faerie Tales

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Uninvited

Uninvited #1

Author: Sophie Jordan

Release Date: January 28th 2014

Publisher: HarperTeen

From New York Times bestselling author Sophie Jordan, Uninvited is a chilling and suspenseful story about a girl whose DNA brands her as a killer, perfect for fans ofThe Unbecoming of Mara Dyer and Confessions of a Murder Suspect.

Davy had everything—a terrific boyfriend, the homecoming crown, a bright future at Juilliard—but when her genetic tests come back positive for Homicidal Tendency Syndrome, she loses it all. Uninvited from her prestigious school and avoided by her friends and family, she is placed in a special class with other "carriers" who are treated like the murderers they someday might become.

Only Sean, a fellow HTS carrier, can relate to her new life and tells her that she alone controls her actions—not the code embedded in her DNA. But even if she can learn to trust him, can Davy trust herself?

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Chapter 4 - Uninvited by Sophie Jordan

Conversation between Dr. Wainwright and the United States chief of staff: 

Switzer: At this time, the president is not prepared to take such measures. 

Wainwright: Oh? Instead, he wants the homicide rate to keep climbing? He wants to quarantine another city? I hear you’ve already lost Phoenix. 

Switzer: We have the situation in hand— 

Wainwright: How is it you can even say that with a straight face? The power to test and identify carriers does nothing except tell us who the monsters are. It doesn’t stop them. The president needs to grant me more authority. 

Switzer: What you’re suggesting is impossible. 

Wainwright: It’s not a suggestion. I’m telling you. If you want to keep the country from going under . . . then give the carriers to me. 

Switzer: . . . I’ll talk to the president. . . . 

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Four 

ZAC COMES OVER STRAIGHT AFTER SCHOOL. He must have skipped rugby practice. I hear the familiar purr of his car drive up and rush to the window to confirm that it’s him. Peering out, I curse under my breath and jerk back as though the blinds sting my fingers. I look around my room as if I can hide somewhere. Ridiculous, I know. It’s my fault I put this off so long. 

     Shaking my head, I bound over my bed to my dresser mirror and pull loose my ponytail. I run a quick brush through my long hair and then flip my head, hoping to get some body back into the dark-blonde mass. Slapping my brush on the 

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dresser, I hurry downstairs and answer the door before he can push the bell. I don’t want Mom to answer it. Don’t want him to see her face and think someone died. 

     She took the rest of the week off. I guess she thought she needed to be here for me. Which is kind of funny since I’ve been in my room all afternoon and she’s been in hers. Ever since we saw that boy, she’s been even more distant. Like he’s the manifestation of everything she fears I will become. But that will never happen. 

     I close the door behind me, clutching the knob at my back like a lifeline. Zac’s steps slow as he advances, his gaze locking on me. A breeze ruffles his brown hair. The sides are cut close, but he’s always had a good inch or two on top. Enough for me to thread my fingers through. 

     I smile, a lump rising in my throat. 

     He steps up on the porch and stops before me, frowning, and I know he’s mad that I’ve been ignoring him. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” 

     Exhaling, I lean in, press my cheek against his chest and wrap my arms around him. His arms envelop me, holding me. I need this. So much. His arms. His love. Right now when everything is falling away, he’s here. Holding me together. 

     “Why haven’t you answered my calls? Were you really sick?” 

     The sensation of his hands on my back is like a drug. It feels good . . . tempts me to forget. And I want to forget. Only I can’t. 

     “Davy? What’s wrong?” he presses, his voice a soft croon in my ear. 

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     A hundred different excuses burn on my tongue. Lies all. But what would be the point? He has to know. We’ll get through this. We love each other. 

     I peel my face away from his chest, from the pleasant thump of his heart against my ear. His bright green eyes dazzle me. I moisten my lips. “Do you remember when they tested the students for HTS earlier this year?” 

     He’s caught off guard. Like he doesn’t know what that has to do with anything. With me. His eyes swing to the right, searching his memory. “Uh, yeah. Think so. Why?” 

     “The results came back. I have it. I tested positive.” I say it quickly, let the words tumble free as though it won’t sound so bad because I’m talking so fast. 

     He pauses and then laughs. “Yeah. Right.” 

     “Zac.” I gaze into his face, waiting for him to see that I’m serious. 

     Everything in him tenses. Except his face. His features go lax with shock. 

     Several moments pass and he doesn’t move. I watch him intently, desperately, waiting for him to speak, to say the words I need him to say. 

     My voice shivers from my lips. “Zac?” 

     “The kill gene?” he whispers. 

     I wince, hating that. HTS sounds more vague . . . clinical but harmless. 

     I nod and his arms drop from around me. He takes a step back, staring at me with wide eyes. Eyes that don’t blink—just like Mom’s. 

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     I follow him, holding out a hand, trying to reach him, touch him. He drags a hand through his hair, out of reach from my seeking fingers. Bowing over, he tugs on the strands like he wants to rip them free. His face twists and he looks as though he’s in physical pain. He stares down at the porch, like he can find something there in the stamped concrete. A truth, something to explain away what’s happening. 

     I say his name again. Louder. 

     He looks at me then, and my heart seizes inside my chest. Because it’s not him. Not Zac. Not like I know him. The warmth is gone. The craving, the need for me. His green eyes are brighter than ever but filled with bewilderment . . . horror. Grief. 

     He lifts his arm like he’s going to swing. Hit something. He holds it in the air for a long moment. A growl erupts from him as he curls his hand into a tight, bloodless fist. I flinch. 

     “I’m still the same person,” I say desperately. “I’m still the same girl you loved yesterday. That hasn’t changed.” 

     He drops his hand from his hair and shakes his head. “I—I know. I just don’t . . .” 

     Not an outright rejection but it feels like it. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. The air feels thin, but I nod like I understand. 

     “Yeah. Okay.” The words stumble from my lips. 

     He turns. His graceful loping strides are gone. He’s almost running to his car. I watch, shaking, trembling so badly that I can’t stand. At the door to the car, he hesitates and looks at me. He’s conflicted. I can tell from his body. Part of him leans forward like he wants to come back to me. And God, I want 

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     46 

him to. I need him to. I need this—us—to still be all right. 

     Then he’s inside the car, slamming the door shut after him. 

     I fall back against the front door and slide to the porch as he peels out of the driveway. 

     I squeeze myself, hugging my knees to my chest so tightly I can hardly breathe. Tears run hotly down my cheeks, and my mouth opens with a silent, breathless sob even as I know his reaction is . . . normal. Expected even. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. . . . 

     Understandable. Neither do I.

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