PREORDER NOW;to receive the limited deluxe edition--only available on the first printing while supplies last! This striking deluxe hardcover edition;features metallic edges, illustrated endpapers, a special case stamp, and foil jacket effects. Bestselling author Andrew Joseph White returns with another horrific YA thriller: a profound portrait of a struggling teen trying to convince the world--and himself--that he’s better than the serial killer who raised him. Morgan Slaughter, a seventeen-year-old trans boy with autism, put his serial killer father in prison years ago. Despite that, everyone thinks Morgan will grow up to be just like his dad: including his volatile mother, the documentary crew following their family, and maybe himself. Desperately, Morgan latches onto his father’s final victim--the only one who was never identified--hoping that if he unravels the mystery, he’ll finally prove he’s better than the man who hurt him. But this puts Morgan in the crosshairs of classmate Felicity Keating, who knows the truth about Morgan’s childhood--that he wasn’t just a witness to his father’s brutality, he was an accomplice. And if he doesn’t let them help with his investigation? They’ll tell Forced to confront his past, Morgan’s ugly but carefully controlled world unravels. The film crew is manipulative. His mother’s temper spirals into malice, then violence. And Morgan and Felicity may be more tightly intertwined than either of them can stomach . . . <You''re No Better< is a gritty and unapologetic coming-of-age suspense about teens who grew up surrounded by cruelty and are clawing their way to adulthood the only way they know how.

Autorentext

Andrew Joseph White

Klappentext

**PREORDER NOW to receive the limited deluxe edition—only available on the first printing while supplies last! This striking deluxe hardcover edition features metallic edges, illustrated endpapers, a special case stamp, and foil jacket effects.

Bestselling author Andrew Joseph White returns with another horrific YA thriller: a profound portrait of a struggling teen trying to convince the world—and himself—that he's better than the serial killer who raised him.**

Morgan Slaughter, a seventeen-year-old trans boy with autism, put his serial killer father in prison years ago. Despite that, everyone thinks Morgan will grow up to be just like his dad: including his volatile mother, the documentary crew following their family, and maybe himself.

Desperately, Morgan latches onto his father's final victim—the only one who was never identified—hoping that if he unravels the mystery, he'll finally prove he's better than the man who hurt him. But this puts Morgan in the crosshairs of classmate Felicity Keating, who knows the truth about Morgan's childhood—that he wasn't just a witness to his father's brutality, he was an accomplice. And if he doesn't let them help with his investigation? They'll tell everyone.

Forced to confront his past, Morgan's ugly but carefully controlled world unravels. The film crew is manipulative. His mother's temper spirals into malice, then violence. And Morgan and Felicity may be more tightly intertwined than either of them can stomach . . .

You're No Better is a gritty and unapologetic coming-of-age suspense about teens who grew up surrounded by cruelty and are clawing their way to adulthood the only way they know how.

Zusammenfassung
**PREORDER NOW to receive the limited deluxe edition—only available on the first printing while supplies last! This striking deluxe hardcover edition features metallic edges, illustrated endpapers, a special case stamp, and foil jacket effects.

Bestselling author Andrew Joseph White returns with another horrific YA thriller: a profound portrait of a struggling teen trying to convince the world—and himself—that he’s better than the serial killer who raised him.**

Morgan Slaughter, a seventeen-year-old trans boy with autism, put his serial killer father in prison years ago. Despite that, everyone thinks Morgan will grow up to be just like his dad: including his volatile mother, the documentary crew following their family, and maybe himself.

Desperately, Morgan latches onto his father’s final victim—the only one who was never identified—hoping that if he unravels the mystery, he’ll finally prove he’s better than the man who hurt him. But this puts Morgan in the crosshairs of classmate Felicity Keating, who knows the truth about Morgan’s childhood—that he wasn’t just a witness to his father’s brutality, he was an accomplice. And if he doesn’t let them help with his investigation? They’ll tell everyone.

Forced to confront his past, Morgan’s ugly but carefully controlled world unravels. The film crew is manipulative. His mother’s temper spirals into malice, then violence. And Morgan and Felicity may be more tightly intertwined than either of them can stomach . . .

You're No Better is a gritty and unapologetic coming-of-age suspense about teens who grew up surrounded by cruelty and are clawing their way to adulthood the only way they know how.

Leseprobe
Chapter 1
A new podcast episode about my dad dropped this morning.
A true crime group calling themselves the Gore Goonies—named for the segment where they show each other crime scene photos until one of them chickens out or vomits—posted their latest episode at dawn. By eleven o’clock, it’s cracked the top ten most popular episodes in the US, nestled between NPR and Alpha Male Bootcamp.
When I press play, I’m one of thousands.
Inside this penthouse condo, one of the Goonies is saying now, was a torture chamber. I’m looking at a picture now and it’s just—it’s sickening. Knives, chains, bins of medical equipment—there’s a bedpan and a dirty mattress in the corner, and—I can’t even describe what I’m looking at, man.
Across the cinder block waiting room, Mom is arguing with a prison guard. She, or Dad, or someone, didn’t fill out the correct form to allow the documentary producer into the visiting area. Or didn’t fill it out correctly enough, or whatever. “Ma’am,” the guard keeps saying in his exhausted West Virginia drawl, “ma’am, we got strict visitation procedures,” and Mom is talking over him: “I’ll fill it out now. Are you listening? We drove four hours. I have a pen. Give me the damn form.”
The documentary producer shoots me an awkward half smile from the plastic chair beside me. I don’t smile back. Then he gestures for me to take out one of my wireless earbuds, as if we have something to discuss. We don’t.
Mom points behind her, to him. “He’s with the news.”
That’s a lie, unless we’re counting hack journalists as news anchors now.
“I don’t see no cameras on him,” the guard sighs, clearly not paid enough for this shit. “Sir! Come up here, please.”
He does, while the lengthy description of my father’s torture implements—*I don’t even know what half the things in this photo are. Is that a cattle prod?—*is interrupted by an ad for a dog-treat subscription box.
I’ve heard it all before. After so many podcasts, YouTube video essays, and police procedurals that definitely weren’t stealing from the headlines, you realize there’s only so many ways to rephrase the facts of a case. But the facts of the case aren’t the point. The point is how these people talk about us: the opinions they project onto the victims, the cops, Mom, me. Me especially. When they talk about me, or tur…