Duncan - Killing Mr. Griffin

There are a lot of smart authors, and a lot of authors who write reasonably well. Lois Duncan is smart, writes darn good books and is one of the most entertaining authors in America .

Walter Dean Myers, Printz awardwinning author of Monster and Dope Sick

She knows what you did last summer. She knows how to find that secret evil in her characters hearts, evil that she turns into throat-clutching suspense in book after book. Does anyone write scarier books than Lois Duncan? I dont think so.

R. L. Stine, author of the Goosebumps and Fear Street series

I couldnt be more pleased that Lois Duncans books will now reach a new generation of readers.

Judy Blume, author of Forever and Tiger Eyes

Lois Duncan has always been one of my biggest inspirations. I gobbled up her novels, reading them again and again and scaring myself over and over. Shes a master of suspense, so prepare to be dazzled and spooked!

Sara Shepard, author of the Pretty Little Liars series

Lois Duncans books kept me up many a late night reading under the covers with a flashlight!

Wendy Mass, author of A Mango-Shaped Space , Leap Day and Heaven Looks a Lot Like the Mall

Lois Duncan is the patron saint of all things awesome.

Jenny Han, author of The Summer I Turned Pretty series

Duncan is one of the smartest, funniest and most terrifying writers arounda writer that a generation of girls LOVED to tatters, while learning to never read her books without another friend to scream with handy.

Lizzie Skurnick, author of Shelf Discovery: The Teen Classics We Never Stopped Reading

Haunting and suspenseful Duncans writing captures everything fun about reading!

Suzanne Young, author of The Naughty List series and A Need So Beautiful

In middle school and high school, I loved Lois Duncans novels. I still do. I particularly remember Killing Mr. Griffin , which took my breath away. I couldnt quite believe a writer could do that. I feel extremely grateful to Lois Duncan for taking unprecedented risks, challenging preconceptions and changing the young adult field forever.

Erica S. Perl, author of Vintage Veronica

Killing Mr. Griffin taught me a lot about writing. Thrilling stuff. It was one of the most requested and enjoyed books I taught with my students. I think its influenced most of my writing since.

Gail Giles, author of Right Behind You and Dark Song

If ever a writers work should be brought before each new generation of young readers, it is that of Lois Duncan.The grace with which she has led her lifea life that included a tragedy that would have brought most of us to our kneesis reflected in her writing, particularly in I Know What You Did Last Summer. Her stories, like Lois herself, are ageless.

Chris Crutcher, author of Angry Management , Deadline and Staying Fat for Sarah Byrnes

Lois Duncans thrillers have a timeless quality about them. They are good stories, very well told, that also happen to illuminate both the heroic and dark parts of growing up.

Marc Talbert, author of Dead Birds Singing , A Sunburned Prayer and Heart of a Jaguar

We are your students, present, past and future, Mark told him, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. We are representatives of every poor kid who has ever walked into your dungeon of a classroom. We come to bring you the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Were here to deliver revenge.

To my brother, Bill Steinmetz

It was a wild, windy, southwestern spring when the idea of killing Mr. Griffin occurred to them.

As she crossed the playing field to reach the school building, Susan McConnell leaned into the wind and cupped her hands around the edges of her glasses to keep the blowing red dust from filling her eyes. Tumbleweeds swept past her like small, furry animals, rushing to pile in drifts against the fence that separated the field from the parking lot. Theparked cars all had their windows up as though againsta rainstorm. In the distance, the rugged Sandia Mountains rose in faint outline, almost obscured by the pinkish haze.

I hate spring, Susan told herself vehemently. I hate dust and wind. I wish we lived somewhere else. Someday

It was a word she used oftensomeday.

Someday, she had said at the breakfast table that very morning, someday Im going to live in a cabin on the shore of a lake where everything is peaceful and green and the only sound is lapping water.

As soon as the words were out she had longed to snatch them back again.

How are you going to pay the property taxes? her father had asked in his usual reasonable way. Lakeshore property doesnt come cheap, you know. Somebodys going to have to finance that lovely green nest of yours.

A rich husband! her brother Craig had shouted, and the twins, who were seven, had broken into jeers and laughter.

Not too soon, I hope, her mother had said, turning from the stove with the frying pan in her hand. Marry in haste, repent at leisure. Thats what my grandmother always said. Theres plenty of time for everything.

For being an old maid? the twin named Kevin had offered, giggling.

Dont be ridiculous, Mrs. McConnell had told him. Nobody is ever an old maid these days. The term is single person. Now, who wants eggs?

Someday, Susan had thought, sinking lower in her chair, someday I am going to move out of this house and away from this family. Ill live all alone in a place where I can read and write and think, and the only time Ill ever come here is for Christmas.

Are you going to be a single person, Sue? the twin named Alex had asked with false innocence, jabbing his brother with his elbow, and Craig had grinned with maddening twelve-year-old self-assurance and said, Youve got to go out on dates before you get married, and Sue hasnt even started that yet.

All things in good time, Mrs. McConnell had told them mildly, and Mr. McConnell had said, Speaking of property taxes and they had been off on another subject.

And Susan, with her eyes on her plate, had told herself silently, someday someday

The dust stung the sides of her face, filling her nose and coating her lips. With a whir and a flutter, half a dozen sheets of notebook paper went flying past her like strange, white birds released suddenly from the confinement of their cage.

Grab them! somebody shouted. Get them before they go over the fence!

Susan turned to see David Ruggles running toward her, the slightness and delicacy of his bone structure giving him the framework of a kite with his blue Windbreaker billowing out beneath his arms, the wind seeming to lift and carry him. He sailed by her, grabbing frantically for the escaping papers, and Susan dropped her hands from their protective encasement of her glasses and snatched wildly at the air.

The paper she was trying for lurched suddenly to the ground in front of her, and her foot came down upon it, grinding it into the dirt. Susan stooped and snatched it up.

Its torn! The dirty imprint of her shoe was stamped irrevocably in its center. Im sorry.

It doesnt matter. David shrugged his shoulders and reached to take the paper from her hand. The rest of its blown away anyhow. One ripped page isnt going to make any difference. If its not all there, Griffin wont take any of it.

Is it a song for Ophelia?