#GIVEAWAY Showcase Here We Lie by Paula Treick DeBoard

It's my pleasure to bring you a new release by Harper Collins/Harlequin's newest imprint Park Row Books featuring more mainstream fiction. Today I'm showcasing Paula Treick DeBoard's latest women's fiction novel, Here We LIe, it's a timely tale in lieu of the #MeToo movement.
Park Row Books is sponsoring a giveaway of this title, details below.
Enjoy!

ISBN-13: 9780778330264
Publisher: Park Row Books
Release Date: 1-30-2018
Length: 368pp
Buy It: Amazon/B&N/Kobo/IndieBound/Audible/Publisher

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Overview:

“A complex look at the long-standing consequences of privilege and toxic masculinity…. Compulsively readable!” —Kate Moretti, New York Timesbestselling author of The Vanishing Year

Megan Mazeros and Lauren Mabrey are complete opposites on paper. Megan is a girl from a modest Midwest background, and Lauren is the daughter of a senator from an esteemed New England family. When they become roommates at a private women’s college, they forge a strong, albeit unlikely, friendship, sharing clothes, advice and their most intimate secrets.

The summer before senior year, Megan joins Lauren and her family on their private island off the coast of Maine. It should be a summer of relaxation, a last hurrah before graduation and the pressures of postcollege life. Then late one night, something unspeakable happens, searing through the framework of their friendship and tearing them apart. Many years later, Megan publicly comes forward about what happened that fateful night, revealing a horrible truth and threatening to expose long-buried secrets.

In this captivating and moving novel, Paula Treick DeBoard explores the power of friendship and secrets, and shows how hiding from the truth can lead to devastating consequences.

Park Row Books is offering
One Print copy of Here We Lie
US & Canada Only
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Good Luck

exclusive excerpt courtesy Park Row Books ––

OCTOBER 17, 2016

LAUREN

It was raining, and I was going to be late.

The press conference was scheduled for ten o’clock, and by the time I found a parking space in the cavernous garage, I had twenty minutes. I slipped once on the stairs, catching myself with a shocked hand on the sticky rail. Seventeen minutes.

I followed a cameraman toting a giant boom over his shoul­der, navigating a path through the crowds of the capitol. Thank goodness I was wearing tennis shoes. I passed a group of schoolchildren on the steps, prim in their navy blazers and white button-down shirts. Their teacher’s question echoed off the concrete. “Who can tell me what it means that we have a separation and balance of powers?”

Only one hand shot into the air.

Balance of power, I thought. A good lesson for today.

I glanced at the display on my cell phone and quickened my pace, taking the rest of the steps two at a time. Twelve minutes.

I set my shoulder bag on the conveyer belt at the security checkpoint and watched as a bored guard picked through it with a gloved hand—wallet, cell phone, tube of hand lotion I’d forgotten about, an envelope with twenty-five dollars for the giving tree that should have been turned in to Emma’s teacher that morning. Shit. Annoyed, the guard removed a water bottle, waving the offending item in front of my face before tossing it into the trash container at his feet. His eyes flicked over me, already disinterested, already moving on to the next threat, which was apparently not a suburban mom in her stretchy pants.

I followed a directional sign for the press conference and hurried down hallways and around corners before arriving outside the door, where another line had formed. A woman at the front, officious in a burgundy blazer, was checking press credentials. My heart pounded. Each time one of the double doors swung open, I caught a glimpse of the people collected there, accompanied by their cameras and cords and laptops and phones.

Then I was at the front of the line, and the woman in the blazer was blocking my entry, shoulder pads increasing her bulk. “Show your credentials, please.”

I reached in my purse for my wallet. “I don’t have—”

“I can’t let anyone in without appropriate credentials,” the woman said, more loudly than necessary. She was a head shorter than me, but her voice carried enough authority to make up for it.

“I’m not a member of the press, but I have to get in there,” I pleaded. I flipped my wallet open to a picture of my face—my name, address, vital statistics. Behind my Rhode Island license was my old one, a Connecticut ID with my younger face, my maiden name.

She frowned at me, waving two others past, identification badges hanging from their necks. “Ma’am, I have to ask you to step to the side. This conference isn’t open to the general public.”

I gestured again with my open wallet, pointing desperately to my name. “I’m family,” I said finally, catching the attention of those waiting behind me. I could feel their ears perk up, the unsubtle uptick of their interest. Did she say she was family?

Finally, this got me her attention, in the form of slow blink and unabashed pity. “Go,” she hissed, and I darted past before she could change her mind.

Editorial Reviews

10/16/2017

With this story of two very different young women, DeBoard (The Drowning Girls) portrays the lies that people tell to find acceptance and the terrible acts that powerful people casually commit. The story opens in the present with a press conference about a woman’s rape by a U.S. senator. The narrative alternates between this story line and one set in the late ’90s and early aughts, in which poor Kansas girl Megan Mazeros forms a friendship with Connecticut senator’s daughter Lauren Mabrey at all-girls Keale College. Each conceals a painful secret, and when the two are thrown together as roommates, they fall into the habit of using casual lies to paper over their differences, to hide their secrets, and even simply to amuse each other. Megan fabricates a history even more desperate than her real life to impress Lauren, the product of prep schools. Later, Lauren conceals her relationship with a young man that Megan briefly liked. The lies exacerbate the differences between the two until a horrific attack on the Mabrey family island off the coast of Maine shatters their friendship. While the rape looms in the future as a foregone conclusion, DeBoard only slowly reveals the details, so the final revelations are all the more powerful. (Jan.)Publishers Weekly

"DeBoard does a wonderful job creating her realistic and flawed characters, giving even secondary characters a rich backstory and a haunting sense of intrigue. This story particularly resonates now, in the throes of the #MeToo movement."-Booklist

"A nuanced and complex look at the long-standing consequences of privilege and toxic masculinity. At its heart, Here We Lie examines the seemingly unbreakable bonds of both friendship and family, and the lengths one will go to take care of their own. Compulsively readable!"-Kate Moretti, New York Times bestselling author of The Vanishing Year

"A wrenching tale of broken friendship and shattered dreams."-Kirkus Reviews

"WithHere We Lie, Paula Treick de Board spins a mesmerizing tale of two former best friends and one shocking secret. Suspenseful and evocative, with pitch-perfectprose and pacing,Here We Lieis a story that resonates long after the last word. An engrossing read." -Kimberly Belle, national bestselling author of The Marriage Lie

From her riveting first chapter, DeBoard casts a line back in time and reels an unlikely college friendship ever closer to the novel's inevitable conclusion. An absorbing exploration of how we attain personal power and the consequences of wielding it." -Kathryn Craft, award-winning author of The Far End of Happy and The Art of Falling

"Set against a backdrop of college life, politics, and sexual assault,Paul Treick DeBoard explores the exquisite joy of discovering the perfect friendship-then the acute pain of disentangling when that friendship sours.Here We Lie takes youa remarkable journey of two girls who learn, together and alone, to decide who they will ultimately be-it is at once observant, devastating, and thoroughly satisfying."-Emily Carpenter, author ofThe Weight of Lies and Burying the Honeysuckle Girls

"With this story of two very different young women, DeBoard portrays the lies that people tell to find acceptance and the terrible acts that powerful people casually commit... While the rape looms in the future as a foregone conclusion, DeBoard only slowly reveals the details, so the final revelations are all the more powerful." –Publishers Weekly

Other books by Paula

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Meet Paula:

​Paula is a reader, writer, drinker of strong coffee and an all-around slave to public education.
She wrote her first novel when she was nine years old, in the back seat of an orange 1977
Chevy Caprice station wagon with wood paneling. It was exactly as good as you might expect
a novel written by a nine-year-old to be.
In the intervening years, Paula majored in English, taught junior high and high school English
and earned an MFA in Fiction Writing from the University of Southern Maine.
These days, she splits her time between teaching (at the University of California, Merced),
chatting about writing whenever she has a chance, and staring at a laptop screen for
uninterrupted hours. Her novels include Here We Lie (January 2018), The Drowning Girls,
The Fragile World and The Mourning Hours.

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