Excerpt from My Flawless Life by Yvonne Woon, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Or a dining hall," Heather said. "No one's excited to go to a dining hall." She looked down at the business cards, then met my gaze in the mirror. "How do you talk to people like that? You make it look so easy."

"My dad always said that there are infinite ways to get someone to like you, but only three are foolproof: make them laugh, compliment them, or ask them questions."

The mention of my dad made her go quiet. Of course. Sometimes it slipped my mind.

"Also, it's easier when you're pretending to be someone else," I said.

"I think you're just good at what you do," she said, and took out her phone. A moment later my phone vibrated, alerting me that I'd received a payment.

"Thanks," I said.

"I should be the one thanking you," she said, and slipped the cards into her pocket. "This will keep my dad off my back for at least a few weeks."

"May he name a science building in your honor."

Heather gave me the beginning of a smile before opening the door and disappearing down the hall.

I waited a moment, then returned to the crowd in the gallery, snagging a canapé from a tray before I ducked outside. It was drizzling, the mist blurring the campus streetlamps into dim yellow orbs. St. Francis looked like an old convent, its stone buildings designed to inspire both awe and supplication.

Alone, I read the cryptic messages again.

Luce. Three. When you finish the job, you'll know.

I should have known. I should have written back and rejected the job. I should have stayed away. The canapé was dry, but I finished it anyway. So many jobs were banal. Nothing more than minor distractions. I didn't mind doing them, but when they were done, I felt just as empty as I had before.

I want you to follow Luce.

What do you do when someone offers you a chance to get closer to the life you once had? Do you take it?

 

The road blinked in and out of focus through the wipers as I drove home.

My actual name was Hana Yang Lerner. I was seventeen years old and a senior at St. Francis, one of the most elite private schools in the country. I had long black hair from my mom and a handsome, mare-like face from my dad. Freckles scattered the bridge of my nose. A sign of trustworthiness.

The media liked to use euphemisms when talking about me. I was blossoming into a beautiful young woman, they used to say, which meant I was old enough to receive the

male gaze. I was exotic, they'd say, which was code for mixed-race.

I had almond-shaped eyes, which was code for part-Chinese.

I'd spent my entire life in Alexandria, Virginia, a picturesque suburb of Washington, DC, where every house had an American flag flying out front and was decorated with tasteful seasonal décor. It was like living in a greeting card. Serene, still—a carefully crafted image to convince visitors that nothing bad ever happened there.

Everyone worked in DC, and in politics, or at least adjacent to it. My parents did once, too, so I suppose you could call me a political creature. At one point in time, people thought I had a bright future. No one thought that anymore.

My house wasn't actually a house, but a dated town house a few miles away from the home I grew up in. We'd moved there just a year and a half ago, in a frenzied rush that still made me physically ill when I thought about it. As a result, I hated the town house. Technically there wasn't anything egregiously wrong with it—it was just a generic rental with generic furniture and generic décor, on a generic street where all of the townhomes looked alike, but that was exactly the problem. It felt temporary, like it wasn't ours, and every time I stared at the beige walls or the beige carpeting or the beige couches, I was reminded of the life we'd lost.

Excerpted from My Flawless Life by Yvonne Woon. Copyright © 2023 by Yvonne Woon. Excerpted by permission of Katherine Tegan Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.