🌟🌟🌗 out of 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
Blurb:
Catching
cheaters and liars is a lucrative hobby—until you fall for one of
the suspects. Perfect for fans of Veronica Mars, this new novel from
the author of Last
Year’s Mistake
will steal your heart!
Marisa
never planned to be a snoop for hire. It wasn’t like she wanted to
catch her best friend’s boyfriend making out with another girl. But
as her reputation for sniffing out cheaters spreads all over school,
Marisa finds herself the reluctant queen of busting two-timing boys.
And
her next case? It’s for ex-frenemy Kendall. She’s convinced her
boyfriend, TJ, has feelings for someone else and persuades Marissa to
start spying on him. But the more Marisa gets to know sincere and
artistic TJ, the more she starts to fall for him. Worse yet, the
feelings seem to be mutual. Marisa knows she needs to give up her
investigation—and the spoken-for guy who may just be the love of
her life. Then she uncovers new secrets about Kendall and TJ, secrets
that take “cheater” to a whole new level…
Gina
Ciocca graduated
from the University of Connecticut with a degree in English, but in
her mind, she never left high school. She relocated from Connecticut
to Georgia, where she lives with her husband and son. When she's not
reading or writing, you can find her taking long walks around the
lake in her neighborhood. Gina can also be found online at
writersblog-gina.blogspot.com, on Instagram as gmciocca, and Twitter
as gmc511.
*I received this copy from the publisher via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review*
Busted had an almost Veronica Mars feel to it. Marisa initially just wanted to do what she could to help a friend but when word spread it became bigger than she could have imagined. I didn't love Marisa. I found her to be far too gullible for someone that is supposed to be jaded by her past experiences with friends and ex-boyfriends. I feel like she should have been able to see what was right in front of her face the whole time.
I thought that the story was predictable. I saw everything that was revealed from a mile away. I wasn't surprised by anything that happened because I felt that the author made everything too obvious. I would have liked for Gina Ciocca to hint about things like pasts with other characters more so than doing things this way.
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Marisa’s Top 5 Tips For
Sleuthing:
Hey there. Marisa Palmera, Private
Eye here. Okay, so I don’t actually call myself that, and neither
does anyone else. In fact, I never meant to become a sleuth-for-hire.
But spend one night scaling your best-friend’s boyfriend’s house
to take incriminating pictures, and suddenly everyone wants you to be
something you’re not…and when they’re willing to line your
sadly lacking pockets for it, it doesn’t sound like such a bad
idea.
So, should you find yourself an
unwitting Girl Friday (or even a witting one... Is “witting” a
thing?) like I did, here are some tips that just may save your butt:
- Always have a camera handy. Whether it’s your cell phone, or the fancy camera you borrowed from your school’s yearbook club, you never know when you’ll need to snap an evidence shot. Just, um, make sure you turn off the flash if said camera is aimed through a window into a dark living room. I may have learned this the hard way.
- Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Sounds ominous and dramatic, I know. But if someone gives you the vibe that they shouldn’t be let out of your sight? GO WITH IT.
- Think fast. Suck at lying? Me too. Get over it, because you’ll be fudging the truth a lot.
- But know when to say no. Weave enough white lies, and suddenly they’re a sticky, tangled web with you trapped inside. Know when it’s time to run, and do it like the flames of hell are licking your feet.
- Don’t fall for the person you’re investigating. Yeah. You’re just gonna have to do as I say and not as I do on this one. Oops.
EXCERPT
“Hey, Marisa.”
I slammed my locker a little
harder than I meant to at the sound of TJ’s voice. Who knew being a
stalker would make me so jumpy? I pasted a smile on my face.
“Hey, what’s up?”
TJ flashed a huge grin. “I
finished it this weekend.” He moved his hand from behind his back
and held out a black leather belt dotted with silver studs. It was
totally gorgeous, and one hundred percent badass at the same time.
“I love it!” I cried,
instantly forgetting to regard him as Shady McShadeballs. I took the
belt and slid it through the loops of my jeans, loving that it
complemented my green shirt, matching flats, and silver jewelry.
“What do I owe you?”
TJ scoffed. “You don’t owe me
anything.”
“No! I can’t take this for
nothing. I have to give you something for it, please?”
The corner of his mouth turned
up. “You can take my place interviewing Mr. Crossley about the Math
League after school today if you want. I’ll even let you write my
article.”
I smiled back. “Nice try. How
about this – I’ll take the belt, but only if you let me order
some more of your stuff for the holidays and pay you for it. Deal?”
The locker behind me slammed and
the skin on my neck crawled. I whipped around, knowing exactly who
would be standing there, and the daggers were already shooting from
my eyes before I’d even completed my rotation. The ice in my glare
could’ve turned the hallway into a skating rink. TJ must’ve
sensed it, because he said, “Fair enough. Um, I’ll catch up with
you later,” and walked away.
Jordan’s stare stayed fixed on
his locker. “Don’t give me that look, Marisa.”
I folded my arms across my chest.
“What the hell was that about on Saturday? You told me you wanted
me at the bonfire, then totally blew me off. How am I supposed to
look at you?”
He slung his bag over his
shoulder and threw his other hand in the air. “It’s not that I
changed my mind about wanting to be friends, okay? It’s like you
said – I didn’t know how to react. Things have been shitty for so
long that I forgot how to be normal around you. I’m sorry, all
right?”
My comeback, “Sorry is a good
word for you,” would’ve been awesome – if I’d had a chance to
deliver it. But at that exact moment, my cell phone rang. And since a
phone rarely rings with good news at 7:30 a.m., my attention was
instantly diverted to the screen flashing Charlie’s name.
I stepped into the exit alcove
and barely got a hello out before she said, “Sorry to bother you,
but we need to talk. You’re advertising
now?”
“Advertising what?”
“I’m hanging up to text you
something. Call me as soon as you see it.”
The call clicked off before I
could say another word. I was still staring confusedly at the screen
when it flashed with a text message. Charlie had sent me a link to a
website. When I clicked on it, my heart went dead inside my chest.
A website loaded onto the screen.
The word BUSTED splashed across the top of the page in bold, fat
letters, glinting in red and black stripes, almost identical to the
pin I’d made for Charlie. The pin Kendall had specifically
mentioned liking. A squat exclamation point punctuated the word, and
a jagged split between the S
and T
made it – along with the heart around it – appear broken in half.
Beneath the heading, in smaller
print, it said Don’t
hate the player… bust his ass!
This had to be a joke. Only one
person could’ve been responsible for this, and I knew exactly who
it was.
I called Charlie back, crushing
the phone against my ear as I dashed toward the computer lab. My
phone was too old and too slow, and the school’s cell service was
too spotty to mess around.
“You’re shitting me,” I said
when she picked up. I didn’t so much sit as crash-land in one of
the lab’s plastic blue chairs, and my book bag skidded across the
floor and toppled over.
“So you didn’t know?”
I pulled the website up on the
computer and scanned the page as fast as my brain could process it.
“’Suspect your guy has a roaming eye? Our services are discreet,
anonymous, and affordable.’” I almost dropped the phone. “She’s
advertising me for a fee?!”
“Keep reading. It gets worse.”
“Oh my God!” I moaned. “Fake
testimonials? Is she on cra- oh my God. Oh. My. God.”
“Told you.”
I had reached the spot where
Kendall provided contact information for my quote-unquote “services.”
She’d listed the email address as OnTheMAP17@yahoo.com.
MAP. Marisa Ann Palmera. Not only
had she used my initials, she’d followed them with my freaking
birth date. Who the hell had taught her the definition of anonymous?
To think, earlier this morning I’d felt bad for her. Not anymore.
“Do you want me to throw a bag
over her head and take her out behind the bleachers? Teach her a
little lesson?” I could practically hear Charlie’s knuckles
cracking.
“Don’t bother,” I said. “I’m
going to kill her myself.”
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