Narrator Deepa Samuel performs this thriller involving a Sri Lankan woman who has recently been cut off from her wealthy adoptive parents and thrown into a terrifying quest for survival. After her roommate discovers a long hidden secret and threatens to expose her, Paloma returns from a drunken night out, finds him dead, and passes out. When she awakens, she discovers his body is gone, and someone is doing their best to ruin her life. Samuel is a strong narrator who intentionally adds Sri Lankan notes to Paloma’s California accent as Paloma reconnects with her heritage and secret past. Samuel’s outstanding emotional range will have listeners completely buying Paloma’s confusion, frustration, and terror. V.B. © AudioFile 2021, Portland, Maine
My Sweet Girl
Narrated by Deepa Samuel
Amanda JayatissaUnabridged — 11 hours, 9 minutes
My Sweet Girl
Narrated by Deepa Samuel
Amanda JayatissaUnabridged — 11 hours, 9 minutes
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Overview
“My Sweet Girl pushes the boundaries of what a thriller can do.”-The Washington Post
“Fiendish [and] full of twists.... Sri Lankan author Amanda Jayatissa keeps us guessing and worrying until the very end.” -The New York Times
“A thriller centered on the meaning of identity and all the layers it can have.”-NPR
Paloma thought her perfect life would begin once she was adopted and made it to America, but she's about to find out that no matter how far you run, your past always catches up to you...
Ever since she was adopted from a Sri Lankan orphanage, Paloma has had the best of everything-schools, money, and parents so perfect that she fears she'll never live up to them.
Now at thirty years old and recently cut off from her parents' funds, she decides to sublet the second bedroom of her overpriced San Francisco apartment to Arun, who recently moved from India. Paloma has to admit, it feels good helping someone find their way in America-that is until Arun discovers Paloma's darkest secret, one that could jeopardize her own fragile place in this country.
Before Paloma can pay Arun off, she finds him face down in a pool of blood. She flees the apartment but by the time the police arrive, there's no body-and no evidence that Arun ever even existed in the first place.
Paloma is terrified this is all somehow tangled up in the desperate actions she took to escape Sri Lanka so many years ago. Did Paloma's secret die with Arun or is she now in greater danger than ever before?
Editorial Reviews
06/21/2021
Sri Lankan author Jayatissa debuts with a dark, twisty psychological thriller. Thirty-year-old Paloma Evans was adopted at 12 from an orphanage in Sri Lanka by wealthy, loving American parents. Paloma’s life should be perfect, but she’s never felt she deserves her privileged life. After her parents go on an extended charity tour of Sri Lanka, Paloma drinks herself into blackouts, and perhaps hallucinations. Or are they? When she discovers her roommate murdered in her San Francisco apartment, she calls the police and passes out in the hallway. But the police find nothing. The body has disappeared without a trace. The building super allows Paloma to review the hallway surveillance tape, and the only person she sees is herself, taking cleaning supplies from the supply closet. Meanwhile, she’s also started spotting Mohini, a mythic evil spirit who terrified her when she was a child in Sri Lanka. Paloma is either losing her grip on reality, or her secret past has caught up with her. Jaytissa expertly ratchets up the tension. Noir fans will find a lot to like. Agent: Melissa Danaczko, Stuart Krichevsky Literary. (Sept.)
A Most Anticipated Novel of Fall 2021 by Entertainment Weekly, NPR, New York Post, The Boston Globe, Fortune, Buzzfeed, Goodreads, Shondaland, PopSugar, Bustle, Betches, Lit Hub, Crime Reads, BookRiot, Crime by the Book, The Nerd Daily, The Every Girl, and more!
“This debut thriller—as witty as it is propulsive—will keep readers guessing.”—O, The Oprah Magazine
“Dark, compelling and utterly original. My Sweet Girl heralds a fresh, new voice in psychological suspense."
—Riley Sager, New York Times bestselling author of Home Before Dark
“Like nothing else I’ve read. Set in San Francisco and Sri Lanka, this is a story about friendship, lies, and guilt. A stunning and original must-read!”
—Samantha Downing, USA Today author of My Lovely Wife
“Jayatissa’s pulse-pounding debut is a fast-paced thriller that will keep you on your toes.”
—Buzzfeed
“Provocative.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“The perfect thriller to kick off fall is here, and what better way to settle into the season than with a spellbinding tale about a young woman with a secret?...What follows is a smart, darkly funny novel filled with twists that will leave you wondering.”
—Shondaland
“[F]un, fast-moving debut.”
—San Francisco Chronicle
"This is a Hitchcockian thriller of the highest order with secrets, revelations and twists around every corner right through to the very end."
—BookReporter
“[T]here’s no way to capture the gist of this complex character or this captivating novel in a simple phrase—other than excellent.”
—Mystery Scene Magazine
“My Sweet Girl is unputdownable. Jayatissa has penned a jaw-droppingly original novel that will burrow so far into readers’ psyches, it will be hard for any of us to pick up another psychological thriller again.”
—The Tempest
“[A] page-turning and often genuinely scary psychological thriller, filled with more twists and bite than a rattlesnake!”
—Criminal Element
“Jayatissa's gift for plotting is matched by her grace with lacing her fleet narrative with rich social themes, among them cultural assimilation and the different values placed on white versus brown bodies. In a canny touch, the novel's plot hinges on the literary classic Wuthering Heights. My Sweet Girl may well become, likewise, a classic.”
—Shelf Awareness
“A delicious, twisty, fast-paced thriller with the perfect hint of ghost story.”
—Michele Campbell, bestselling author of It’s Always the Husband
“Hot damn this book is good.”
—CrimeReads
“My fave debut thriller of the year!”
—Crime by the Book
“The thrills and chills narrative with numerous plot twists keeps the reader engaged from the first page.”
—International Examiner
“A mysterious, thrilling, and sinister tale that will keep you up for hours wanting to know more …interwoven with incredibly relatable themes surrounding identity and belonging.”
—Brown Girl Magazine
“My Sweet Girl has it all: a paranoid bad-girl protagonist, shocking twists, and gothic chills in a totally original setting.”
—Amy Gentry, bestselling author of Good as Gone
“Ridiculously good. Crazy good. Scary good.”
—Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author of The First to Lie
“[A] dark thriller of international deceit and murder."
—BookPage
"In her debut novel, Sri Lanka–based Jayatissa is a master of first-person narration as she delves into questions of identity—how individuals perceive themselves, and the tendency not to see others for who they really are. Her fast-paced mystery, with an unreliable but sympathetic narrator, will hook readers from the very beginning."
—Library Journal
“Equal parts witty, chilling, and hypnotic, and it includes some of the creepiest lines and images I’ve ever read.”
—Megan Collins, author of The Winter Sister
“Starts with a bang and doesn’t let up. Haunted by her past, hunted in her present, Paloma must find her life in America, or lose it forever. A richly layered, firecracker of a thriller.”
—Eliza Jane Brazier, author of If I Disappear
"A gothic-inspired, page turner with enough twists and turns to keep you up through the night as well as a deft exploration of race and gender wrapped up within the thriller."
—Nayomi Munaweera, author of Island of a Thousand Mirrors
“My Sweet Girl marks the entrance of a new talent."
—South Florida Sun-Sentinel
“[A] dark, twisty psychological thriller.”
—Publishers Weekly
"...[M]ore than a bit shocking. This was a great mystery thriller and would make a cool movie."
—Parkersburg News and Sentinel
08/01/2021
DEBUT Paloma Evans has issues. She's drinking heavily and believes she's being haunted by the ghost from a Sri Lankan folk tale; plus, she's just had a falling-out with her parents that can't be repaired. On top of that, her new roommate Arun has learned her darkest secret and is blackmailing her. She returns home one day, having resolved to deal with Arun—only to find him dead at the kitchen table. When police arrive at the apartment, there's no body and no sign that the young man (an undocumented immigrant) ever existed. Paloma has already fled. She seeks refuge at her parents' empty house, where she spirals into an alcohol-fueled breakdown and is tormented by the ghosts of her past. The narrative switches between two timelines: in one, 12-year-old Paloma is living at an orphanage in her native Sri Lanka; in the other, the present-day Paloma (now 30 and living in San Francisco) makes desperate attempts to escape the past but only magnifies her misery. VERDICT In her debut novel, Sri Lanka-based Jayatissa is a master of first-person narration as she delves into questions of identity—how individuals perceive themselves, and the tendency not to see others for who they really are. Her fast-paced mystery, with an unreliable but sympathetic narrator, will hook readers from the very beginning, but the twist ending might leave them disappointed and unsatisfied; the frequent profanity may also be problematic for some readers.—Vicki Briner, Broomfield, CO
Narrator Deepa Samuel performs this thriller involving a Sri Lankan woman who has recently been cut off from her wealthy adoptive parents and thrown into a terrifying quest for survival. After her roommate discovers a long hidden secret and threatens to expose her, Paloma returns from a drunken night out, finds him dead, and passes out. When she awakens, she discovers his body is gone, and someone is doing their best to ruin her life. Samuel is a strong narrator who intentionally adds Sri Lankan notes to Paloma’s California accent as Paloma reconnects with her heritage and secret past. Samuel’s outstanding emotional range will have listeners completely buying Paloma’s confusion, frustration, and terror. V.B. © AudioFile 2021, Portland, Maine
2021-07-14
A Bay Area woman is plagued by memories of a Sri Lankan orphanage in this psychological thriller.
Paloma Evans, “the luckiest girl in the whole wide world”—or at least at the Little Miracles Girls’ Home—is adopted by do-gooding philanthropists Mr. and Mrs. Evans when she's 12. That momentous event takes her away from the more dire elements of orphanage life—especially out of the clutches of the nasty Sister Cynthia—but it also means leaving her best friend, Lihini. Eighteen years later, living in San Francisco, Paloma is struggling: She drinks too much, feels abandoned by her adoptive parents, makes money from a slightly sordid source, and is convinced she’s being haunted by the same ghost that her fellow residents believed haunted the orphanage. Then she comes home to find her roommate dead—murdered, in fact. Soon, along with interactions with her therapist, Nina, she’s juggling the police, nosy neighbors, a potential stalker, and a friendly fellow Sri Lankan named Saman. Woven through with incisive references to Wuthering Heights, Little Women, Oliver Twist, Enid Blyton, The Sound of Music, and, above all, the lyrics to “Que Sera Sera,” the novel often has a dreamlike quality (read: nightmarish) that heightens its sometimes-erratic quality of psychological suspense. The back-and-forth narrative between Paloma’s childhood at the orphanage and her fraught, haunted adulthood in San Francisco nearly two decades later is a page-turner, albeit one in which some surprises mesh better than others.
An uneven debut that nevertheless offers twists a-plenty.
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940173164582 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin Random House |
| Publication date: | 09/14/2021 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Read an Excerpt
1
San Francisco, CA
Present Day
There's a special place in hell for incompetent customer service agents, and it's right between monsters who stick their bare feet up on airplane seats and mansplainers. Fake hair, false smiles, synthetic blazers that pool around their middles while they tell you that yes, they would love to help you, and thank you for your patience, and no, sorry for the inconvenience caused but they can't seem to find your paperwork even if it punched them square in the jaw.
I inhaled. Be nice, Paloma. Be kind.
My agent's name today is Bethany. Bethany, with badly dyed hair so red it looked like Elmo had a love child with Jessica Rabbit, and two buttons undone on her much-too-tight polka-dot polyester blouse. She smiled as if she had all the time in this crazy world, her gaze not wavering from the screen in front of her, refusing to meet my eye even when she knew she was royally messing up. She had a smear of livid coral lipstick on her teeth. It clashed hard against her hair.
My hands were trembling slightly, so I made sure they weren't on the table in front of me. I hate how they do that when I'm angry. I hate it when I'm angry. It makes it hard to think straight. And I needed to think straight right now. I couldn't have that cunning, two-faced soon-to-be-ex-roommate of mine getting in my head. The actual nerve of Arun.
I kept thinking back to that no-good loser's grin. The one he wore when he told me that he knew. He knew. I'd made it eighteen goddamned years in this country, and now this absolute moron who tears up when he talks about his mother's aloo paratha had the gall, no, the actual balls to try to ruin it for me? He definitely didn't know who he was messing with.
I mean, I would fucking kill him. Wrap my fingers around his blackmailing little throat and smother the life out of him. How dare he? I can't believe I actually felt sorry for him. I really can't afford any more rent than this, please. You have to help me out. He totally played his poor-little-immigrant card, and I bought it all up. I knew what it was like to depend on the charity of others. To have your life decided by someone who just woke up one morning and thought they'd throw you a line.
And how the hell does he go ahead and repay me? He snoops around through my things. Finds out my worst secret. Demands I buy his silence.
Another pang of anger ricocheted through me.
I double-checked that the letter was still in my pocket. Good. I know it didn't do much to have it with me, now that Arun had already read it, but it gave me the tiniest bit of comfort having it back in my possession.
My hands gave another shudder. I sat on them and turned my focus back to Bethany. She shouldn't see me this upset. She sure as hell couldn't find out that my shit-bag of a roommate was one step away from ruining a life I had already sacrificed so much for.
Concentrate, Paloma.
I gave her my best smile. "Technology, huh? Supposed to make our lives easier . . ."
Score. Her relief was palpable, like a deer realizing that the oncoming headlights weren't going to run it over. I wasn't one of those assholes who would embarrass her by making a scene in this deathly quiet, needlessly ostentatious bank. Fair enough that I was dressed like a bum in sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt-it's not like I was in the best frame of mind to choose an outfit that would give bank tellers a good first impression of me, but I was making up for it by being so nice my jaw ached. Model minority, every part of me screamed. I wasn't here to cause any issues. Just take care of my request and I'll be on my way.
She smiled again, lipstick bleeding outside her lip line, as she keyed in something at a pace that made sloths look like Olympic sprinters. I resisted the urge to sigh out loud. Take your time, why don't you, Bethany? I mean, it's just my entire goddamned life that's riding on your inability to look through a file.
"So, there seems to be a bit of confusion here. One of your accounts, it's a joint checking account, I believe, is overdrawn." Well, so are your eyebrows, Bethany, but you don't hear me making a scene about it.
Don't be mean, Paloma. My mother's voice was always in my ear. She was right. No one ever got what they needed by being an asshole.
"There's a hold on the rest of the funds. We'd need form 38F to be filled out and countersigned by"-she hesitated a little, her eyes flickering from the screen to my face-"a Mr. and Mrs. Evans?" My parents. Great. There was a better chance of Arun and me spontaneously breaking out into a Bollywood dance number when I got home. They weren't signing anything for me anytime soon.
I arranged my face so that it showed nothing but amicability. I'm your friend, it said. I'm your sorority sister. I'm the girl next door who baked cookies and gave you pointers on how to grow your hair thick and shiny, just like mine. Whatever it took to get this done with already.
"If you check, I'm sure you'll see that access was transferred over to me a few months ago."
"Um." Bethany blinked into the screen. "I'm sorry, I'm new." Her chubby fingers were trembling slightly on the mouse.
Goddamn it, Bethany. You're killing me here.
"We've all been there, don't worry. You're doing great. But if you could please just check." I managed a little laugh. "It's just that it's a bit of an emergency right now, that's all."
I know . . . Arun's leer clawed its way back into my head. I read the letter . . . I know what you did . . .
I didn't care how much cash it took for him to disappear from my life. I'd give him every single cent I had. But Bethany just wasn't cutting me a break.
"If you could please give me a few minutes . . ."
"Take your time, I've nowhere to be." My heart was beating hard. I just needed my money. There had been no transfers made from my parents in the last two months, and now I was being bled dry by my double-crossing roommate.
"I'm really sorry, Ms. Evans." Bethany's coral lips started to tremble. Great. Just great. Now I'm the bitch who made this poor girl cry. I didn't want to make her life miserable. Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint. But I know what it's like to be the new girl. The girl who has no clue. Who makes everyone impatient. Hell, most of us have been a Bethany at some point in our lives. Admittedly, I've done it without a hack dye job, but still.
"I-I could try again but the system won't let me override it. I could give you a printout of the form now, if you could just get it signed?"
Fuck me. I could demand to speak to the manager, but there was no way someone who actually knew what they were doing would let me slip through the cracks. Damn my parents.
"Thank you, Bethany. You've been great."
Bethany gave me a relieved smile.
"Thank you, Ms. Evans. You've been so patient. It's my first week and it's taken me a while to find my footing." Nothing was more obvious in the world, but at least I wasn't at risk of setting off her waterworks again.
My hands gave another tremble.
"Oh, please, call me Paloma. And don't worry, you'll get the hang of it sooner than later." I mean, she would literally make customers kill themselves so they wouldn't have to deal with her again, but there was no point in telling her that, was there?
"Is there anything else I can do for you today?"
Know a way to get rid of a roommate who's trying to destroy your life?
"Not today. Thanks again."
How the hell was I supposed to shut Arun up now?
My whole body felt like it was vibrating as I stood up and put my phone in my pocket. I double-checked that the letter was still in there. Good.
I didn't have many options left. Maybe I could try reasoning with him again. Keep a closer handle on my rage this time.
I just really needed a drink first. I know, I know, it's a clichß. And Nina, my therapist, would not be pleased if she found out. I can hear her voice in my head right now-You can't drink on this prescription, understand? But I wasn't going to get shit-faced tonight. A shot or two would help me think straight, that's all. Besides, wasn't it more clichß to not do something simply because it was a clichß? And Nina's voice admonishing me at every sip was penance enough.
2
Ratmalana, Sri Lanka
2002
The shadows from the torch Maya held under her chin made her smile look evil, like the devil mask hung in the assembly hall to ward off the evil eye.
We were all too excited to sleep, so Maya called all the girls to her bunk to tell us ghost stories. I didn't really want to listen. I'm too old to believe in ghosts. But I didn't want to be the only one in bed when everyone else was all the way on the other side of the dormitory.
Lihini grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I gave it a squeeze back. She loved ghost stories, which I didn't really understand. Why would anyone want to be afraid on purpose?
"Relax, Paloma," she mouthed. I usually got annoyed when people told me to relax. Like saying the words was enough to make me forget what was upsetting me in the first place. As though ghosts and demons would just go away if we simply relaxed. But Lihini was my best friend. I could never get angry with her. I scooted a little closer to her on the floor. There was no such thing as ghosts. It just made me feel safe to be near her.
Maya needed to hurry up. If we got caught out of our beds, we would definitely be scolded. Maybe even punished. They might even cancel the visit tomorrow.
I took a deep breath and shook my head. They would never do that. We hadn't gotten many visitors to the orphanage in a few months now. Tomorrow was important. Everyone told us so-our headmaster Perera sir, Miss Chandra, even Miss Sarah, our English teacher. We were to be on our best behaviour and make sure we knew exactly what we were supposed to do or say. Miss Chandra supervised the rehearsal today. Everything had to be perfect, and we were so excited that none of us could sleep.
Of course Maya would decide this was the best time to make it all about her. Sometimes I wondered if she even wanted to be adopted. She needed to be more responsible than this. She was twelve now, same as me. It's not like we were little children anymore.
"She walks slowly. Her feet are bare and dirty and covered in scratches. She wears a long, white dress." Maya purposely made her voice into a throaty whisper so every one of us leaned forward, barely breathing.
I knew this story. Vana-Mohini, or Mohini, as we call it. We've all heard it a million times. We've all told it a million times. But I still held tight to Maya's words.
"There's blood under her nails, and they are long and sharp, like talons." She made a sudden clawing motion, and Lihini leaped back, her hands over her mouth.
We all giggled nervously.
"And her long, black hair hangs over her face, like this." The torch flickered as Maya messed her hair over her face so just her eyes glinted through in the dim yellow light.
"Mohini walks only in the night, revealing herself to people who are all by themselves. Help me. Help me, she begs." Maya made her voice high and raspy now, like when the chalk slips when you're writing on a blackboard.
"Some people say Mohini's eyes are red. Red as blood. And when you look into them, you can see straight into hell. And if you stop to help her, she smiles, and before you know it-"
Maya dropped the torch and lunged forward, wrapping her hands around Lihini's throat. Lihini couldn't help it this time. Her small scream rang like an alarm through the dormitory.
I pulled Lihini away from Maya and put my arms around her. If I could have slapped Maya, I definitely would, but there wasn't time.
"Haiyyo! Quickly, everyone, to bed before we get caught," I hissed, getting Lihini to her feet and pushing her into her bunk.
Thankfully, the other girls followed.
We all lay very, very still for a few minutes. I could hear nervous panting echoing through the dormitory. Maya really did give everyone a shock. But thankfully none of the matrons came.
What on earth was she thinking? Getting us into trouble the night before Mr. and Mrs. Evans got here. Those were their names. Mr. and Mrs. Evans. Perera sir told us so we could memorise them. Evans-like when Miss Sarah told us about Mary Ann Evans, who went by George Eliot, who wrote The Mill on the Floss. I suppose I could understand why you would want to pretend to be someone else. But I could never, ever understand why someone wouldn't want to go by the name Evans. It was beautiful.
I whispered it out loud.
Mr. and Mrs. Evans. I hoped they liked us. And me. I really hoped they liked me.
"You okay, sudhu?" I called out to Lihini in the top bunk. She usually climbed down into mine after we offed the lights, but we had to be careful after the scream. We both knew it would be stupid to mess up anything for tomorrow.
"Ah, are you scared?" Maya sounded delighted.
"No way! Why would a made-up ghost scare her?" I spoke up for Lihini.
"Mohini is not made up. She walks around here in the orphanage also!" Maya replied, a little too loudly.
I could hear gasps from all the bunks. It gave me goose bumps too.
"It's true!" someone else said. "She's here in the orphanage."
This was really too much.
"Maya, stop scaring everyone, men. We need to sleep and be rested properly for tomorrow." I'm not usually such a Goody Two-shoes. Lihini always told me that I'm the exact opposite. Tomorrow was just too important, and it really, really annoyed me that Maya didn't seem to understand that.
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