The 'Luckiest Girl Alive' author's follow-up hits shelves in May
Jessica Knoll made a splash in 2015 with her best-selling thriller Luckiest Girl Alive (and Reese Witherspoon even optioned the film rights). Now, readers hungry for more of Knoll’s twisty writing can start their countdowns until May 2018, when her next novel, The Favorite Sister, will be released.
This novel follows five women — two of whom are sisters — who sign up for a reality show called Goal Diggers. There’s Brett, a young, tattooed boutique fitness mogul, beloved by fans and her girlfriend-turned-fiancée. Then there’s Kelly, Brett’s older sister and business partner, with whom she shares a dark and shocking secret. Rounding out the cast are Stephanie, Brett’s former best friend and an erotic novelist with a gorgeous actor husband; Lauren, the start-up industry star with a drinking problem; and Jen, a vegan food entrepreneur whose Zen outlook on camera transforms into ruthlessness when filming stops.
Eventually, the bonds among the women strain and snap — leading the season to end, unexpectedly, with a murder. Below, EW can exclusively reveal the book’s cover, along with a pulse-pounding sneak peek inside.
The Favorite Sister is available for pre-order now.
Excerpt from The Favorite Sister, by Jessica Knoll
I take my seat with the grim poise of a fallen soldier’s widow. The room is cozy as a Christmas card—fire going, overstuffed chairs. Brett is dead and I’m not innocent, but at least I will be comfortable as I tell everyone otherwise.
“Kel, you mind?” the sound guy asks, his hand already groping around inside my new blouse. The media consultant had suggested a shopping trip before I sat down for this interview, the purpose of which is to clarify the events of season four before it airs, and also to morally permit viewers to watch my sister die from the comfort of their couch. Netflix and kill. Ha. Brett didn’t get all the funny genes. I shouldn’t joke. I’m very nervous.
For the interview, the media consultant advised I wear something a little less East Village. I didn’t know what that meant. I’ve never been to the East Village. (That I know of.) But I stood a little taller knowing I’ve successfully passed myself off as one of them, a Digger. My closet was nothing but chambray button-downs and unironic mom jeans before the show sunk its fangs in me, a vampire adding one more to its kind.
I went to Ann Taylor—not Loft; when someone you love dies, you spring for the core product—and bought a starchy white button- down and black pants that hook above my belly button, holstering myself tight at my centermost folding point. I showed up for the interview (Location one, Jesse’s living room) feeling spruce, but Jesse Barnes, the executive producer and creator of Goal Diggers, number three reality show in the highly prized nineteen-to forty-nine-year-old demographic on Tuesday nights, took one look at my spruce outfit and called over her stylist with an excoriating sigh. My grieving big sister costume has since been reimagined with the help of a pair of ripped jeans and sneakers, though we kept the white button-down, just rolled up the sleeves and tied it at the waist. This is an intimate fireside chat in my living room, not a network interview with Diane Sawyer on a soundstage, Jesse told the stylist, speaking about me as though I was not standing right next to her. She noticed but did not comment on the price tag, still attached to the interior seam of the rejected pair of black pants by a small brass safety pin. Diane Sawyer did actually want to interview me on a soundstage for half a million dollars but I said no, for Jesse, and I’m a single mother wearing clothes I’ll try to return tomorrow.
“Keep your hair off your left shoulder if you can,” sound guy says. Jesse also told me to wear my hair down, because no one knows who I am yet, and we must rely on visual cues to communicate to the viewers at home that I am the Sister. I have nice hair. Brett had beautiful hair.
I nod at the sound guy. I wish I could remember his name. Brett would have known it. She made a point of learning the names of the crew—from the gaffer to the ever-rotating harem of production assistants. My sister’s specialty was making underappreciated people feel appreciated. It’s a testament to that quality that we are all here, pretending she is an innocent victim of the trendiest crime around (stop joking, Kel!), though I don’t actually know who is pretending anymore and who isn’t. Who knows what really happened and who actually believes that what we are saying happened, happened.
Jesse Barnes sits down across from me and does a very confusing thing. She smiles at me. All morning, she has oscillated between picking me apart and ignoring me, which is not an easy thing to do in her nine-hundred-square-foot apartment that costs more than a nine-bedroom mansion where I’m from. ( Jersey.) Jesse Barnes knows what really happened and that’s why she can’t seem to decide how she feels about me now. She needs me, that’s for sure, so you would think she would play nicer with me. The problem is that I might need her more.
“You feel okay about this?” she asks, sounding almost nervous. All around us, yellow sandbags moor light stands, their naked bulbs too bright to look at directly. It’s like we’re preparing for a natural disaster, I thought the first time I saw them, not too long ago. I nod and swallow at the same time. I’m here. I’ll do my best to keep all of our lies straight.