From National Book Award nominee Laura McNeal comes a gripping, tautly told novel that is at once hopeful and harrowing, and perfect for fans of We Were Liars and Bone Gap.   When Thisbe Locke is last seen standing on the edge of the Coronado Bridge, it looks like there is only one thing to call it. But her sister, Ted, is not convinced. Despite the witnesses and the police reports and the divers and the fact that she was heartbroken about the way things ended with Clay and how she humiliated herself at that party, Thisbe isn’t the type of person to wind  up just an “incident.”   While everyone in town prepares to mourn the loss (some more than others), Ted—along with Fen, the new kid in town—sets out to put the pieces together and find her sister.   But if Thisbe didn’t jump, what happened up on that bridge?   "McNeal writes with a mature hand, expert pacing, and an immediacy that ensures readers will be engrossed.” — Publishers Weekly, starred review   “An evocative tale of regret and redemption.” — Booklist   “Expert pacing will keep readers turning the pages until they know Thisbe’s fate.” — Kirkus "...McNeal writes with a mature hand, expert pacing, and an immediacy that ensures readers will be engrossed." — Publishers Weekly  starred review "An evocative tale of regret and redemption." — Booklist "Expert pacing will keep readers turning the pages." — Kirkus Reviews "Laura McNeal refuses to write characters as all good or all bad; instead, they are all so beautifully human. That extraordinary empathy shines through her prose making this thriller a literary masterpiece unlike anything I've ever read—on the YA shelf, or elsewhere." —Aaron Hartzler, author of What We Saw and Rapture Practice " The Incident on the Bridge  is an exciting, enthralling, un-put-downable book, full of wit, vitality, and suspense, with lovely sympathy for all its characters, even the villains, and with Laura McNeal's terrific memory for what it is like to be a teenager." —Ron Hansen, National Book Award Finalist for  Atticus Laura Rhoton McNeal holds an MA in fiction writing from Syracuse University and is the author of Dark Water, a finalist for the National Book Award. She and her husband, Tom, are the authors of  Crooked, Zipped, Crushed, and The Decoding of Lana Morris, and she has worked as a freelance journalist, a crime writer, and a high school English teacher. She lives with her family in Coronado, California. Learn more about Laura on the Web at mcnealbooks.com. 1     Impulse     Thisbe had to stop. She had to quit obsessing about Clay and Jerome and college and ride her bike down to Glorietta Bay, where she always felt better, where she had researched and written “The Effect of Pleasure Boating on the Mid-Intertidal Zone,” the best paper Ms. Berron had ever seen from a high school student. She should stareinto the murky water until she saw the rippling edges of a stingray as it fluttered its way along the rocks. That was a reliable thrill: wild animal,you, chance. Contact with an alien world.   She changed into shorts and found her notebook, but she couldn’t help it: she lay back down. She knew what she should have done, but she couldn’t go back to February and do it. That was the problem.   Take, for instance, the morning the doorbell rang. A Saturday. Bright and beautiful.       She’d still been asleep, which was why she hadn’t answered the door right away. She’d called out several times in a not very patient voice, “Could someone please answer the door?” No one had answered her, and the bell rang again. The sofas were empty when she huffed herself out of bed and down the stairs. Sections of the New York Times flung over the kitchen island. Coffee cups drained. A single pancake dry at the edges on a sticky plate. Finally she remembered her sister Ted’s regatta in Alamitos Bay. That was where everyone had gone.   She opened the front door, and there it was: A fortune cookie on a paper plate. Not in a wrapper but under plastic wrap like when you made cookies yourself and gave them to somebody.When she pulled the plastic off, the cookie smelled of almonds. She scanned the giant hedge between her house and Mrs. J’s: nobody there. The Greenbaughs’ magnolia trees: nobody. Nothing but lawns, parked cars, and flickering sun.   A gift or a prank? She didn’t want someone to drive by and see her in her pajamas, so she bent down (careful not to show cleavage), grabbed the plate, and paused. It might be one of those things she heard about all the time but had never personally experienced, proposal bombs; no, it was some made-up word--promposals. Likewhen the guys from the water polo team had painted one letter per bare chest to spell P-R-O-M-? to ask Emily Jenks to go with . . . was it Bruce Greckenthaler? Thisbe forgot which guy, but maybe this was like that. And the cookie could be for Ted. That was a depressing thought. Ted was only fourteen, and guys hit on her all the time. On Valentine’s D