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Your Knowledge or Your Life?
Your Knowledge or Your Life?
Your Knowledge or Your Life?
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Your Knowledge or Your Life?

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Welcome to a London where being smart is everything—and being rich means nothing.

 

When seventeen-year-old Jason's latest prank backfires, he and straight-A student Eva are thrust into an alternate reality where status comes from knowledge, not trust funds. For formerly privileged Jason, it's a nightmare. For book-lover Eva, it's everything she's ever dreamed of—until dead bodies start piling up.

 

Two teenagers who can't stand each other and one disturbing truth: their arrival might be killing people.

 

As they race to uncover who—or what—is behind these deaths, Jason and Eva must set aside their mutual loathing, but with time running out and lives at stake, their inability to trust each other might be their deadliest mistake.

 

"An excellent YA book that even older readers will enjoy!"

"That one was a page-turner, filled with the right amount of mystery and plot twists!"

"It is a page-turner and I often found myself thinking I'd just read one more chapter!"

LanguageEnglish
PublisherAamondo Books
Release dateMay 29, 2025
ISBN9781738432028
Your Knowledge or Your Life?
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Author

Sophie Maddon

Sophie Maddon is a neurodivergent author who has always been tagged as weird (but why be normal when you can be weird?) and universally acknowledged as a troublemaker.  She's currently living in the UK and is owned by a cat (half-panther if you ask the vet).

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    Your Knowledge or Your Life? - Sophie Maddon

    1

    Jason yawned, stretched on his creaky stool, and dropped his chin in his hand.

    If only someone could pull the fire alarm. Or jam their fist on the big ‘Emergency’ button on the wall behind the teacher’s desk.

    He sighed and the chemistry teacher shot him a dirty look. Now, pay attention, there are only seven months left before your A⁠⁠-⁠⁠levels, and this is likely to come up.

    Yadda yadda yadda. A⁠-⁠levels were months away, why did Mr Walker have to go on and on about them? Who cared?

    You must wait until the nitric acid starts bubbling up before adding the copper, but you must be patient, and keep it on a low heat. And do not add any more acid than indicated.

    Why? That was the thing with teachers. They always focused on what not to do, but never told you what would happen if you didn’t follow the rules.

    If only he was sat with one of his friends. Why did he have to be stuck, in the front row no less, with nerdy Eva? Jack and Ajay had been paired together at the back of the class, so were Anna and Kenashi, so why did he have to be with the biggest bore and least attractive female of the class? It wasn’t fair.

    On the upside, he was pretty much guaranteed an A, all that girl seemed to do was study. Not that she had many other options, she had no friends. Even the new girl seemed to know better than to befriend Eva⁠⁠-⁠⁠the⁠⁠-⁠⁠weirdo from the poorest estate in London.

    He knew that she’d entered St Mary’s on a scholarship, and boy did it show. Her shoes were clean, but so worn he could almost see her socks through the leather, her tie was frayed at the edges, and while her shirt was white, he could tell just by looking at it that it was the cheapest, most man⁠-⁠made material there was. How had she not caught on fire when she’d leaned to turn on the Bunsen burner? Jason’s shirt on the other hand was tailor⁠-⁠made in a cotton⁠-⁠silk blend, and he had twenty others like this one in his huge cedar⁠-⁠lined walk⁠-⁠in closet. That was the right way to live.

    Jason yawned again. Why did they even have class on Friday afternoons? His eyes glazed over the whiteboard with the instructions for the experiment clearly laid out. Maybe he could have some fun at Eva’s expense, it wasn’t as if he needed good grades. At best, the class would get dismissed and he’d get an early weekend. At worst . . .

    Jason frowned. He couldn’t think of anything worse than being stuck in double⁠-⁠period chemistry.

    Eva, following the teacher’s instruction, carefully poured a tiny amount of nitric acid in the Erlenmeyer flask and reduced the heat from the Bunsen burner underneath. Jason pulled out his smartphone from his back pocket and texted Ajay under the cover of the lab table.

    Seconds later, Ajay was arguing loudly with Jack, distracting the entire class.

    As soon as Eva had turned her back, Jason filled the flask with nitric acid, increased the heat as high as it would go, and added all the pennies that had been rattling in his pockets for good measure.

    A minute later, thick brown smoke mushroomed over the bench and spread across the classroom.

    Eva grabbed Jason’s arm. What did you do? What’s wrong with you?

    Everybody out! Mr Walker’s shout rose above the brouhaha.

    In less time than it took the teacher to waddle back from the rear of the classroom to his desk, all the students had evacuated the lab. All, except Jason, whom Eva wouldn’t let go of and whom she carried on berating.

    The teacher, panting from the effort of walking faster than he was used to, pressed hard on the ‘Emergency’ button, closing vents and windows automatically and triggering extractor fans in the ceiling before turning a small key in a near invisible hole next to the button.

    He looked around and started at the sight of Eva and Jason. What are you doing here? Get out, fast.

    Jason felt dizzy. He shoved Eva away and strode towards the door, arms extended to guide himself through the brown fog. Eva grabbed the back of his lab coat. Whatever. He just wanted to get out before getting seriously poisoned. As far as pranks went, he would avoid those that generated gases in the future. Unless it involved farting, of course.

    In the corridor, he looked back through the lab door’s glass panel. He’d achieved his objective. No way they were going back in.

    Since our lab is not currently accessible, the teacher said placidly, we’ll use the one across the hall.

    All the students cheered and started walking behind him like ducklings after their mother.

    Jason stood alone in the middle of the hallway, dumbfounded.

    What was wrong with those guys? Everybody hated chemistry, it was Friday afternoon, they should have groaned when the teacher had announced class would resume, and yet they were cheering?

    He looked around, debating on what to do. Skip class? Maybe no one would notice? He turned on his heels.

    Jason.

    Busted.

    Jason, we’re in this lab, Mr Walker’s voice said behind him.

    He turned around and dragged his feet to the lab. A smile hovered on the teacher’s lips, indicating he had not been fooled. I believe you had merely not noticed which lab we were in, and wouldn’t have dreamt of skipping class due to the minor incident we had in the first lab, correct?

    Jason shrugged and looked around. Most benches at the back were still available.

    Weird.

    These were prime seats, why would anyone choose to sit at the front when they could sit at the back? Even stranger, two girls appeared to be fighting to be Eva’s lab partner. Who in their right mind would willingly sit next to her? Jason shook his head and sat in the last row, crossing his arms firmly in front of him.

    Seemingly oblivious to this display of disinterest, the teacher carried on with the lesson, almost as if nothing had happened.

    When the bell finally rang, signalling the weekend, Jason bolted from his seat, grabbed his things and walked as fast as he could to get out. He opened the door and paused, surprised by the silence behind him. All his classmates were still in their seats, studiously finishing up their experiments, none of them showing any signs of packing up, none of them in a hurry to leave. Jason wondered if the teacher had made some sort of threat, doled out a punishment in retribution for the prank when Jason was still in the corridor, debating on how best to skip class.

    But no, the teacher didn’t say anything, only raising a bushy greying eyebrow at him, as if to question his hurried departure. Jason shrugged and left, slamming the door behind him. But the door didn’t slam, it closed quietly behind him. When had they installed door closers?

    Jason didn’t let the thought bother him for long. Two seconds later, he was striding towards the main entrance, his footsteps echoing through the halls. Halfway to the front doors, a thought hit him and he stopped dead in his track. He looked around.

    There were a few students walking around, but nowhere near as many as there should have been at the end of the school day. And the corridors were quiet. Fridays at three forty⁠-⁠five in the afternoon usually were the loudest the school’s hallways got, all the students erupting from the classrooms like torrents of lava flowing out of a volcano’s crater, eager to get out and start their blessed weekend, sixty⁠-⁠four hours of free time, only occasionally interrupted by homework.

    Of course, Jason never let something as trivial as homework disrupt his downtime. He was only at that school because his parents had demanded it, sending the school a very generous donation to bypass the entrance exam, and he was still in that school, despite never studying or ever turning in any homework, because there were more donations coming the school’s way every semester.

    How snobbish were his parents really, wanting him to be at St Mary’s because that was where all the kids of captains of industry, rock stars, and other aristocracy progenies went?

    Their theory was that money called money, and Jason needed to network. They’d followed this logic since preschool, and the kids saw Jason as one of them.

    His parents were rich, sure, but not eye⁠-⁠wateringly rich like most of the teenagers there. One of them got a Ferrari, a fifty⁠-⁠five⁠-⁠feet yacht, a two⁠-⁠seater helicopter, and a private island in the Bahamas for his seventeenth birthday, and the guy had complained that the Ferrari was red, when he’d asked for black, and the helicopter was only a two⁠-⁠seater. Jason rolled his eyes at the memory. He was slumming it with a twenty⁠-⁠four seven on⁠-⁠call car service.

    At the top of the front steps, Jason paused and exhaled. He’d finally gotten out of the wretched school.

    He rubbed his eyes.

    Where the large car park had stood only a few hours ago, there now was a vast expanse of grass, a huge bicycle shed, and a comparatively smallish car park filled with old Japanese pieces of crap, and tiny, completely unremarkable European cars that couldn’t cost more than a week’s allowance.

    That was too weird to not be mentioned, and Jason made a note to call his GP when he got home. He had to be hallucinating. Maybe the gas he’d created earlier was poisonous or hallucinogen or something. This was way too elaborate to be a prank his friends were playing on him.

    2

    In the second lab, Eva walked straight to the front row bench, put her bag down, and started setting up for the experiment.

    She doubted Jason would show up; hadn’t the ‘accident’ been meant to have the rest of the class cancelled? The alternative, that he was so dumb he’d caused the accident without an ulterior motive, seemed unlikely. Not impossible though.

    Sitting alone had its benefits, such as no one to mess up with your work. Sure, it could get lonely at times, but people could get lonely in groups too, or so Eva had read.

    Friends were not really a factor in the equation of her life. That was just the way things had turned out for her, and right now, she’d rather have a good education than be the most popular girl in school. As for her classmates, there was little point in wishing they accepted her for who she was.

    She wasn’t part of their world, and nothing would change that.

    A commotion nearby brought Eva back to the here and now. The entire class seemed to be fighting next to her bench.

    What fresh hell were they up to now? Reluctantly, she paid attention to the privileged teenagers she’d been repeatedly told were her peers.

    It’s my turn! Jack said.

    No way, you got to sit next to her for the whole of yesterday afternoon, Ajay said.

    We’d agreed we’d take turns, I’ve been waiting for over a month, another said.

    Oh, grow up you big baby, Anna said before plonking herself on the stool next to Eva and holding her bag on the bench, as if defying anyone to even try to get her to move.

    A wave of shock spread through Eva’s body, leaving her frozen on her stool. They’d been fighting over who would sit next to her. Why? Why her? Why now? Cold sweat trickled down her neck. What had they planned now? What were they going to do to her?

    Mr. Walker was at the front of the class, re⁠-⁠writing the experiment’s instructions, picking up the class where he’d been forced to leave off; completely oblivious to anything happening behind his back.

    Anna turned to Eva, her perfect blond hair swishing in the light. Oh no. Eva swallowed hard, eyes firmly on the whiteboard. She resisted the urge to whimper. If she gave Anna an inch, she’d be on her like a rabid dog. The girl was talking to her, but blood pumping against Eva’s eardrum was making her sound all muffled. Based on Anna’s face, she’d asked a question and was expecting an answer. This was it, that’s how they were going to get her.

    Eva inhaled deeply to calm her parasympathetic nervous system. She choked on her own breath, eliciting a snort from her nose. Her body crumpled in humiliation. She’d snorted like a pig in the middle of class. They’d never leave her alone now, she’d given them enough ammunition to last until well after A⁠-⁠Levels.

    The teacher was demonstrating the experiment again, talking loudly to be heard from the back benches. Anna wasn’t laughing. Why wasn’t she laughing?

    She glanced at the teacher before leaning closer to Eva. Are you okay?

    Eva recoiled. It was a trick. She’d gotten caught before, she knew the drill. They asked something innocuous, she replied, and they complained to the teacher she was talking during class and disrupting their studies.

    Anna, bright eyes and perfect skin, stared at her, waiting for an answer. She had to give her something or she’d kick an even bigger stink.

    Yes, Eva whispered in an exhale.

    Are you sure? It’s unusual for you to be so quiet, you’re normally so bubbly and chatty, Anna said.

    Eva froze. Was the girl mocking her? The tone of her voice and her features expressed nothing if not genuine concern.

    What were you supposed to say to someone who usually picked on you, when they sounded like they’d had a personality transplant?

    Eva put her index finger in front of her mouth in a silence sign, then pointed to the teacher who was still merrily talking away. The girl’s cheeks took on a rosy tone as she frenetically nodded, and she fixed her gaze firmly on her notebook. Eva was taken aback. The usual reaction would have been to laugh Eva off and ignore her, but that girl looked like she’d just been scolded. Eva decided to put her bench mate’s strange behaviour aside and focus on the rest of the lesson.

    If only they were as determined to study as they were to pick on her, they would all be getting A* at the end of the year.

    * * *

    The bell rang.

    Eva calmly finished writing her notes, as was her habit. A minute later, she noticed the noise. Or lack of noise. The room was as quiet as before the bell had rung, save for Jason who had loudly packed up his things and bolted through the door.

    No one else was moving much. Students were finishing up with their notes, just like she was, or cleaning up their benches. Eva double⁠-⁠checked her watch, in case she had gotten her schedule wrong, and there were still more classes due that day before she could officially call ‘weekend’, but no, it was three forty⁠-⁠five.

    What are you up to this weekend? her neighbour asked.

    Eva did a double take. I’m sorry, were you talking to me? she asked tentatively.

    Anna let out a crystalline laugh. Of course silly!

    Oh. Eva didn’t want to explain too much. She was tired. Not much really, you know; homework, chores, the usual. I’ll probably read a couple of books if I have the time. Her classmates had never before attempted such a long⁠-⁠running prank, and fighting off Anna at every turn was exhausting. Boring stuff, Eva added, not wanting the girl to say it first.

    Oh, that’s sounds cool, what are you reading? Erika, a plump brunette with mad curly hair, so shiny it looked like silk, leaned across the bench behind Eva. I’m reading Plato’s Republic right now, it’s so interesting.

    It was possible Erika just happened to overhear the conversation. But what if she had been actively listening for the sole purpose of timing her interjection according to a ploy designed to make fun of Eva?

    Eva knew she shouldn’t, but she was unable to resist. Really? she asked, not quite able to keep the disbelief out of her voice. What made you want to read it?

    You, of course, Erika said. Remember, on Monday, when you were raving about the chapter you’d just finished? You were recommending it to everyone left and right, saying how it was a must⁠-⁠read, and you only regretted not reading it sooner?

    Eva’s hypothesis that this was a class⁠-⁠wide prank was falling apart, leaving her beyond confused. She had indeed read a good chunk of the book the previous weekend, but she was dead certain she had not discussed it at school, especially not with students. She might have discussed it with teachers, that was a possibility, although she had no recollection of doing so, but, with these two, who only ever talked to her to criticise her clothes or hair?

    No way in hell.

    What if they’d discovered the secret identity she was using on social media and various book review websites?

    While she normally kept her reviews to weekends, when she had more time, she hadn’t been able to resist posting a few things about the book on Monday night, such had been the impression it had left on her.

    Kenashi bounded over. Have you asked her yet? Even her tone reminded Eva of an overexcited puppy.

    Eva gathered her books, considering the torture by small talk to be finally over. She was free at last to retreat to the peace and quiet of her home for a blissful sixty⁠-⁠four hours of alone time.

    Or not.

    Yeah, Eva, we were wondering . . . Erika hesitated.

    Will you join us to go see Midsummer Night’s Dream tonight? It’s playing at the O2.

    Judging by Anna’s tone, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

    Err . . . They couldn't be talking about the play, it had to be a new rock band she didn’t know about. What else would be playing at the O2? Thousands of people crammed in a huge airless room? Thanks, but no thanks.

    Come ooon! Was Kenashi pleading?

    What’s not to love? Erika said. Shakespeare, beautiful costumes by Chanel, set design by Anna Fleischle, music by Errollyn Wallen, how can you say no?

    Plus, they have discounted tickets for all students, and if you get yours through the school, it should be free, it’s covered by your scholarship, Kenashi said.

    Eva’s head was spinning. None of this sounded real. But then again, even in her wildest dreams, she couldn’t have imagined a show as spectacular as what the girls were describing.

    Err . . . okay. This was going against her better judgement, but her curiosity got the best of her. If it was a prank, she’d only be out of the Tube fare. If the girls were telling the truth, she would have the night of her life, for the price of the Tube fare.

    The girls cheered, looking genuinely happy and excited that she’d agreed to join them.

    Hurry up, Anna said. Go get your ticket from the admin office before they close.

    Eva nodded, swung her faded black Eastpack knock⁠-⁠off, over her shoulder and left the room, thinking.

    Would she get laughed at when she asked about the free tickets to the play?

    Five minutes later, she left the admin office clutching a thick embossed ticket and a letter emblazoned with the school crest, advising whom it may concern that ticket number 127748 for the production of Midsummer Night’s Dream at the O2 on 04 October 2018 was for Miss Eva M. Scanton, recipient of the Charlotte Somerville scholarship.

    3

    As his chauffeured car pulled up in front of the converted Victorian warehouse, Jason wondered what he’d do with his evening. His parents wouldn’t be home before seven at the earliest.

    He’d see if either one of them had bothered leaving him a message. It wasn’t that they didn’t care about him, it’s just that they both loved working. At times, Jason wondered if they loved their careers more than they loved him.

    He nodded at Mike, the security guard discreetly disguised as a doorman and walked into the lift. He pressed his finger against the button for the penthouse, waited for the fingerprint scanner to confirm his identity, and leaned against the brass railing. Come to think of it, hadn’t his mother mentioned a dinner out or something that morning?

    The lift doors opened with a soft whoosh and he stepped in the apartment. In front of him, through the huge floor⁠-⁠to⁠-⁠ceiling windows across the living room, London was glittering in the fog, but Jason barely glanced at the view. He turned on the TV and headed straight for the huge American⁠-⁠style fridge. He opened both doors and scanned the shelves. He wasn’t hungry, he didn’t have any specific craving, but he wanted to put something in his mouth.

    What do you think you’re doing?

    Jason jumped. Why was his mother home? Especially so early? Unless she’d come back to quickly change before her dinner? Jason hoped that was it. He was supposed to be alone for at least three hours, and he enjoyed those moments when no one was looking at him or judging him. Adoration was good, but sometimes Jason just wanted to be himself, whoever that was that week.

    He grabbed a tub of Peanut Butter Cup ice cream and slammed both doors in one swift movement.

    His mother, a short brunette, was standing behind him in black silk pyjamas and a pair of ruby⁠-⁠red slippers, arms crossed.

    Mum . . . Are you okay? Why aren’t you at work?

    It’s nearly five o’clock, why would I still be in the office? she said before shaking her head. Why aren’t you doing your homework Jason? We talked about this, you must be top of your class to enter the best universities.

    Jason’s spoon bounced loudly off the marble floor. The statement was so outrageous he’d dropped the utensil right out of the cutlery drawer.

    His mother pinched her lips and shook her short bob as if wondering how her son could be such a disappointment. Your history tutor is unavailable today, he said he’ll do a make⁠-⁠up session Wednesday night, but in the meantime, he won’t be able to help you with whatever homework you have due next week. You need to go study.

    Jason squinted and stared intently at the woman in front of him. Mum, did you get a haircut?

    His mother’s cheeks took on a darker shade of red. Don’t try to change the subject, my last haircut was three weeks ago. Her voice was rising as her irritation with Jason grew. Now, go to your room and do your homework. Your father won’t be in until late, he’s at a conference.

    She turned on her heels and disappeared behind the home gym’s door on the other side of the apartment. Jason picked up the spoon and turned it between his fingers, trying to make sense of his mother’s behaviour.

    Things didn’t add up. For one thing, why would she be wearing pyjamas to exercise? His mother was not an eccentric, she was a career woman who would never be caught idling at home in the middle of the afternoon, Friday or not. And when did she start caring about whether or not he did his homework? His grades were irrelevant, his parents would give a generous donation to whichever university they chose for him to attend, and he’d go, collect his degree after three years, and be done with it.

    End of story.

    Jason frowned. His mother had never nagged him about homework before.

    After setting the spoon on the counter, he headed towards the home gym. He pushed the solid oak door ajar and gasped.

    Where the back wall should have been lined with mirrors, it was now lined with floor⁠-⁠to⁠-⁠ceiling shelves, each and every one crammed with books.

    Where the thick protective mats had been, there was now a plush rug.

    Where the elliptical and rowing machine had been, there was an emerald⁠-⁠green velvet daybed his mother was reclining on, reading.

    He silently closed the door, took a few steps back and rubbed his eyes.

    His mother had zero sense of humour, so no way this was a prank. Not to mention his parents couldn’t have gotten rid of the gym and replaced it with a library full of books in less than twelve hours. Not that they would want to.

    Tiny anxiety creatures trampled Jason’s stomach. Deep breaths. Ice cream would fix whatever was going on here. Maybe he was tired. Maybe it was hormones. He went back to the kitchen, took the ice cream, and headed upstairs.

    At least the wood⁠-⁠and⁠-⁠glass staircase was still there. He loved sitting a few steps away from the top and stare through the huge floor⁠-⁠to⁠-⁠ceiling windows at night, when everybody in the apartment was asleep, and think about nothing.

    He walked in his bedroom, bracing himself for what he might find inside, but no, at first glance, nothing had changed. His muscles relaxed a notch.

    He set the ice cream on the desk, dumped his school bag in a corner, and kicked off his shoes. It had been a strange day. Screw homework, he deserved a couple of hours on the Xbox before going out. He’d try Sphynx. Brand⁠-⁠new club, only opened the previous weekend, and the reviews were great.

    Where were the bloody controllers? Actually, where was the Xbox? The pounding thump of anxiety returned in his chest.

    There had to be an explanation.

    Maybe it was broken. Maybe his parents wanted to surprise him with the latest gaming console. His birthday wasn’t for another seven months, but his parents didn’t need reasons to make sure he had the latest of anything, as long as it was expensive or hard to get. A combination of both was their ideal scenario.

    He took the tub of ice cream and flopped on the bed. He’d just stream something instead. He turned on the smart TV and scrolled through the menu looking for the bright orange icon of Showline, the app that supposedly had every show in the world, or so the ad said.

    What the hell? Where was Showline? Jason slowed down. Maybe they’d changed their logo and he’d missed it. He scrolled through every icon and Showline definitely wasn’t there. Why would his parents cancel the subscription? Jason opened his mouth to scream the question to his mother but no sound came out. Maybe screaming across the apartment wasn’t such a good idea given how foul a mood she’d been in earlier.

    He’d try Flickon instead, no biggie. He wasn’t really in the mood for a full⁠-⁠length movie, but it was better than nothing, and he could always rewatch one from

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