Cover reveal! Prepare for a sweet and fast-paced contemporary teen romance from USA Today bestselling author Kristina Forest. Heartsick is on shelves October 7, 2025.

High school senior Margot Whitman is an intern at Healing Hearts Inc., the company that created the innovative pill that can erase a person’s heartbreak overnight. Every weekend, Margot witnesses patients get cured of their broken hearts. Meanwhile, she’s nursing a heartbreak of her own. With college on the horizon and their futures taking them in different directions, she and her ex Isaac recently called it quits. Margot has thought about taking a pill but erasing her love for Isaac doesn’t feel right. However, her heart breaks all over again when Isaac shows up to the Healing Hearts center, presumably seeking a pill to stop loving her.

As soon as Isaac Fisher walked through the Healing Hearts center doors, knew he’d made a mistake. Even though he’s struggling with heartbreak, he realized that doesn’t want to fall out of love with Margot. He’s surprised to see her working at the front desk, and of course she assumes he’s there to get over her. It doesn’t seem like things could get much worse, but then Margot and Isaac accidentally overhear a terrible and harmful secret about the pill. When they’re caught eavesdropping and almost attacked by shady Healing Hearts executives and their guards, they have no choice but to flee. Now they have to work together to reveal the truth about the pill . . . and maybe, just maybe, repair each other’s hearts in the process.

Scroll down to read a sneak peek and preorder your copy here.

Cover Illustration: Andrea Oerter; Cover Design: Kaitlin Yang

When I first saw Isaac Fisher, I knew that I could love him one day, probably. It was the first day of junior year, and somehow I’d been placed in fourth period woodshop instead of in home ec with the rest of my friends like I’d requested. I went to my guidance counselor, hoping that she could help with the mix-up, but there were dozens of schedule errors that day. Students were already lined up outside her office, and she didn’t have time to help me. She told me to go to woodshop and to come back and her see the next day, promising that she’d fix everything.

So, while my best friend Jordyn and the rest of the girls from cheerleading were learning how to make homemade pizza, I walked to woodshop. I didn’t know the first thing about woodworking and hadn’t thought much about it, but I figured being stuck in the class for only a day wouldn’t be too bad.

When I entered the classroom, Mr. Vogel, the woodshop teacher, was taking attendance. He pointed me toward the last remaining empty seat in the back of the room at a two-seater desk—right beside a tall, skinny boy. He had a medium brown complexion, and he was wearing a red T-shirt with an illustration of Miles Morales, mid-swing, on it. His head was down, oblivious to what was happening around him. When I got closer, I realized that he had a sketchbook open in his lap and he was drawing an image of a man wearing a superhero cape. He didn’t look up until I pulled out my chair and it made an annoying, squeaky sound as it slid across the floor. Startled, the boy looked up and blinked. Then his eyes widened as his gaze focused on me.

He had long eyelashes. I noticed that immediately. When he blinked, his eyelashes fanned across his cheekbones in a way that I would never be able to pull off with even the best mascara. Then I took note of everything else: the deep brown, chocolatey shade of his eyes, his full lips and square jaw. I felt a sudden swoop deep in my gut, like I was waiting at the top of a roller coaster before the big drop. I stared down at him as he stared up at me.

I knew him. Or at least I knew his name. I was on student council and tried to make a point of knowing the first names of everyone in my year, even though there were almost two hundred fifty of us. The boy in front of me, Isaac Fisher, flew under the radar. He wasn’t part of any clubs or sports, not that I knew of. And I didn’t recall having seen him at any games or pep rallies before.

I realized that I was still standing. I sat down.

“Hey,” I said, smiling. “You’re Isaac, right?”

He nodded quickly, immediately scooching over to make room for me. He fumbled with the sketchbook that lay open in his lap. He cleared his throat. “Y-yeah.”

“I’m Margot,” I said.

He cleared his throat again, then swallowed, rubbed his hands over his thighs. “I know. Hi.”

“Hi.” I was trying to understand why he seemed so fidgety. “Sorry, were you saving this seat for someone else?”

“Nah, um, no, you’re fine. You can sit there.” He scratched the back of his neck and flashed a quick smile. “It’s just that I didn’t expect to see you here. In woodshop, I mean.”

I tilted my head and squinted. “Because I’m a girl? My dad’s a carpenter, and he’s been teaching me how to build furniture from scratch since I was ten years old.”

Isaac’s eyes widened. “For real?”

“No, I’m messing with you. There was a mix-up with my schedule. I was supposed to be in home ec. And my dad’s a lawyer.”

“Oh.” Isaac let out a relieved laugh. It was a low, deep chuckle. The sound stirred the hairs on my skin. “And I didn’t say that because you’re a girl, by the way. It’s just that everyone thinks woodshop is boring. I do too. I thought you’d be doing something cooler.”

I let that comment hang between us. Something cooler like what? I wanted to ask. What preconceived notions did he have about me? But another question rose to the forefront of my mind instead.

“If you think it’s boring, then why are you here?”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It was either this or Clothing and Maintenance, and I really don’t think I’ll be any good at sewing.”

I smiled at that, and he smiled back. It was a slow, hesitant smile, like he wasn’t sure if we were amused by the same thing.

At the front of the room, Mr. Vogel was giving an overview of what we could expect to work on during the course of the semester. Even though I’d only be in the class for one day, I thought it would be respectful to listen anyway. But as I turned toward Mr. Vogel, I could feel Isaac’s curious gaze on me. When I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, he quickly looked down, focusing on his sketchbook again.

I studied his side profile. As I took in his lips and his long dark eyelashes, I felt that swooping, unsteady roller-coaster sensation again. I liked the sound of his voice. I wanted to keep talking to him.

“What are you drawing?” I whispered.

He turned slightly, right shoulder leading the rest of his body, as he looked at me fully, brows raised in surprise at my question. “It’s, um, just this comic that I draw for fun sometimes. Do you . . . read comics?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I’ve read a few graphic novels, but I know that’s different. What’s your comic about?”

“You really wanna know?”

I nodded, and the corners of his lips curled into an excited grin. “Okay, so my superhero’s name is Electro-Man. He has that name because he got his powers after being struck by lightning. Here, I’ll show you.”

He scooted closer and moved the comic so that half of it was in my lap too. I was wearing my cheer uniform, a tradition that the team participated in on the first day of school, and Isaac’s fingers accidentally brushed against my thigh. He quickly pulled away, mumbling a quiet “I’m sorry.” His brown cheeks flushed pink.

Clearing his throat, he started to tell me more about Electro-Man. He flipped through his sketchbook and showed me various comic panels. There were many drawings of Electro-Man fighting villains with lightning shooting out of his palms. His art style was sharp and realistic.

“This is really good,” I said.

“You think so? Thanks.” He cleared his throat again and smiled a little. “So, in this sketch, he’s fighting a villain that I made up named the Slog, a bayou monster that’s been terrorizing Louisiana.”

I was trying my best to listen, but mostly I was thinking about how I could still feel the lingering warmth of Isaac’s touch on my thigh. I was thinking about how my heart was suddenly beating a lot harder as I watched his open, excited expression as he talked. And I was wondering if Isaac Fisher knew just how cute he was.

“Sorry, I’m probably boring you,” he said, sporting a self-deprecating smile. His eyes roamed my face.

I shook my head. “No, not at all. I think it’s interesting.”

“Don’t tell me that. I’ll end up talking your ear off.”

He looked at me with that open, eager expression again and laughed.

I knew then that I wouldn’t switch to home ec to be with the rest of my friends. It was there, right there, with Isaac looking at me, his laughter serving as our background music, causing my own laughter to bubble up in response, that I knew that I could love him.

What I didn’t know was that Isaac’s low laugh would become my favorite sound. That I’d cherish it as we talked on the phone late at night or when we cuddled on my living room couch, whispering to each other about how lucky we were for the schedule mix-up that brought us together. I didn’t know that, when he told me that he loved me for the first time, the two of us standing in his driveway, I’d start to tear up, and he’d get scared thinking that he’d done something wrong, and I’d tell him that I wasn’t crying because I was sad, but because I was so ridiculously happy.