We all remember how obsessed we became with the Sarah Lawrence College scandal. While most of us have moved on, Tiffany D. Jackson could not let go the idea that it sparked in her mind. The author is back with another gripping thriller that will definitely make you think about it all differently in only the way that she can. The only question left is: are you for a wild semester at Frazier University?
Cosmopolitan has an exclusive look at The Scammer by Tiffany D. Jackson, set to be released on October 7, 2025. Finally far from her overprotective parents, Jordyn is ready to take on the world and make her own path after getting into the prestigious Frazier University. However, things quickly turn upside down when her roommate's brother suddenly moves in after being released from prison. And that's just the beginning of this chilling story that also involves a missing person and a dark mystery that will change Jordyn's fresh new start. Here's some more info from our friends at Quill Tree Books:
New York Times bestselling author Tiffany D. Jackson delivers another stunning, ripped-from-the-headlines thriller, following a freshman girl whose college life is turned upside down when her roommate’s ex-convict brother moves into their dorm and starts controlling their every move.
Out from under her overprotective parents, Jordyn is ready to kill it in prelaw at a prestigious, historically Black university in Washington DC. When her new roommate’s brother is released from prison, the last thing Jordyn expects is to come home and find the ex-convict on their dorm room sofa. But Devonte needs a place to stay while he gets back on his feet—and how could she say no to one of her new best friends?
Devonte is older, as charming as he is intelligent, pushing every student he meets to make better choices about their young lives. But Jordyn senses something sinister beneath his friendly advice and growing group of followers. When one of Jordyn’s roommates goes missing, she must enlist the help of the university’s lone white student to uncover the mystery—or become trapped at the center of a web of lies more tangled than she can imagine.
Ready to see how Jordyn's new year at Fraizer starts off? Check out an exclusive excerpt below! Just make sure to pre-order The Scammer and maybe even pick up some of Tiffany's previous reads as well!
An Excerpt From The Scammer
By Tiffany D. Jackson
Through all the college preparation—the SAT courses, applications, essays, GPA fights, and interviews—no one ever mentioned how you had to fit your entire life into two suitcases and a duffel bag. Maybe people assume you don’t have much of a life to pack. As if we spent the last four years of high school twiddling our thumbs.
I heave my suitcases off the Amtrak train, sweat dripping down my neck, and immediately twist my hair up into a claw clip. Don’t know the next time I’ll be able to have it straightened, so this silk press needs to last as long as possible. Shouldn’t there be a bellhop or something?
Scanning the platform, I grip the handles of my bags and roll them toward the direction of the foot traffic, not wanting to stand around like some clueless tourist. A guide on our summer vacation in Italy once said, “That’s how you are taken advantage of. Appearing like easy prey instead of a worthy adversary.”
I know I don’t look like I carry an ounce of street smarts. More suburban-Connecticut, private school chic. Skinny jeans, a simple white T-shirt, and black ballerina flats. I own one pair of sneakers for gym, which I barely used since it would require me risking sweating out my hair. Like I’m about to do in this train station as I head for the exit, breaking a nail in the process.
Outside, the humidity grabs me by the throat. But I’m too busy taking in the picturesque view of the marble domed US Capitol Building, only a few short blocks away, rivaling Greek temples and architecture. It looks just like it does on countless news stations.
Washington, DC. I’ve made it, Kev.
Around me, the world goes on, indifferent to my presence. I hoped that I would see other kids in a similar predicament— fresh meat, arriving alone to a new city, with no family to help them settle. But it’s just me on the sidewalk, with her life inside a few matching pieces of luggage. The fear I’ve been ignoring starts to boil up again.
Maybe I am making a mistake, just like everyone has said. Maybe it’s not too late to jump on the next train, back to what I know, what’s familiar, what’s safe. But there is something inside me so hard it could crack teeth if you tried to bite it. So empty that the air smelled old, carrying the echoes of heartbreak and grief. If I don’t go . . . it may never soften.
Above my head, a giant American flag smacks the wind like a whip, and I straighten. The new backbone I acquired won’t let me turn around. Especially since I may never get this chance again.
***
The cab drives by the official school sign bookended by short pillars. Frazier University. It looks so much smaller in person. Online, it’s a sprawling campus, with bright chrome-green lawns and redbrick buildings soaked in history. It’s touted for being a college up on a hill, surrounded by a bustling city.
Frazier University is one of the most established, well-known HBCUs, or Historically Black Colleges and Universities, in the country, located smack in the middle of the nation’s bustling capital. The complete opposite of my all-white high school deep in the wooded suburbs. I once mentioned Frazier to a white classmate, and she had never heard of it, which wasn’t surprising.
The car pulls up to Rockland Hall, a coed dorm at the bottom of the hill. For a moment, all I can do is stare at the front door, busy with students flowing in and out. A rainbow of Black and Brown faces, laughing and smiling, donning school colors, sneakers, and T-shirts. I look down again at my wardrobe, well overdressed for freshman orientation, and fidget with my hair.
The driver grunts as he grabs my bags out of the trunk. I slip him a tip, not as much as I would usually. I have to watch the cash I have on hand now. I pass by a security booth and weave through the lobby, straight to the desk with the Welcome Freshmen banner swooped overhead. A girl in a Frazier crewneck clicks her pen, smiling.
“Hey girl, hey! Name?”
“Jordyn Monroe,” I say, scoping out the scene of scattered lounge chairs, dinging elevators, and giant posters of football and basketball games with roaring crowds.
She flips through her clipboard. “Okay. Got you right here. This is your welcome packet and your key. You’ll be in a quad on the sixth floor. Suite 610, room A. The loading dock is on the side of the building for you to bring up the rest of your stuff.”
“This is all I have,” I mutter at the table.
She glances at my bags, her mouth making an “oh.”
“Mmmkay. Well, all of your roommates have already settled in, so they’ll give you the rundown before you meet your RA at tomorrow’s house meeting. Oh! Almost forgot. A mug! Welcome to the Rock!”
I palm the black mug like a new bestowed heirloom, thumb tracing over the school logo.
“Thanks,” I mumble and head to the elevators.
Today is the last possible day to move into the dorm. Most kids moved in four days ago. It was still a question of whether I was going to go through with this crazy plan of mine. But here I am, practically vibrating with adrenaline. The elevator dings and I hold my breath up the six flights.
The moment I open the suite door, I’m accosted by a scent so strong it burns my eyes. Smoke billows out of the end of incense sticks tucked into a wooden holder sitting on the coffee table. Thumping music beats out of a shaky speaker behind one of the closed bedrooms. I set down my bags, taking a moment to appraise my new home. The small living room has two yellowish love seats forming an L shape, facing the tight kitchenette. I’ve never seen a fridge and oven that narrow before. And no dishwasher?
Across the room are four doors, two facing the others, with a small bathroom between them.
Just as I’m about to enter room A, the door to room B opens and out pops a tall brown-skinned beauty queen, her hair in a puff crown.
“Ahhhh! You’re here!” She spins around, tapping on the other doors before enveloping me in a tight hug. “Hey y’all! She’s here!”
I freeze under her touch, stunned by the immediate affection of this familiar stranger. I have to tell myself to breathe so I can hug her back as naturally as possible.
In seconds, the other doors swing open. Two girls let out giggly screams. One dark-skinned, short and curvy, the other thin with honey copper skin.
Principle number five: Smile.
I widen my grin and hit them with my best “Heyyyyy!”
I spent the summer reading How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie, hoping it would turn me into a chameleon, soften my metal bones. Because that’s how you make friends . . . you have to be likable.
I stopped being likable so long ago that I didn’t think I could do it again. But here I am, peppering them with compliments.
“Your room looks great! Oh, I love your room too. You’re so pretty!”
Principle number two: Give honest, sincere appreciation.
Not one lie told. Just me putting on a show.
“Okay, wait wait wait. We need names, y’all!” The beauty queen says, “Hi, I’m Vanessa.”
“Loren,” the skinny one says while wrapping her braid up in a bun.
“Kammy,” the curvy one sings, hair hidden under a purple bonnet. “And OMG, you’re so pretty too!”
“What’s that smell?” I ask. “I don’t recognize it.”
Vanessa beams. “Frankincense and myrrh. My brother told me it’s the best for working on good vibes.”
“Nice,” I say, trying to keep my voice lighthearted.
I’ve always had a hard time fitting in. But I have to try. The last thing I want is college to be another version of high school.
Vanessa plays with my hair. “We thought you were never coming!”
“Yeah, we’ve been waiting forever,” Kammy adds. “What took you so long?”
I let out a nervous giggle. “You know. . . . life be lifeing.”
“Facts,” Loren agrees, and I notice her thick New York accent.
“Okay. I have the BEST idea,” Kammy sings. “How about we pregame tonight before heading to that welcome party.”
“Ooo, I love that!” Loren agrees.
“Aye, hold up,” Vanessa laughs. “Let’s let our girl get settled first. While she doing that, what am I going to wear!”
They file into Vanessa’s room, rummaging through her closet that almost seems to be busting at the seams.
I step aside with a smile and dig the key into the door of my new room. The space is narrow, with dark gray carpet and one long window that faces the front, so you can look down into the courtyard. The standard-issue wooden desk and twin bed look like they’ve been through a war or two and Vanessa’s incense does little to fix the dank scent. But it’s home and it’s mine.
I push my suitcases by the closet, open my phone, and text the parent chat.
Hi! Made it.
I slump on the unmade bed, noting how hard the mattress is, and wait. And wait. But there’s nothing. I know they’re not busy. It’s Saturday. All they’re doing is sitting in the den, watching golf or some documentary on PBS, phones within reach on the marble side table next to their lukewarm coffees. Black with three sugars. Probably already made their dinner reservation at the country club. No one knows my parents better than I do. Wish they could say the same about me.
Mom and I talked about decorating my dorm room for over a year. We wanted to raise the bed, string Christmas lights on the walls, hang pink curtains to match some throw pillows, maybe even add a furry rug. Now, the sight of the bed reminds me that I forgot to pack sheets. Not that I had much room for decor in my suitcase.
I open my backpack, taking out my laptop, chargers, and the few books I could fit. I clutch my journal, flipping through the last few pages. On the train ride, I managed to work on another short story. It helped the time pass, the longing and uncertainty fading. When I’m caught up in a story, I can ignore the world around me.
“I’m here, Kev,” I whisper aloud. “I’m actually here.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I scramble to snatch it up. It’s a message from Dad. A thumbs-up response to my text. I swallow the bitter disappointment with my head held high, as if they were here, watching me. I refuse to let them see me cry.
The Scammer, by Tiffany D. Jackson. Copyright © 2025 by Tiffany D. Jackson. To be published on October 7, 2025, by Quill Tree Books, an imprint of HarperCollins. Reprinted by permission.
The Scammer, by Tiffany D. Jackson will be released on October 7, 2025 by Quill Tree Books. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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