That's Not My Name

A New York Times and USA Today Bestseller!

She thought she had her life back. She was wrong. A gripping debut thriller perfect for fans of Natalie D. Richards and Vincent Ralph.

It was a mistake to trust him.

Shivering and bruised, a teen wakes up on the side of a dirt road with no memory of how she got there―or who she is. A passing officer takes her to the police station, and not long after, a frantic man arrives. He's been searching for her for hours. He has her school ID, her birth certificate, and even family photos.

He is her father. Her name is Mary. Or so he says.

When Lola slammed the car door and stormed off into the night, Drew thought they just needed some time to cool off. Except Lola disappeared, and the sheriff, his friends, and the whole town are convinced Drew murdered his girlfriend. Forget proving his innocence, he needs to find her before it's too late. The longer Lola is missing, the fewer leads there are to follow…and the more danger they both are in.

Megan Lally is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of That’s Not My Name. When she’s not writing dark and twisty young adult novels, you might find her barefoot at the ocean, drinking one too many lavender lattes, or arguing about the validity of glitter as a favorite color. (It’s absolutely a color, and it’s the best one.) She lives in the Pacific Northwest.

"Secrets. Lies. Betrayal. Get ready for a roller coaster ride where nothing is what it seems. That’s Not My Name begs to be read in a single adrenaline-fueled sitting." ― April Henry, New York Times bestselling author of Girl, Stolen and Two Truths and a Lie

"Tense, heart-wrenching, and addictive, Lally’s pulse-pounding debut is an exciting first entry for an author we should all be watching." ― Courtney Gould, author of The Dead and the Dark

"With her masterful use of carefully-placed details to build suspense, Lally asks: just because something is obvious, does that make it true?" ― Jessie Weaver, author of Live Your Best Lie

"A gripping, emotional page-turner with an undeniable tenderness at its center. Megan Lally’s writing is sharp and wholly immersive, with a keen eye for detail and a sly sense of humor. This book will leave you breathless." ― Rachel Lynn Solomon, bestselling author of Today Tonight Tomorrow

"A thrilling delight right up to the unexpected and bittersweet conclusion." ― Kirkus

That’s Not My Name by Megan Lally is a tense, emotionally charged YA thriller that drops you straight into the horror of waking up with no memory and realizing your entire identity might be a lie. The story follows a teenage girl who opens her eyes in a hospital with bruises on her body, injuries that suggest she’s survived something violent, and absolutely no idea who she is. Everyone around her insists she’s named Lucy, a girl who went missing under mysterious circumstances. The staff, the police, and especially the boy at her bedside—who says he’s her boyfriend, Evan—all treat her as if she’s finally been found. But as she begins to interact with Evan and hear about “their” relationship, something inside her won’t settle. The life being described doesn’t feel like hers. The name Lucy doesn’t sit right. And instead of the comfort she should feel at being claimed, she feels a cold, creeping wrongness: this might not be her name, and this might not be her life.

From the start, the girl—who’s forced to answer to Lucy—feels trapped between gratitude and unease. Evan is attentive and protective, telling her about places they went, friends they had, plans they made. He brings her little pieces of “their” history in the hope that her memory will come back. Everyone praises him for staying so devoted after her disappearance, and it’s easy from the outside to see him as the perfect, loyal boyfriend. But from her perspective, his devotion feels almost too intense, too controlling. He knows everything about Lucy, and she knows nothing—not even whether she really is Lucy. She’s desperate for answers yet terrified of what remembering might reveal. When she tries to voice doubt about her identity, she’s brushed off as confused and fragile. The doctors tell her amnesia can make things feel strange. Evan insists that she just needs time. The more they reassure her, the more suffocated she feels.

As she leaves the hospital and goes “home” with Evan and his family, the tension thickens. She’s placed back into Lucy’s world—Lucy’s bedroom, Lucy’s clothes, Lucy’s routines. There are photos on the wall, memories in frames, traces of a girl she’s supposed to be. She recognizes none of it. Even her body feels unfamiliar. She doesn’t remember the people who hug her and cry with relief. She doesn’t remember Lucy’s favorite music, Lucy’s friendships, Lucy’s secrets. Everything around her seems carefully constructed to fit a story she can’t connect with. Megan Lally does a sharp job of capturing that alien feeling: the idea of living inside someone else’s life like a stranger wearing their skin. Every object becomes another reminder that she’s expected to “slide back” into an identity she can’t claim.

Evan’s behavior becomes more unsettling as the days pass. He keeps close watch over her, deciding what’s best, speaking for her, and subtly blocking outside influences that might complicate his narrative. He’s charming when he wants to be, fragile and wounded when she pulls away, but there are flashes of possessiveness and anger that put her on edge. She starts to notice how often he answers questions on her behalf, how he bristles when she doubts him, how he seems to have an explanation ready for every inconsistency. At times, he’s gentle and patient; at other times, his attention feels like a cage. The book builds a creeping sense that he needs her to be Lucy as much as, or more than, he cares about her actual well-being. The question buried at the heart of the story is chilling: is he lying, or does he believe his own version of events so completely that reality doesn’t matter?

Meanwhile, the girl’s body and mind begin throwing up their own clues. She experiences fragmented flashbacks—sensations, images, flashes of fear—that don’t quite match the life Evan describes. Certain things trigger intense emotional reactions she can’t explain: a particular smell, a location, a voice, the way someone touches her arm. Sometimes she’s pulled into brief, terrifying memory jolts that hint at violence or captivity. The narrative taps into the anxiety of trauma: memory is slow to return and comes in jagged pieces, making it hard for her to know what’s true and what might be her brain trying to fill in gaps. She feels unsafe in ways she can’t logically defend, and because everyone around her sees Evan as her devoted savior, she worries that her instincts will be dismissed as paranoia.

The title That’s Not My Name reflects more than just the mystery of her identity. It captures the emotional struggle of being told who you are by other people, and how that can erase your sense of self. Throughout the book, she struggles to claim her own voice. Every authority—medical staff, police, friends, Evan’s family—has already decided she is Lucy, and they treat her confusion as a symptom, not a potential clue. She’s expected to be grateful and cooperative, to try hard to remember, to settle back into a life that has been waiting for her. Rejecting that identity feels like betraying the people who are relieved to have “Lucy” back. Accepting it feels like betraying herself, even if she doesn’t yet know who that self is. The tension between external expectations and internal truth keeps her psychologically trapped.

As she slowly begins to connect with other people and information outside Evan’s tight circle, cracks appear in the story she’s been given. Details about Lucy’s disappearance, about the search, about how Evan acted while she was gone, don’t line up perfectly. There are hints that Lucy’s relationships were more complicated than anyone admits, and that danger might have been close to home. At the same time, she becomes more determined to piece together whatever she can from her fragmented mind. She starts quietly questioning, listening, and observing, even as she pretends to be more compliant than she really is. This inner resistance becomes a crucial part of her survival: even when she’s terrified, she refuses to fully surrender to the role others have pushed onto her.

The suspense grows as her private doubts turn into more concrete suspicions. Little discoveries—about Lucy’s habits, Lucy’s digital footprint, Lucy’s social connections—suggest that not all truths are being told. The girl begins to suspect that someone has a very strong motive for keeping her locked into this one identity, whether or not it’s correct. Megan Lally keeps the reader close to the protagonist’s fear and confusion, making you feel how psychologically exhausting it is to second-guess your own mind while also suspecting everyone around you. You’re constantly wondering: is she misreading things because of trauma, or is she the only one seeing what’s really going on?

The emotional core of the book lies in her fight to reclaim her selfhood. At first, that fight is quiet—just a refusal, internally, to accept “Lucy” as the full story. As the stakes rise and the truth grows more dangerous, that fight becomes more active. She has to risk being disbelieved, risk angering people who hold power over her, and risk losing the fragile safety she has in order to pursue what feels right. Her journey is about more than solving a mystery; it’s about learning to trust her instincts in a world where everyone insists they know her better than she knows herself. The more she uncovers, the more she understands that survival will depend on choosing her own identity instead of allowing it to be chosen for her.

By the end of That’s Not My Name the mystery of who she is—and what really happened to Lucy—comes to a head in a way that’s both suspenseful and emotionally painful. Revelations force everyone’s hand, exposing lies, obsessions, and the ugly side of “love” when it turns into ownership. The book doesn’t just deliver a twisty plot; it leaves a lingering impression about how vulnerable we are when our sense of self is shaken, and how dangerous it can be when someone else insists on defining our reality for us. Through this girl’s story, Megan Lally offers a gripping tale of identity, trauma, and control, wrapped in the tight, eerie tension of wondering whether the name everyone uses for you is the one that truly belongs to you.