She did it again. And by she, I mean J.E. Thomas, the author of “Control Freaks.” She is returning this summer with her second middle-grade novel, “The AI Incident,” publishing July 8, 2025, from Levine Querido. Already generating buzz among booksellers, educators, and librarians, the book is a thoughtful, character-driven exploration of artificial intelligence (AI), identity, and what it means to belong.
Thomas’s debut, “Control Freaks,” was a breakout success. It was named a 2023 “Best of the Best” by the Black Caucus of the American Library Association; selected as a People Magazine Summer Must-Read; and received glowing reviews from Booklist, Publishers Weekly, Kirkus, Horn Book, and SLJ.
In “The AI Incident,” Thomas turns her sharp eye and signature humor on the ethical and emotional impact of emerging technology. At the center of the story is Malcolm, an African American foster kid with a dry wit and a quiet yearning for connection. As he navigates a new school and new friendships, Malcolm becomes entangled in a mystery that challenges him to define right and wrong — not just for himself, but in a world where the line between human and machine is rapidly shifting.
Raised near Colorado’s Front Range mountains, Thomas grew up devouring books each summer from her local library. She holds degrees in mass communications and political science, along with a master’s in public communications — backgrounds that inform her layered, socially conscious storytelling. “The AI Incident” is available for preorder wherever books are sold.
Here is an exclusive excerpt from “The AI Incident,” offering a glimpse into Malcolm’s voice and the provocative moral landscape of the novel.
Excerpted from “The AI Incident,” by J.E. Thomas. Levine Querido, 2025. Reprinted with permission.
Here are the facts: THE INCIDENT started at Shirley Chisholm Charter Middle School on the last Monday in August, which was also the second week of the new school year.
It was Visiting Professionals Day at Shirley Double-C. Cars, trucks, and one large white van parked bumper-to-bumper in front of the average, unassuming, three-story brick building located in the heart of an average, unassuming neighborhood in northeast Denver, Colorado.
Fourteen of the fifteen students in Mr. Pearson’s Seventh Grade Section C Homeroom swarmed inside like honeybees when their teacher unlocked the door.
Faster was better and fastest was best because Section C had four long tables instead of desks. Each table had four orange plastic chairs. There was plenty of room for everyone — but until class started, the first row was the place to be. Lucky students snagged chairs. The rest plopped on the table or sprawled on the floor nearby.
Malcolm Montgomery didn’t surge in with the others.
He was a quiet, skinny kid with sandy brown skin, furrowed brows, a nervous gut, and an Afro that was a size-and-a-half too big for his head.
If there were a prize for being unlucky, Malcolm would’ve won it.
His parents died in a car accident when he was a baby. He didn’t have other relatives, so he’d bounced around in foster care. He’d lived in infant nurseries, group centers, and nine different foster homes — but up until now nobody had thought he was special. Until he cracked the adoption code, he was just a regular boy with anxious burps and twitchy feet.
“Hey, New Kid!” Kevin Eiffel’s voice soared above the rowdy first-row chatter.
He stabbed a finger at Malcolm. He didn’t have to point. Malcolm had only moved to this part of town a few weeks ago. No one knew him here except his caseworker, Mr. Ahmed, and his latest foster mom: a grumpy, divorced woman named Mrs. Bettye.
“Rumor is you think you’re a comedian,” Kevin said. His long, narrow face twisted into a smirk.
“Tell a joke.”
Malcolm’s stomach rumbled. THIS was what he got for double-checking his How to Get Adopted checklist in science class last week. Kevin spied the box about becoming a joke master before he could shove the sheet away.
“Uhhhh … Malcolm shifted his weight. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right. “Why did the vegetables … I mean, the crow stand … er, the statue …”
Jade Grint whirled in her chair, blond hair flying. “Speed up, dude! Even my grandma knows that joke. It’s all over the internet.”
She tossed her head. An apricot-colored birthmark peeked through her bangs.
“Why did the scarecrow win a prize? Because it was ‘outstanding’ in its field. Duh!” She made air quotes around outstanding and said it like two words: out and standing.
Ohhh. Now Malcolm got it. Hard things always seemed easy when someone else did them. He shoved his hands in the pockets of the ratty blue hoodie he’d worn since fifth grade.
“He’s in my PE class,” Jade announced. “He’s not funny.” Then she caught him staring at her birthmark and narrowed her eyes.
Malcolm gulped. Staring was rude, yeah … but sometimes it was too hard not to. The birthmark looked like a tiny baby footprint smack in the middle of her forehead.
Jade brushed her bangs over her birthmark and growled.
Malcolm looked away fast. There were two Grints at Shirley Double-C. Jade was supposed to be the good twin.
“It’s funny that he thinks he’s funny,” Ainsley Canady said.
Ainsley flicked waist-length locs over her shoulder. Her hair tangled with Jade’s. Black strands mixed with blond. Both girls giggled. They whispered something in secret girl code then swung their heads in circles, whipping their hair around like Ferris wheels.
Malcolm felt the part of his brain that was supposed to understand stuff like this switch off. The other part — the part he was sure was his prefrontal lobe, because the internet said prefrontal lobes controlled planning and logical thinking — kept tick-tick-ticking away.
Ever since he’d found an article called Lucky Foster Kid Gets Forever Home on a library computer, Malcolm’s prefrontal lobe had been obsessed — O-B-S-E-S-S-E-D! — with figuring out how to earn a family.
He scoured the internet whenever he could borrow a laptop.
He took notes.
He wrote plans.
He made a checklist.
And he set a deadline. A big deadline! A deadline that was deadlining soon!
His research said it was almost impossible for teenagers to get adopted (that turned up again and again) and that it could take six months to finalize adoption paperwork. So Malcolm needed his forever parents by the time he turned twelve-and-a-half. Which was In. Two. Months!
Not a lot of time. Especially when he was a …
“New Kid!” Kevin bellowed. He hopped on a chair. “Where’s my joke?”
#9 on the checklist: Get along with everybody. Great …
“NEW KID!”