Me? A Republican? I imagined my mother’s head actually exploding. My face started to get red, and Albie turned toward me. His face had no expression, but I saw a flicker of something in his eyebrows. Fear? Was he afraid of me? No one had ever been afraid of me before, physically, at least. I felt like I had walked into a totally new dimension. Toby stood up and got in between us, which almost made me laugh, because it was like, What? Are we going to rumble?
“Is it horrified in here, or is it just me?” asked Toby. “Okay. Boys, here’s what we’re going to do.” He walked over to Albie and put his hand on his shoulder. “You. Are going to stop being defensive to somebody who totally didn’t deserve it.”
Albie shrugged his shoulder away for a quick moment, and then relented. He nodded.
Then Toby walked over to me. He was extremely skinny, and his spiky hair was platinum in places. If this were Boulder, he’d definitely be a gay kid. But, then again, who was I to label?
“And you. You’re going to take back your militia comment and never say anything negative again about that awesome poster, which happens to be for the coolest show in the history of television.”
“Survival Planet? Never heard of it.”
“Now that’s something we can help you with,” Toby said, squeezing my shoulder, and I blushed. Yes, possibly gay. And so, so not my type.
I took a deep breath before answering. “I’d watch,” I said. “Always up for something new.”
I looked over at Albie. He had paused in his unpacking and was just standing still, looking out the window. He looked sad. I thought about what I had said, calling him a dork. That was so not part of my plan when it came to the first conversation with my new roommate.
“Hey, Albie,” I said, “I should not have called you a dork. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I didn’t mean it. I have Tourette’s.”
He looked over at me and rolled his eyes. “If you have Tourette’s, then you did mean it. You just lacked the ability to filter your thoughts.”
Now I had to laugh. “C’mon, dude. You’re making it hard to take back the dork comment,” I said. His face fell, so I walked over and tapped him on the shoulder with my fist. “I’m kidding, kidding. God, sensitive.”
He seemed to ponder this for a moment. And then he shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. Start again?”
I grinned. “Sure.”
He frowned, put his hands over his face, and then removed them to display a smile.
“Hi, you must be Rafe, my athletic new roommate.”
I shook his hand. “And you must be Albie, my unorganized new roommate.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I don’t feel the urge to clean up this horrendous mess at all. And, by the way, great poster. I love that show,” I said.
“Let’s go play some sports,” said he.
“Now that’s much better” was Toby’s response.
Albie went back to unpacking, and I lay down on my bed, a respite from the calamity that was the rest of our room. I wondered whether we’d work as roommates. On the plus side, they were both kinda funny. On the negative — well, why focus there, right?
“Shit, the lightbulb is dead,” Albie said, switching his desk lamp on and off.
Toby put his head in his hands and pretended to sob lightly. “O bulb! We hardly knew ye,” he said.
Ah, yes. The negative.
Once upon a time, I set about trying to write a novel based on a young person who had been kicked out of his home for being gay. It was based on the painful, true story of a fan, and watching it happen to him touched me profoundly, as did his resilience in the face of adversity.
I followed the path where it led me, and this is that novel. Except it’s not at all about a kid who was kicked out of his home, and Jordan, initially based on Reagan Stanley, has a totally different home life. I am not sure I’ll ever be able to explain how The Music of What Happens came about, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t start by thanking Reagan, who is brave, and who is special, and who told me about throwing dreams (in balloons, not condoms) and who says stuff like “Sweet Gay Jesus.”
I also must thank my editor, Nick Thomas, who guided me as this book came together, and also Cheryl Klein, who was there at the start when I was figuring this story out. I have learned so much from both of you and I am grateful for all of it.
Oh yeah, and Linda Epstein! My agent. Who is hardly an “Oh yeah” in my life, but she will understand why I say that. Sorry and love you and thank you for your support.
Thanks to my Scholastic family. You folks have been so good to me, and I love working with you. A special shout-out to Arthur A. Levine. Thank you for your friendship and thank you for, well, my career.
To my husband, Chuck: You and I will float around on a soft, cushy, flying rug for eternity. I’d say I’m looking forward to that, but we’re already there. Thanks for making my life so cozy. Thank you to my mother, Shelley; my father, Bob; my sister, Pam; my brother, Dan. You are my family, and I know that sounds like I’m saying the obvious, but I mean it in the greater sense. You are my people. I love you.
Karen and Sam: You have become my family too! I adore you.
Thanks to the amazing Doug Bland for reciting a Seamus Heaney poem over dinner one night. The last words of the poem became the title, and really it transformed the story too, bringing poetry into the fold.
Thank you to my readers: Lisa McMann, Kameron-with-a-K-Martinez, Josh Horton, Laurie Halse Anderson, and Joseph Chavez.
Gratitude to Staci Edwards, who allowed me to watch her draw, so that I could understand how that happens.
Much appreciation to Jonathan Willis from Traveling Cup, Mike Baum from Paradise Melts Food Truck, and Robert Coleman from Circle R Farm Food Truck, for letting me hang out and find out what it’s like on a food truck in the summer in Arizona. Toasty! I appreciate you answering all my stupid questions.
Anthony Celaya at Dobson High School: Thanks for letting me hang out in your classroom and pick up on the vibe of your students. “This I Believe” comes from you.
And never least, to my friends at The Mankind Project, particularly Steve Murphy, Steve Harrison, and Rick Isenberg, thanks for continued support and teaching me about men’s work.
Bill Konigsberg is the author of four books for young adults, which have won honors including the Stonewall Book Award, the Sid Fleischman Award for Humor, the Lambda Literary Award, and the PEN Center USA Literary Award. Bill lives in Chandler, Arizona, with his husband, Chuck, and their two labradoodles, Mabel and Buford. Please visit him online at billkonigsberg.com and @billkonigsberg.