The story of Simon and Caroline began somewhere back in 2009. I was a part of this wonderful community of writers and readers and reviewers and all around crazy-town sillies called Twilight Fan Fiction. Some of you readers have been around since then; some came on board well after I had left that particular station. I mention it here because, as I sit at my desk putting the finishing touches on Last Call, I know in my heart that it was this very community that put me on the path I’m on today.
I was asked in an interview once which book changed my life. Remember that Friends episode when the girls were against the boys in a contest to prove who knew whom best? The question was “What does Rachel say is her favorite movie?” The answer given, “Dangerous Liaisons.” A follow-up question: “What is her actual favorite movie?” “Weekend at Bernie’s.”
So, Alice Clayton. Which book changed your life? Officially, I felt as though I should answer something very meaningful and smartypants. Something that would illuminate my inner spirit and show me to be some kind of incredibly enlightened literati. But the truth is, Twilight is a great fucking book. And it really did change my life. If the question had been “What’s your favorite book?” it would be The Stand by Stephen King. Love it. Reread it every single year. But it didn’t change my life, and Twilight, oddly enough, did.
When I found this fan-fiction community, it let me get my fix of Edward, sure. But it also opened my eyes to the idea that I might be able to tell a story. Build my own world, tell some silly tales, indulge my inner dirty birdie. And I had a blast doing it. I met people who have become my very best friends. But what it really did, in a much broader context, was allow me to tap into a creative side of my brain that had been silenced for years. It encouraged me to let my silly out, let my crazy flow, and let me rediscover Insane Alice. And it’s been the best time of my entire life.
Wallbanger has been translated and published in countries around the world. I’m headed overseas in a few weeks, and I’m lucky enough to be signing books in Prague, people—in F’ING PRAGUE! A city I have been dreaming of visiting since I can remember. And I’ve just started work on a brand-new series, more of that silly/steamy, funny/smexy stuff that I just can’t get out of my head. Stay tuned, chickens; we’re going to some new naked places. And I can’t wait.
So now I sit, tying up the last little bit of this story, one that began so long ago in chat rooms and blinkie banners. And I’m a little sad. I’m a lot grateful. And I’m intensely excited for the next chapter of this extraordinary life I’m now living.
And it all started with a teenage girl in a hoodie and a 107-year-old virgin vampire.
Thanks.
Alice
xoxo
prologue
A starry night.
A lady in white.
A shoe full of fright.
This is the beginning of the end of this love story. Where girls are beautiful and boys are handsome and cats are rock stars. Where friendships endure and relationships mature. Skirts are flippy and emotions are trippy and everyone gets a happy ending . . . don’t they?
Zoom in on happy couples. Zoom in on love everlasting. Zoom in on a chapel.
This is the way the story ends.
This is the way the story ends.
This is the way the story ends.
Not with a whimper, but with a bang.
chapter one
“This is bad. This is so bad.”
“It’s okay, we can . . . wow, it really got everywhere, didn’t it?” I said.
“This is bad. This is so bad,” Sophia repeated.
“Just get me some paper towels, I can try and wash this off . . . Christ, that’s disgusting.”
“This is bad. This is so bad.”
I stomped my feet in protest. “Will you stop saying that? We have to fix this before—shit.”
Mimi had just arrived.
“What the hell is on my wedding dress?”
The fastest way to get demoted from bridesmaid to dishonored guest is to vomit on the bride’s wedding gown. But if you do ever vomit on a wedding gown, make sure the bride is the perfect mix of anal-retentive, hyper planner, and fairy-tale whimsical.
Mimi was a type A personality with a side of Disney. Which meant she couldn’t decide on one wedding gown, so she had two. Custom made. One for the ceremony, one for the reception. So when one was defiled by semidigested corn flakes, and I mean defiled, she went into crisis-averting mode and immediately pronounced herself a genius for having the foresight to purchase two gowns. Reception gown became main event gown, and all was peaceful in the land of tulle and lace.
Until we realized that there were also semidigested corn flakes splattered across her Jimmy Choo bridal shoes. And maybe a flake or two inside as well . . .
In the end, it was Sophia’s belly that saved her from being banished from the church. I held Mimi back, but barely. She was strong for only being ninety-eight pounds.