I was throwing out my crappy old photos when I found this one. It’s the day you broke your knee doing the triple-double or whatever your dad called it. I debated giving it to you, since that’s kind of messed up of me to remind you of that day. Then I realized that I’ve done a lot of messed up things recently.
I’m sorry that I wasn’t more supportive when you said you were going back to gymnastics. I was always jealous. You had this world that I didn’t get, and you were so good at it. Look at you in this photo–you’re untouchable. When you started hanging out with Marcos, I felt the same way. Once again, you were joining a new world without me.
That doesn’t excuse anything that I’ve done. But maybe it is a bit of an explanation.
I wouldn’t trade any of our memories. Not for Juliana, or art school, or any stupid person from the summer.
I hope you can forgive me someday.
Love,
Cass
“You ready?” says Marcos, leaning against the next locker in his own Ponquogue Varsity Track and Field maroon-and-white jersey.
“Matching? For real? You guys are gonna make me puke,” Andreas calls as he bounds past.
“The only people that will be puking will be Southampton when we beat them,” I say.
He high-fives me. “Damn straight!”
I see Cassie behind him. She stands still as the crowd bucks around her, looking straight at me. Even from here, I know she’s cracking her knuckles.
The girl in the photo does not know what will happen in the next moment. She doesn’t know that when she lands, everything changes.
I smile at Cassie. Not a large smile that says, Everything’s great and I forgive you. Because it’s not and I haven’t. But a smaller one that acknowledges that I read her letter and that maybe there’s hope for both of those things someday.
“I am,” I say to Marcos, and looping my arm through his, we make our way into the crowd.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
One of my writing mentors, Roger Rosenblatt, started class by writing a W.B. Yeats quote on the board: “A line will take us hours maybe; yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought, our stitching and unstitching has been naught.”
Thank you to everyone who helped me stitch and unstitch this story. To Danielle Ellison, editor extraordinaire, who plucked this book out of Pitch Wars and who has tirelessly helped me find the heart of it. To the team at Spencer Hill–especially Traci Inzitari, Britta Gigliotti, Harmony Beaufort and everyone else– for their help in making this book shine. To Jenny Perinovic for the gorgeous layout. Publishing’s quite the ride, and I’m so grateful for having Tina Wexler and Lyndsay Hemphill guide me on the way. Also, a shout-out to Dahlia Adler, who read an early version and encouraged me to keep going.
To my writing teachers, especially Victoria Boynton, David Franke, and Roger Rosenblatt, for their unflagging support. Everyone should be lucky enough to have teachers like you. To Susan Scarf Merrell, who happily answered my publishing questions. To all of my coaches throughout the years who cheered me on, tossed me into the air, and caught me on the way down.
To my parents, who attended every gymnastics competition and didn’t bat an eye when I decided to major in writing. Thank you for always encouraging me to pursue what I love. To my brothers, who keep me from taking anything too seriously.
To Lena, best friend and query queen. I might not have written fiction without you, and I definitely wouldn’t have started gymnastics if you didn’t make me watch the 1996 Olympic beam finals with you.
To Flo, who has read this story almost as many times as I have, analyzed Make It or Break It episodes with me, and reignited my love of YA fiction.
To Tony, who has been there since the first draft with ice cream, chai, and support in spades.
To Alex and Ali for the popcorn, LOTR marathons, adventures in the Qrypt, and general awesomeness. Team 150 all the way!
To Beth, who inspired the opening chapter, and Regina, who filled me in on the details of CPEP. To Katrina, Neely, and Goldy for the humor, emails, and enthusiasm.
To the girls I coach, who make me laugh every day and who may see pieces of themselves in Savannah’s story. I know you’ll always find a way to land on your feet.