This is my fight song.
And yet, there’s so much more to the story of this book, and this series. I wrote the first draft of Shalia’s story when I was sixteen. It took me fourteen more years to learn how to tell her story the way it needed to be told—and I can’t even express how many false starts and dead novels lie strewn in the wake of this final version. I mean, the first draft was handwritten across two composition notebooks. COMPOSITION NOTEBOOKS. I think one has my history notes from high school and plans to go to a party in my freshman year of college in the margins.
And now you’re reading this in the back of a published novel. So for writers everywhere, never give up on a story that you want to tell. You may not know how to tell it just yet, but don’t ever believe that you don’t know how to tell it period. We learn craft and practice our skills to get better at this.
For myself, for many reasons and in many ways, I will always need reminding that my pen—and my heart—will never fail me. And this book is a testament to that.
But I didn’t get here through force of will alone. So here is a paltry list:
To Mary Kate, thank you for never once making me feel like I was taking too long. Thank you for sending Word docs so that I could zoom in on the font and actually see things. Thank you for continuing to ask for excellence when it would have been so much easier to settle for less—not only did it, of course, serve the story, but it also reminded me what I was capable of producing. Thank you for believing in this book, but more than that, thank you for believing in me.
To Minju, thank you for being my incredible, dedicated agent—you are a tough-as-nails champion and a badass crusader, but you’re also a loving and supportive friend. Your thoughtfulness and care have meant so much to me—thank you.
To the whole team at Bloomsbury that has had my back from day one, I can’t believe the level of love and support you’ve shown for me and this book. Lizzy Mason, Courtney Griffin, Emily Ritter, Erica Barmash, Beth Eller, Melissa Kavonic, Oona Patrick, Pat McHugh, Christine Ma, Claire Stetzer, Charlotte Davis, Cristina Gilbert, Cindy Loh, and Donna Mark—you are the ultimate dream team. Thank you for making this beautiful baby a reality.
To the fans and bloggers who have been so excited for this book despite the long wait, your cheerleading helped me every step of the way. I’m looking at you, What Sarah Read, Melissa Lee, Andi’s ABCs, Gail Yates, Mundie Moms, Gaby Salpeter, Jenuine Cupcakes, the Irish Banana Review … there are so many, many more. Thank you.
The funny thing about grappling with debilitating illness is that, while making me feel the most incredibly vulnerable I’ve ever felt—because I really do not like accepting help from others, and the need to do so was problematic at best and humiliating at worst—it also taught me how many people love and care for me. It’s no coincidence that this book is all about the families you’re born into and the families you make and choose.
To Annie Cardi, Tara Sullivan, and Katie Slivensky, you guys are just supposed to be my critique group. Where do you get off being some of the truest friends, confidantes, secret-keepers, and bitchfest arbiters I’ve ever met? Thank you for all the rides, all the love, and especially for my stuffed dragon to keep the other dragons out of my eyes. And of course, for getting this book shipshape. I literally don’t know how I did this stuff before you guys came along.
To the Apocalypsies, the Class of 2k12, and the other authors, writers, and bookish people I have met along the way whom I now have the extreme privilege of calling dear friends, thank you for being excellent and inspiring more beautiful stories in your wake. Tiffany Schmidt; Diana Renn; Erin Cashman, Bowman, and Dionne (dude, there are a LOT of Erins I like); Gina Rosati; Sarah Aronson; Elly Swartz; Emery Lord; Trish Doller; and Cristin Bishara—thank you all for keeping my hope and my heart up.
To Nacie and Renee, my sisters from other misters (hi, Mr. C and Mr. D!), thank you for sitting with me and checking up on me and agreeing to eat no more ice cream with me when I gave up all sugar for eight months—it is so not easy to change up a friendship routine (especially involving sugar), but you never missed a beat. Seriously, that’s love.
To Leah, Iggy, Ashley, Alex, Jenna, Emily, Nora, Robin, Andrea, and Beth, illness makes me a bad friend, and none of you cared. Thank you—that kindness and generosity is such a gift.
Holly, thank you for being my sounding board. Caitlin, Tyme, Leigh, Jo, Emily, thank you for the special brand of AIE love.
To Steve, Aysha, and Juliet, I was such a crappy employee for several months, and instead you made me feel like a fighter. Thank you for teaching me the meaning of a team—and thank you for reminding me that art is in fact the language of hope.
To the Girl Scouts, especially Liz, Lori, Emma, Jen, Christine, Sheila, Joan, Dianne, Danielle, Amy, all of Waltham—but really everyone because, seriously, what a team—thank you for taking me in and making me one of your own.
To Dr. Mark Dacey, Jen, Julie, and all of the incredible team at Eye Health Services, thank you for giving me my eyes back. Thank you for your expert care, your attentive concern, and your kindness. You are the closest I’ve ever come to miracle workers.
To Dr. Choong, thank you for answering my crazy e-mails and phone calls and helping me figure out diabetes when I had forgotten how to be diabetic. Your daily, excellent care is above and beyond, and I will be forever grateful.
To Mom and Dad—I am so sorry I scared the crap out of you. I know it’s not easy to see your child struggle like that, but you each showed me in different ways that it’s really okay for a thirty-year-old to need her mom and dad. Thank you, Mom, for literally caring for me for weeks, but also for reminding me how to do this whole diabetes thing and that I am perfectly capable of controlling this disease. Dad, thank you for making sure I never worried about anything other than being healthy—that was and is an incredible gift.