“Well.” He cleared his throat. “That’s settled, then.”
For the longest time we stood in the street, grinning stupidly at each other, the fresh wind off the sea flapping our clothes. I slid my hand out of his and started walking, along the boardwalk that led past the warehouses to the maze of docks. Markos strolled beside me, close enough that his sleeve brushed mine.
“So, do you have any ideas about what we can do with a cutter?” he asked.
We rounded the corner of the warehouse. “I don’t—”
I halted halfway through my sentence. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. It was like being shot with a flintlock pistol all over again. It was like being punched in the heart.
“What?” Markos said, distantly. But I barely heard him.
Everything had stopped. I was mesmerized by the crisp edges of her bundled-up sails, standing against the blue sky. Her wood and paint shone. Her rigging and stays were all delicacy and grace. The curve of her hull, the shape of her overlapping planks, seemed to me just about perfect. But it was somehow more than that. I felt her essence.
A surge of thrilling music went through me. And I smiled.
Because that’s when I saw Vix.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I began writing this story, I had a feeling it was the one. I was right, but nevertheless it’s been a long four years from that first draft to this book. The biggest thanks are due to my agent, Susan Hawk, for her enthusiastic support of this book. Thank you to my editor, Cat Onder, who read this manuscript three days after it was submitted. I like to think that means it went to the editor who loved it most. Also a huge thank-you to all the amazing people at both Bloomsbury and the Bent Agency.
Thank you to my friends and family, who were subjected to long monologues about publishing that probably weren’t very interesting—and extra special thanks to those of you who read early versions of the book. Shout-out to NBA Twitter, an A+ group of people whose unbridled enthusiasm for my writing during my blogging days gave me the confidence to finally go for it. It may seem weird, but it turns out there’s actually some overlap between YA readers and basketball fans—thanks to all you Twitter friends who were some of the earliest readers of this book! A particular thank-you to Laura Walker and Sarah Moon, the founding members of Team Book in the World. Without Laura cheering me on as my very first beta reader, I don’t know if I would’ve made it all the way to the end of draft two. Guys! Look! It’s a book! In the world!
It’s funny how things work out. I just realized I have to thank Chris Paul. If you hadn’t left New Orleans, I probably would never have quit blogging. In a bizarre way, this book exists because of you.
Thank you to my dad, who inspired a lifelong love of fantasy by reading The Hobbit out loud to me when I was little. (Someday I’ll write a Swords and Horses one.) To my mom, who, when this book was out on submission, told me to visualize my dream book deal and say, “Things are always working out for me.” They did work out! To my brother, Bryan, for spotting all the geeky references in the book.
Thank you to Michael, my sweetie, especially for all the weeks when I was on deadline during revisions and completely ignored him. Somehow the house didn’t become buried in trash and dishes, and all the cats survived, and I am pretty sure those things had nothing to do with me. I love you!
This book is dedicated to the memory of my grandmother, Barbara Proops, who never laughed when eight-year-old me said I was going to be a writer. I’m glad I was able to call her and say I’d sold my book. Unfortunately she never got to read it.
And finally, this book would not exist without Arthur Ransome’s Swallows and Amazons books and Stan Rogers’s music. To go forward, sometimes you have to go back. I went back to the folk songs and the sailing adventures I loved, the ones that inspired a girl with dreams of being a pirate. The girl grew up and the dreams turned into this book.