I knew Connor was teasing me, but it wasn’t mean. It wasn’t in the brotherly way Rush teased me either.
“I guess maybe one time,” I said, and it made Connor laugh. I told him about the house in the woods, the one where Enzo and I’d heard noises in the basement.
“You ever think of going back there? Finding out what it was?” he asked.
“Are you offering to go with me?”
“Sure. Why not?”
I thought about it for a minute. We could get in the car and go to the house and find out if there was really someone or something there. Maybe it was a monster. Maybe it was a serial killer. But maybe it was a bum, or a raccoon, or nothing at all.
“Nah,” I said finally. “It’s better if it’s a mystery.”
As long as something was a mystery, there was still the potential for amazement. Maybe that’s where I went wrong before. Some riddles weren’t meant be solved.
“Do you think there’s magic?” I asked Connor.
“Sure. I mean, not like wizards and crystal balls or anything. But I think there are things in the world that shouldn’t be able to happen but happen anyway.”
“Good.”
Connor grinned at me. I smiled back. He was my older brother’s friend. I was just a kid to him. Or maybe not.
We walked down the snowy street, sometimes talking and sometimes being quiet. Sometimes, our hands bumped together by accident, but neither of us moved away.
It was January, the beginning of a new year, and it felt like a fresh start. My life was changing, but for once, that was a good thing. I felt like I was seeing the world more clearly. I knew that even though someone seemed perfect, it didn’t mean they weren’t hurting inside. And that our lives are only as good as we make them. And that there probably weren’t any werewolves.
But it didn’t take a girl turning into a wolf to make the world magical. If I kept looking, I’d always find new and fascinating adventures.
And in the future, I wouldn’t jump to conclusions or share far-fetched theories without having supporting evidence. I’d think before I spoke. I’d look for magic but wouldn’t invent it. I would be smart. I would be logical. I would act like an adult.
At least, I would try to.
I’d give it a really good attempt.
Maybe. Probably.
Acknowledgments
Sometimes I wish I could be a hermit writer and live in a cabin in the woods with zero human contact. But the truth is, this book wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the help of so many amazing people.
This is the part where I get to gush about them.
Before I started querying, I had a list of “dream agents.” Suzie Townsend was at the top of it. Suzie, the reality of working with you is even better than I’d imagined. Thank you for your passion, your hard work, and for being my champion through every stage of this process. In addition, thank you to all the wonderful people at New Leaf Literary, with a special shout-out to Sara Stricker, Kathleen Ortiz, Mia Roman, Chris McEwen, Pouya Shahbazian, and Hilary Pecheone.
The brilliant insights of my editor, Annette Pollert-Morgan, have both improved this book and, as a whole, made me a better writer. Thank you for falling in love with Hawthorn and for being as excited to share her story as I am. And a huge thanks to the entire Sourcebooks team. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to work with such a warm, dedicated, enthusiastic group of people.
My local critique group, especially Aileen, Becky, Bill, Carlos, Chris H., Chris M., Elizabeth, JJ, Mary, Mandy, Paul, Rachel, and Raz. Not only have you helped me grow as a writer, you inspire me with your own stories every week. Thank you for Monday nights filled with shape-shifting starfish, human remains in bowling bags, singing cockroaches, and all sorts of other awesome weirdness.
The r/YAwriters crew: Alexa, Anna, Caitie, Greg, Jason, Jess, Jo, Josh, Katelyn, Katie, Kristine, Leann, Morgan, Phil, and Rachel. Thank you for feedback, for advice, for support, for laughter, for cogs, for The Line. I’d be lost without all of you.
Thank you to the Swanky Seventeen debut group. This publishing journey is so wonderfully bizarre, and I’m lucky to be on it with such kind, encouraging, and talented writers.
Joanna Farrow, a.k.a. the ghost in my attic, a.k.a. the first person not related to me who read this book. Thank you for your wisdom, for knowing when I need cookies, and for being so much more than just a critique partner.
Thank you to Dan O’Sullivan for spending hours talking writing with me and for reading and critiquing an early draft of this book. And for, along with Bobby Hicks, inadvertently giving me the idea for Hawthorn’s curses.