She's So Dead to Us (32 page)

I thought back to how hopeful I’d been when I’d agreed to go to the shore—all the things I’d imagined me and Jake doing together—and felt like a total idiot. Had he known then? On his birthday, when we’d first kissed? Had he already been lying to me? Tears of shame and misery and self-loathing stung my eyes. If I could go back, if I could rewind to the beginning of the year, I would have changed everything. Every. Last. Thing.

Gray turned into the entrance to the OVC, his headlights flashing on the elaborate wooden signage. I felt a practically primal need to be home right then. To be inside, in my sweats, under the covers, curled into a ball. To shut off my brain and be left alone for days and days and days.

“It’s gonna be okay, Al,” my mom said. “We’re gonna figure this out.”

Gray turned onto our street, his headlights flashing on the identical steps leading up to the identical doors of the identical condos. My heart caught when I saw that someone was sitting on the bottom step in front of ours. Had Jake made it here before us somehow? What could he possibly think he could say that was going to make this better?

“Oh my God,” my mother said, her voice strained.

And that was when I realized that the person on the stairs was not wearing a suit and tie. He was not tall and lean and square shouldered. He was not a person I ever would have expected to see right there, right then.

It was my father.

First and foremost I’d like to thank Emily Meehan for believing in this project from the beginning, and for believing in me for me. I’d also like to thank Sarah Burnes, who has been the most consistent supportive voice in my work life for the past six years. I seriously don’t know where I’d be without you, Sarah. Wait. Yes, I do. Scary picture.

Huge thanks to Allison Cohen and Julia Maguire, who were the first to read the manuscript and tell me how much they loved it (much needed positivity at the time); to Justin Chanda, for seeing my vision for whatever it’s worth and running with it; to Courtney Bongiolatti, who has always been so psyched about my stuff; and to Courtney Gatewood, whose gushing e-mails were a complete joy. I’d also like to thank Paul Crichton and Lucille Rettino, for believing in my work way back when, and for making me feel like my books will always be well cared for; Liesa Abrams, who said, “Why not talk to Emily?” and Krista Vossen, for the most gorgeous cover ever.

A special thanks goes out to my teachers throughout high school and college, some of who played a huge role in making me a writer. Jane Conboy, Thomas Harrington, Suzanne Montagne, Susan Gillow, Frank Cherichello, Cheryl Wall, Steve Miller, and Alan Michael Parker. Without all of you, I wouldn’t be writing this acknowledgments page right now. And to any of my readers who might be skimming this: Appreciate your teachers. They are selfless and wise and can take you places you’d never imagine you could go. Use them. They like it when you do.

Thanks to my family and friends. Mom, Ian, Erin, Steph, and all the Scotts, Violas, and Donohues, what can I say? You make life interesting, fun, dramatic, and silly. Kind of like my work. Wendy, Shira, Ally, Meredith, Courtney, Jessica, Manisha, Aimee, Lynn—all the strong women in my life—thanks for always being there for me.

And finally, eternal thanks to Matt, who picks me up when I’m crumbling, reminds me I’m worth so much more than I think I am, and loves me unconditionally. You are everything. Thanks for being there and giving me our little Brady, the most precious gift I’ve ever been given.