Mad love to those who knew becoming an author would make me More Happy Than Anything:
First shout-out goes to the guy who makes it all happen, Brooks Sherman, the coolest and weirdest agent in all of Agent Land. It takes a lot for an obsessive-compulsive person—writer, no less—to give up the reigns and I absolutely trust this guy to keep steering me in the right direction. He’s ensured my debut experience is unforgettable in all arenas, and I’ll help him carry a couch down the crowded streets of New York any day.
The top-notch team at Soho Teen: Daniel Ehrenhaft, my editor, who not only pushed me to great distances under his guidance, but trusted me to find my way out of the battlefield, too; Meredith Barnes, my publicist, who was the first at Soho HQ to believe in this book, cranked the volume on what I always thought was a quiet book, answered my many emails within minutes, and partnered with the talented Liz Casal to create my dream cover; Bronwen Hruska, my publisher, whose pride radiates; Janine Agro, who is an interior design wizard; Amara Hoshijo, editorial assistant/salad date extraordinaire; Rachel Kowal, finder of things I’ve missed; and the other hardworking champions in-house, including Rudy Martinez, Juliet Grames, Paul Oliver, Mark Doten, and Abby Koski.
Luis Rivera, for everything I learned from our nothing, and for everything he could give me. He sort of, kind of, maybe, definitely knew how to make a guy more happy than not during the Code Adam era, and he continues to keep the good times and fist-bumps coming every day.
Corey Whaley, who must never stop existing. I’m super grateful he gave me a summer home so I could write my story, and for the crazy amount of happiness he energized within me so I could survive reliving it.
Cecilia Renn, my best friend and wilder half. Fingers crossed the world doesn’t end on June 6th or I’ll never hear the end of it from her. Our Gemini handshakes will echo across infinity—or at least across her kitchen where she’s surely left another cabinet open.
Hannah Colbert Kalampoukas, for being the perfect first person to come out to, and for the strawberry frosted birthday cake she baked me and shaped like an A. The cake was a small gesture that meant as much to me as The Great Coming Out of 2009.
Christopher Mapp, for being such a great Life Coach that I couldn’t possibly model a character after him in this book or Aaron Soto’s journey would’ve been too easy.
Amanda Diaz, who not only passed along her love of literature and fan fiction, but also read this story more times than was necessary. Michael Diaz, for countless nights of gaming and playing “Draft” with our candy. Ana Beltran, for dinners (which she always cooked) and debates (which I always won).
College didn’t appear to be in the cards for me, but growing up in bookstores after high school was way more rewarding anyway, especially thanks to the following: Irene Bradish and Peter Glassman, my former bosses who doubled as mentors; Sharon Pelletier, for hitting me hard with tough love edits; Jennifer Golding, for cheering me on since the beginning; Donna Rauch, for ongoing duck jokes; Allison Love, who changed my life with a bookstore application; Maggie Heinze, for being the first eyes on work I didn’t want anyone seeing; Jonathan Drucker, for keeping it really real, bro-style; Gaby Salpeter, for being an ego-boosting cheerleader all day, every day; Joel Grayson, for unwavering kindness and encouragement whenever he passed me in the aisles; and my many other booksellers-turned-friends whom I met at Barnes & Noble and Books of Wonder.
Lauren Oliver and Lexa Hillyer, for not only revealing their plot guru ways to me, but for saving my life when I was literally drowning. This book wouldn’t be a thing without them—seriously, I wouldn’t be a thing without them.
Joanna Volpe, for her genius book-changing pointers and keeping me sane on my first flight ever; Suzie Townsend, for loving and believing in this book before it was sellable, and loving it again when it was done-zo; Sandra Gonzalez, my Hubby, who puts my all-nighters to shame and all my human feelings to good use; Margot Wood, my partner-in-crime and wife in another life, for taking photos of my face and wanting to go gay for me and my narrator; Julie Murphy, my Texas slide, for our Dallas writing dates; Holly Goldberg Sloan, for being the greatest LA mom a kid from NYC can ask for; Tai Farnsworth, for an invaluable insight that reshaped things; Hannah Fergesen, who came into my life late in the publishing game, but has proven herself irreplaceable time and time again.
I’ve lucked into many writer friends, and I’ve been especially fortunate to go on this journey with my Beckminavidera squad: Becky Albertalli, my literary twin, whose love for these characters and their story outshines her great distaste for Golden Oreos, which is silly since it’s clearly the superior Oreo, but whatever, more cookies for me; Jasmine Warga, my Swedish Fish–loving, Art Bar–going sis who can always be counted on for fun road trips and great song recommendations (except that one time); David Arnold, my bro who I want to hug to death every time we have solid chats about Life, capital L intended. I can’t wait until we finally get that house in Beckminavideraville, my friends.
Jennifer M. Brown, a fellow night owl, for opening so many doors for me when she took me under her wing.
My family and friends, for the pride they find in me, and the happiness I find in them.
My mom, Persi Rosa, for raising me with summer reading challenges, spelling bees with swear words, subtitles whenever I watched TV, and for editing my book reports. She inspired a love for words that’s proven pretty important in this field I’m writing myself into. And, most importantly, she’s always loved me as I am—I know she wouldn’t change a thing about me, and likewise.
Finally—we got here!—thank you to the incredible community of booksellers, librarians, readers, writers, bloggers, and imaginary characters who keep our industry and literature alive. Let’s make sure books and bookstores remain a thing, please and thank you.