ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Second books and second children have a lot in common. They are doomed to constant comparison, for one thing, though every comparison proceeds from the faulty premise that they will be—or ought to be—the same. They won’t be good at the same things, or have the same sense of style, or the same sort of friends, or even the same circumstances coming into the world.

Seconds come into a world portioned out by the firstborn. There is rarely enough time for them. Everything is loud and busy and distracted. They haven’t a lot of options about how to respond to that stress. If they turn difficult, they’re the problem child. If they’re facile, people wonder if they’re simply unimaginative.

Second-borns can’t win this race. It’s a difficult truth, but it comes with one consolation: seconds never have to run alone.

I have been fortunate beyond words for the support of many people in my private and professional life. I am sure to forget someone, or to fumble what say in thanks. Any omissions or errors are entirely my own.

I’m second-born myself. I can handle that criticism.

In the writing world, I am indebted to the heroics of my agent, Bridget Smith, who dances with editors and authors alike backwards and in heels. I will never know quite how she does it and never thank her enough for it.

My editor, Rene Sears, earns a gold star for talking me out of more than a few creative panic attacks, and surviving those I likely gave her. It’s fortunate that emails don’t always capture tone. If they did, I suspect she would know how to spell the sound of me hyperventilating.

My critique partners, Michelle Barry and Maura Jortner, were often the sole force spurring me through my worst writing days. They accepted sections of this manuscript with the most emotive of online grabby-hands, shrieked with glee, roared with anger, hectored me on my plot inconsistencies, and kept coming back for more. I would still be on page one without them.

Others in the writing world did much to buoy me during a tumultuous debut year, professionals and fans alike: Lynne and Michael Damian Thomas, for the love of tacos and real talk; Curtis C. Chen, for adopting me and accepting my macaroni necklace in return; Sam J. Miller, for treating me like a rock star when no one else had heard of me; Max Gladstone, for enduring my most awkward efforts to be a grown up despite being his biggest fangirl; David T. Palmer, co-founder of our con glomp; Brandon Crilly, fellow Writer-Teacher multi-class and his +2 blazer of Getting Stuff Done; Lawrence M. Schoen, the first pro writer to loudly, repeatedly, and aggressively demand an ARC of the sequel the actual moment it was ready; Cat Rambo and Mary Robinette Kowal, for their reading, their honesty, and their love; Angus Watson, for inspiring me to entirely new levels of creative profanity; Laura Merz, my first fan in the wild; Joel Hruska, for finding the Easter Eggs and solving the mysteries of agnomination; Justin Gash, for playing publicist. And there are more—many more than I could possibly name.

I am forever grateful to my fellow faculty at the Illinois Mathematics and Science Academy, especially my peers in the English Department and my forever-supporters in the Information Resource Center (other folks call it “a library,” I’m told). My students, current and former, seem to think I’ve become famous. They’re wrong, but I appreciate the vote of confidence, and their seemingly endless patience.

And of course, there is family.

This book would not exist without the special heroics of my mother-in-law, Diane Bronson, who would whisk my children away to loving arms and rampant nonsense while I plunged deep into drafts and edits. Thank you, Mom-O.

Hemingway liked to say that every writer needs a built-in, shock-proof shit detector. I married mine, and have rarely felt luckier for it. I love you, David.

And though this book and they were often mortal enemies in the competition for my time, I thank my children. They were the first truly great things I ever made. How could I want anything less than to do it again?