In 1967, I started first grade. That was also the first year that the school system in Yadkin County, North Carolina, became integrated. Mrs. Pauline Porter was Fall Creek Elementary School’s first African American teacher. She taught first grade in the classroom beside mine.

Mrs. Porter had a special gift for working with reluctant readers. So every afternoon, she changed classrooms with my teacher and worked with those of us struggling to read. Mrs. Porter had a beautiful cadence to her voice, and it reminded me of poetry.

Several years ago, I heard that Mrs. Porter was in failing health. I went for a visit to let her know what an impact she had made on my life. During that visit, she reminded me that white children had been uneasy about having a black teacher. To ease our concerns, she had asked each of us to touch her face and hair. As Mrs. Porter spoke, my mind drifted back to that time. I remembered how soft her skin felt and how she loved all children regardless of color. As a writer, I wanted to tell a story I hoped would pay tribute to her gentle dignity.

When I sat down to write, Mrs. Porter’s story converged with another event from my childhood. In the summer of 1969, my younger sister was struck by a car. I was eight years old, but my childhood effectively ended that day. I had always known that bad things happened in the world, but after Robin’s accident, I knew they could happen to my family.

My primary memory of that time period is guilt. Unlike Sarah, I was not a middle schooler, nor was I babysitting, but I felt guilty that I could run, and jump, and play, while Robin was stuck in a body cast.

As I wove the story of Robin’s accident together with school integration, I was struck by the themes they have in common: courage and forgiveness.

Though inspired by actual events, this book is a work of fiction. I’ve created characters and changed what really happened in the interest of good storytelling. Most especially, the vandalism I wrote about did not take place in my hometown.

I also altered one tiny piece of history. My grandmother adored the soap opera All My Children, and so I included it even though the first episode didn’t actually run until 1970.

I’ve been asked if I’m Sarah Beth Willis. The truth is there’s a little bit of me in all the characters I create, but, no, I’m not Sarah Beth. At her age, I was neither aware of events outside my hometown, nor nearly as brave as she is. I’ve given Sarah the knowledge and courage I wish I’d had and that I wish for all my readers.