If you’ve finished this book, you probably suspect by now that I’ve been treated better by the people around me than any person can reasonably expect in this world. My heart is full and my words fall short. Here are some people I want to thank:
The First Nations whose stories are seen here: Iroquois (The Woman Who Fell From the Sky), Natchez (Adoption of the Human Race), Sioux (Teton Ghost Story), Seneca (Brother Black and Brother Red), Caddo (The Flood), Creek (The Yamasee and the Flood), Onondaga-Iroquois (The Vampire Skeleton), and Kwakiutl (Ghost Country). There are several beautiful variations of each of these stories, and I highly recommend that anyone who’s unfamiliar take time to sit with them, whenever possible, with the interpretation of a scholar from each tale’s respective nation. This book wouldn’t be the same without these mesmerizing and unquantifiable stories, and I’m forever changed by what I discovered in them.
Gramma and Grampa, for beginning a tradition of gentleness and love that still defines our family; you are the people I want to be when I grow up. Mom and Dad, for reading to us in the hallway between our rooms so many nights, and for always doing the voices. To my brothers and sisters-in-law, thank you for being the kind of people who fight through the hard things and appreciate the good.
K.A. Applegate, for my first book crush (a boy who is literally trapped as a hawk for the majority of the series). Lois Lowry, for teaching me that words can forever change your world. J.K. Rowling, for smart girls, tender boys, deep magic, and love that casts out fear. Madeline L’Engle and Kurt Vonnegut, for an addiction to Weird.
Ms. Hanke, for that first writing assignment. Ms. Neugabauer, for that detention. Ms. Richards, for not punishing me when I turned in the choose-your-own-adventure story in which all roads led to you locking us in the flame-engulfed classroom and picking us off with arrows.
Rhoda Janzen, for giving me someone to look up to and up to, and for telling me I could do this, and I should. Beth Trembley, for teaching me how. Heather Sellers, from whom I first heard the phrase love you into the world. Sarah B., Peter S., Pablo P., Stephen H., Steven I., Martha G., Jesus M., Dean Reynolds, and the rest of the Hope College faculty, for creating the perfect little adult-incubator, despite the frozen lake next door.
Daniel Nayeri, who unwittingly encouraged me to keep going on at least two separate occasions, and John Silvis for his beautiful NYCAMS program, may it rest in peace. Or alternatively, someday be resurrected.
Bri Cavallaro and Anna Breslaw, for talking me up/down/all around: you are beautiful and rare gems. Candice the Queen, for reading an early draft of this book plus, I think, three alternate endings, and helping me admit which was the right one.
The online YA community, book bloggers, and Sweet Sixteens: I’m so impossibly lucky to have been embraced by you. Don’t play dumb. You know who you are.
Noosha, for being my first fan, my best friend, a life-changing love. Megan, for being my sister, my warmth, the person to whom I’ll never say goodbye.
Lana Popovic, my incredible agent, for reading my first book in 23 hours and this one in 36, for always making time, for dissecting my manuscripts and operating on them; for your sass, feist, smarts, and love. And for getting me to watch Fringe.
Liz Tingue, the editor I wanted to make mine, whom I now get to call mine, in the least creepy way possible. You saw the spark in this wild, weird, sprawling, and sometimes slow book. You knew what this story wanted to be, and you believed it would get there. Thank you for speaking my language, for loving Beau and Natalie, and for being the hilarious, glittering, genius bombshell of a human being you are.
Marissa Grossman and Jessica Harriton, whose capable yet elegant hands helped knead this story into shape and then pack it into mailers.
Anthony Elder, for giving me a cover that could make hardened criminals and jaded dystopian heroines fall to their knees weeping.
Ben Schrank, for essentially handing me my dream on a glowing, LED platter, and occasionally favoriting my tweets (can’t wait for anthropologists to study this sentence in the year 3000) just to remind me He’s Always Watching from the clouds.
Jennifer Dee, Rachel Lodi, and Anna Jarzab—you know what you did. You are each uniquely amazing.
Krista Ahlberg, Phyllis DeBlanche, Shari Beck, Jenna Pocius, the rest of Razorbill/Penguin team, and every penguin, for being incredible, hardworking, resilient, and adorable.
Everyone who picks up, reads, borrows, buys, or lends this book: if you love this, I hope you know it’s yours. If you don’t, I hope you find $20 in your dirty laundry to make up for it.
For everyone I’ve missed: frankly, you deserve better.
Finally, thank you to Joey, who stole my heart at seventeen, when I was young(er) and stupid(er), and daily gives me a steadfast, quiet love I never knew I needed until I had it. You make this whole world soft for me, and I love all of the yous I’ve known, will know, will never meet. I love you in every moment.
And to the Love who dreamed the world, who gave me breath, and who gingerly passed me this idea page by page: thank you for that time you wept, and for loving me well.