History Is All You Left Me(92)

I promise I’ll find happiness again. It’s the best way to honor you.

I stand, shaking a little as I wrap your hoodie around your headstone to keep you warm. I don’t think it’s right for me to keep this around anymore. I wonder what will happen to it. I wonder if it’ll miraculously be here the next time someone visits you, or if the wind will blow it off and bury it deep beneath the snow, only for some stranger to discover it later. This person won’t know anything about how you gave it to me the afternoon we had sex for the first time.

But that’s okay. History remains with the people who will appreciate it most.

I love you, but I can’t stay longer.

It may be a while before I speak to you again. I’m so happy you were my first, Theo, and you were worth all the heartache. I hope I wasn’t living in some alternate universe where I wasn’t actually your first love, too.

But this universe is the only one that matters, and I have one last question for you: I didn’t get our history wrong, did I?





Acknowledgments



My editor, Daniel Ehrenhaft, for believing in me very early on, whiplash-worthy edit letters, inhabiting Griffin’s compulsions so thoughtfully, and losing sleep until we got everything right. My publicist, Meredith Barnes, for all the empathy she’s shown toward my very particular mind. My agent, Brooks Sherman, for his super savviness and therapy when I’m doubting myself. My homie, Hannah Fergesen, an editorial wizard who’s been right so many times my ego has suffered. My assistant, Michael D’Angelo, for bossing me around. My beautiful and brilliant higher-ups, Bronwen Hruska and Jenny Bent, and the hard-working champions at Soho Teen and the Bent Agency. When the time comes for the zombie-pirate apocalypse, I’m recruiting my publishing team first.

Luis “LTR3” Rivera, for being the best damn lifesaver in all the land, hosting me for a couple months so I could finish writing this book, epic Super Smash Bro. matches with the bros, and “a fourth thing.” Corey Whaley, for sticking to my right, lion statues, history, and staying in my life. Cecilia Renn, for our psychic connection and checking me when I’m too stubborn to check myself. Amanda and Michael Diaz (and Ann and Cooper), who know my obsessive ways all too well—sorry-not-sorry for all those songs on repeat. Lestor Andrade, for the Carpool of Shame and many other Real Life moments.

Becky Albertalli, for making sure I didn’t throw away my shot when things were at their worst. David Arnold(-Silvera), for the most epic fake-proposal in the universe. Jasmine Warga, for the greatest candy picnic in that swanky bathtub. (Team Beckminavidera forever.) Sabaa Tahir, a Jedi Master who can always sense when there’s a disturbance in the Force. Nicola Yoon, whose generosity is nonstop. Victoria Aveyard, for never waking me up during every movie we see. Hashtag dope. Renée Ahdieh, for not outing me at Comic-Con when gum fell out of my mouth in the middle of our panel. Kim Liggett, for getting me out of the house to write this book and all the gossiping in-between. Lance Rubin, the worst rival ever because there isn’t a bone in his body or word in his brain I could hate. Virginia Boecker, for too many laughs over too many unspeakable things. Dhonielle Clayton and Sona Charaipotra, wise forces on their own, world-changers together.

If I tried to name everyone in the community whose had a hand in my career, this book would weigh twice as much. Thank you all to the readers, bloggers (shout-out to Dahlia Adler and Eric Smith), writers, family (shout-out to my lovely mom for happy history), friends, booktubers, booksellers (shout-out to everyone at Books of Wonder), librarians (shout-out to Angie Manfredi).

And, most importantly, for all the Humans, named and unnamed, who’ve encouraged me to write my way into this life and helped me write my way through my depression. This one is for you—as are all the ones that will follow.