The Girl He Used to Know
Tracey Garvis Graves
For anyone who’s ever felt like they didn’t belong
And for Lauren Patricia Graves, who is the light of my life
Acknowledgments
I have taken creative liberties with this story. The Illini chess club does not meet in the food court of the University of Illinois Student Union but rather in a specific room. Vivek Rao, who is a real person, appears in the book as a member of the chess team who represented the University of Illinois in the 1991 Pan American Championship. From what I learned via research, he is a truly phenomenal chess player. The other members of the team who appear in the book are all fictional. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Eric Rosen, who was a member of the University of Illinois chess club and team and whose knowledge and input was so beneficial in the writing of this book.
Thank you to my editor, Leslie Gelbman. I am deeply grateful that you connected so strongly with this story. It has been a real pleasure to work with you.
To the wonderful and talented folks at St. Martin’s Press and Macmillan, thank you for welcoming me with open arms. Special thanks to Lisa Senz, Brant Janeway, Marissa Sangiacomo, and Tiffany Shelton.
To Brooke Achenbach, thank you for advising me on all things related to the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign campus. I hope you enjoyed the trip down memory lane as you provided the names of lecture halls, dining establishments, and bars.
To Jana Waterreus, thank you for providing information about the role of a librarian and the academic path one would follow in order to make this their career. I appreciate it so much.
To Tammara Webber, thank you for not only reading the manuscript, but for encouraging me regarding my vision for this book. Your input was invaluable.
To Hillary Faber, thank you for lending your expertise and experience in working with students who are on the autism spectrum. You helped ensure that Annika’s character portrayal was authentic, and I appreciate it so much.
To Elisa Abner-Taschwer, your cheer game is stronger than ever. Thanks for believing in me from the beginning and continuing to provide feedback seven books later. Your support and enthusiasm is immeasurable.
To Stacy Elliott Alvarez, thank you for always assuring me that writing is what I should be doing.
I am also deeply grateful for the contributions, assistance, and support of the following individuals:
David Graves, because his ongoing encouragement means more to me than he’ll ever know. Also, you’re a pretty good typo-catcher.
My children, Matthew and Lauren. Thank you for always understanding when I’m on a deadline or caught up in the imaginary worlds in my mind. None of those things will ever be more important than the two of you. I love you both.
Jane Dystel, Miriam Goderich, and Lauren Abramo. You are truly the trifecta of literary-agent awesomeness. Thank you for your continued guidance and support.
I am eternally grateful to the book bloggers who have been so instrumental in my ability to reach readers. You work tirelessly every day to spread the word about books, and the writing community is a better place because of you. I also want to give a special shout-out to the readers’ groups who are so passionate about championing the books they love: Andrea Peskind Katz of Great Thoughts’ Great Readers, Susan Walters Peterson of Sue’s Booking Agency, and Jenn Gaffney of REden’ with the Garden Girls.
I want to express my sincere thanks and appreciation to the booksellers who hand-sell my books and the librarians who put them on their shelves.
My heartfelt gratitude goes out to all of you for helping to make The Girl He Used to Know the book I hoped it would be. Words cannot express how truly blessed I am to have such wonderful and enthusiastic people in my life.
And last, but certainly not least, my readers. Without you, none of this would be possible.
1
Annika
CHICAGO
AUGUST 2001
I run into him at Dominick’s, of all places. I’m poking around in the freezer case, searching for the strawberries I put in my morning smoothie, when a man’s voice somewhere off to my right says, “Annika?” He sounds unsure.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of his face. It’s been ten years since we’ve seen each other and though I often struggle to recognize people out of context, there’s no need for me to question whether or not it’s him. I know it’s him. My body vibrates like the low rumble of a faraway train and I’m grateful for the freezer’s cold air as my core temperature shoots up. I want to bolt, to forget about the strawberries and find the nearest exit. But Tina’s words echo in my head, and I repeat them like a mantra: Don’t run, take responsibility, be yourself.
I draw an uneven breath that doesn’t quite fill my lungs, and turn toward him. “Hi, Jonathan.”
“It is you,” he says.
I smile. “Yes.”
My hair, which used to be waist length and usually in need of a good brushing, is now shiny and straight and stops a few inches below my shoulders. The tailored shirt and slim-fitting pants I’m wearing are a far cry from my college wardrobe of skirts and dresses two sizes too big. It’s probably thrown him a bit.
At thirty-two, he still looks the same to me: dark hair, blue eyes, broad swimmer’s shoulders. He’s not smiling, but his brows aren’t knitted together in a scowl, either. Though I’ve vastly improved my ability to read facial expressions and other nonverbal cues, I can’t tell if he’s harboring any angry or hurt feelings. He has every right to feel both.