I know that.
I also know where that one wolf whistle came from, a mouth that knows what to do to mine, likes to crush and bite a little. I know because he’s her boyfriend, the girl whose heart I have. I found her name with a little research, asked some questions, met her parents. They were nice people who only wanted to hug me, tell me they were glad she could save a life.
Her friends wanted other things, after I pushed a little, worked them past the reservation of speaking ill of the dead. There was a relief for them in saying stuff they weren’t supposed to, the dirty things I already knew because I had started doing them myself. I’ve only slipped a few times, let her have her way—and him have his—in the dark of night once, in a hotel bed Sasha Stone would never dream of sleeping in, let alone doing what they did. And then once, my face in a mirror, a line of white following the pale pink of what remains of my scar. And then it was gone, her heart rejoicing, my nose burning.
I won’t let those things happen again, I think as I close my fingers around my GED, shake the principal’s hand and return to my seat, ignoring the way her boyfriend’s whistle sent a shiver down my spine and made my mouth water for his.
I sit down, cross my legs at the ankle, adjust my mortarboard.
I am Sasha Stone.
I will try to be good.
Acknowledgments
Writing may be a solitary endeavor, but the final product of a book has many fingerprints on it. My agent, Adriann Ranta Zurhellen, always takes it in stride when I throw something slightly heinous on the table. The same can be said for my editor, Ben Rosenthal, who appears to be unflappable. As always, Erin Fitzsimmons delivered a beautifully designed cover that also captures the content of the pages.
Many eyes saw this manuscript before it went to my team at Katherine Tegen. Demitria Lunetta and Kate Karyus Quinn deserve much credit for the existence of this book, as they encouraged me to embellish upon a short story that appeared in our anthology Among the Shadows. As usual, R. C. Lewis kept me honest (and possibly sane) while drafting. Thanks to Stephanie Kuehn for a helpful eye, as well as Lydia Kang and Matt Sinclair, who were incredibly patient with my detailed and macabre medical questions.
For a long time I referred to this book in my head as Fight Club in the Band Room. This is my band-geek book, written with my band-geek friends in mind: Mel, Erin, Debbie, Amanda, Jeremy, Jim, Joe, Mandy, and Betsy.
We will always walk in step.