by Dave Connis
Jack’s family? They were in the category of those who didn’t move on. In fact, they hadn’t talked to him since. Emerson texted Jack every once in a while, but word was that if Jack replied, Emerson would delete it from his inbox because he was terrified of what his parents would do if they found out.
“‘I found bravery here,’” I said, pointing at him.
He nodded, looked at his shoes, then smiled. “I know.”
I looked back at the podium.
Resi leaned over LiQui, tapped me on the leg, and asked, “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I am. Seriously. I wanted you to take it, remember? We went through all this yesterday. We don’t have to rehash it again.”
She looked down at her feet. “Yeah, I . . . You deserved it. Not me.”
“Res, you know I love you, but that is the truth,” LiQui added.
I shrugged. “So I didn’t get the Founders Scholarship, but I did get a little bit of money from it. I’ve been accepted to Vandy. I’ve got the summer to figure out how to make it work.”
“Well, you don’t have to figure it out alone,” Resi said.
“Word,” LiQui added. “Maybe you and I can split the cash my grandparents are going to give me.”
I rolled my eyes. “LiQui, they finally agreed to pay for your POTUS degree and now you’re going to split it?”
She shrugged. “What? We’re roommates, Clara. Roommates. I don’t wanna live with some girl whose favorite band is Jason Mraz and ‘just can’t believe the college won’t let me light incense in the room. It’s my room.’ I’d kill her. No lie. I’m not even going to leave it up to chance.”
“What if I told you I’ve recently gotten into incense?”
She held up a hand. “Don’t play that game. Quit.”
“Well,” Resi said, leaning back in her chair, “we’ll figure something out.”
“Ashton Bricks!” Principal Willings yelled, and we jumped out of our chairs and cheered as loud as a thunderstorm—so loud that we missed his “what they’re doing next” section.
LiQui stood. “A round of queso on me if I trip on that stage. I’ve been practicing my walk in these heels for months. Witness me.” She walked toward the stage.
More names. More people. I was too distracted by being here. By being in the chair next to my friends. By the heat, but, if I really dug deep, I knew I was thankful for the heat too. Because that meant I’d made it. Even though Principal Walsh had let me go, once he left, I worried the board would make the new principal finish the job. I mean, Janet Lodenhauer was highly involved in the school and she wanted me dead. Not just gone. But . . . nothing ever came of it. After Christmas break came and went and I was still walking back into LA, I realized that I was going to stay. I think, after Ms. Croft broke the story, they knew that if they did anything to me, it’d bring even more negative press.
So . . . I finished the semester.
LiQui stepped on the stage. I wanted a tiny trip. A tiny one. It could even be that her heel got stuck in the carpet so I could argue technicality. I loved LiQui. But queso was on the line.
“LiQuiana Carson!”
LiQui started across the stage and we all stood and screamed, “Queen Li!”
The principal’s assistant’s mousy voice cut through our applause. “LiQuiana plans to eat queso with her friends for the rest of the summer and will then attend Vanderbilt to earn a bachelor’s degree in political science.”
“I like incense!” I yelled as loud as I could.
In the middle of a step, LiQui bent forward and let out a laugh. Her heel wobbled—very slightly, but it was a wobble I’d fight to the death for. She straightened herself up quick, grabbed the diploma, and hurried across the stage.
I chanted, “Queso, queso, queso,” as she walked back to her seat.
More names. More heat. More sticky graduating.
Finally, my name was announced, and you would’ve thought the LA Vols had just scored a Super Bowl. Tears pushed against my eyes, but then I laughed when I thought about Janet Lodenhauer’s face souring somewhere in the bleachers. I stepped onto the stage, my heart a nearly audible thud. My hands shaking. Everyone kept cheering, and I couldn’t help but turn and look at the hundreds of students in front of me.
Maybe the applause made me feel incredibly awkward. And maybe I created a reason that people were applauding to make it feel less awkward, but I didn’t think so. I believed that the applause wasn’t for me, strictly speaking. It was for books.
I clapped too. It probably looked weird, a girl clapping for herself, but I couldn’t not join in.
Books are a light. A light that melts ignorance and hate. They show new paths to take. Or, for some, the depth of seemingly unfixable brokenness. Books illuminate something different for all of us. Books change lives because they’re matches, starting fires that show the grandness of the world, the depth of others, a path for us to see ourselves.
Such fires might come easy.
They might come hard.
They might make us stronger.
They might cost us and the people around us.
They might make us braver.
They might make us disagree.
They might make us closer.
They might make us offended.
They might make us happy.
They might make someone hurt.
They might make us overconfident.
They might make us confused.
They might make us think we know more than we do.
But they will make us free.
And I longed for the world to continue to spin in their glow.
I’d always fight for people to have the choice to be surrounded by that glow.
But even more than that?
I’d always fight for a world that continued to be recipients of books such as those.
Of such fires.
A Legacy of Dominoes
I was at Mojo with the crew, fresh out of my grad gear and stuffing a burrito in my face like a barn resident, when Emerson Lodenhauer came up to our table.
Jack gave him a timid “Hey.”
I couldn’t get a read on the situation. Were they congenial? Were they enemies? Were they nothing? Last I’d heard, Emerson was barely talking to Jack.
Emerson looked at me. “Clara, can I talk to you?”
The question took me by surprise, mostly because I’d never, not even once, talked to Emerson Lodenhauer, nor even been less than twenty feet from him.
I cast an uhhh? glance at Jack.
Jack nodded.
I stood up from the table and followed Emerson to the outside porch, to the table farthest away from people.
He held out his hand. “I’m Emerson.”
“I’m Clara.”
“I know.”
“Yeah. I bet you do.” I paused, realizing how dumb that sounded. “I mean, not that I think I’m awesome, or something. It was just because of, like, your mom hating my guts. Or whatever. And the whole . . . your brother situation. No, that’s not what I mean. I’m just saying that your family and I have history and—”
He looked at Jack through a window; then, thank God, Emerson interrupted my panic talking. “I want to take over the library. I want to run the Unlib.”
I stared at him for a moment, laughed, then put an arm around his shoulder and smiled. “Well, well, well. Will the dominoes ever stop falling?”
He cocked his head, confused.
“You’ll see,” I said. “You’ll see.”
THE END
Acknowledgments
Writing this book was really really really really really really hard. Possibly the hardest creative thing I’ve ever done, and I owe so so much to so many people for helping me survive it. By no means is this an exhaustive list, for it takes a universe to write a book.
The OG Clara: This book wouldn’t exist without you. When I was going to quit writing, you said, “I think you can do it. I think we can work it out.” I can’t even begin
to put into words how much all your love, understanding, sacrifice, and encouragement kept me alive and afloat the last few years. This is our book. I love you.
Asa: It’s a different book, but you are still enough. I love you, bud. It’s an honor to be your dad, and I’m excited that I get to do it for the rest of my life.
Emmie: You are a ray of sun. I love you, and I’m so happy I get to write your name in my books now.
Mom: Thanks for raising me around books and bringing me to the library when I was little. Also, thanks for not being afraid of overdue fines.
Dad: I love you. I miss you. I hope you know that.
Demaster Crew: Thanks for your constant support of me and for not telling Clara to run away because she wanted to marry a writer.
Charlie: Thanks for always understanding, for making jokes when things are hard, and being encouraging at the same time. Oh, and for being excited about my book news even when you have no idea what I’m talking about.
Caroline: Thanks for your friendship, and keeping me fresh and looking like a whole snack.
JM & Andrew: Thanks for all your support and nonstop love. Let’s go get some mango margs, PLZ.
Matt and Crystal: Y’all’s support and friendship means the world to me. Thank you. Oh, FYI, I’m not saying you need to buy six copies of this book like you did for TOA in order to keep up your #1 fan status, but it wouldn’t hurt your ranking.
Eric Smith: We’ve been waiting for this one. Thank you for loving this book so much that you wanted to chill with me for four-plus years to get it published. Here’s to more books. Also, don’t worry, I’ll wait at least a day after this comes out to send you my so now what do we do? message.
Claudia, Stephanie, and the Katherine Tegen team: Thanks for believing in this book and me. Thanks × 1000 for not freaking out when I sent you that first rewrite. That thing was horrible. Your patience with and kindness to me while I struggled through this book mean the world to me. Thank you for giving me this chance. Join me for a moment of silence for all the characters who died in the making of this book. RIP Topher, Chris, Tali, Darius, Mandy, Joshua, Max (Clara’s younger brother), Andy Alskez, Louie Alskez, and Mr. Ricardo.
C.J. Redwine: You are a light. I’m so glad I know you and that I get to write books/live life with someone as fantastic as you. Thank you for always saying, “You can do it. You’ll get through it.”
Matt Landis: I hate you.
Latt Mandis: Like Jesus came out of Nazareth, you came out of Twitter. I’m so thankful for you.
Adam Sass and Matthew Hubbard: Thanks for being willing to tell me if I was being a horrible human being. This book wouldn’t be what it is without your insight, care, and hard-earned wisdom. I’m honored to know the both of you, and I’m so excited to watch you both slay publishing.
Carlos: Thanks for all your detention advice.
Librarians, teachers, educators: I am in constant awe of your service. Thank you.
Todd Bol: Clara’s Tiny Little Libraries were totally inspired by you and your amazing work. I am and will continue to be thankful for the movement you started with Little Free Libraries, for your undying commitment to getting such fires into the hands of the people who need them. You will be missed.
Glen Cole, Katie McGarry, Brian McClard, Thomas Hayes, David Norman, the Rock Creek Youth Group, David Arnold: Whether it was answering my random nitpicky how does this work in real life questions, giving me plot advice, unknowingly giving me conflict ideas, or just being encouraging, this book wouldn’t be the same without you.
Jesus: Thanks for giving me the words to write, for letting me share them, and for putting all the names I wrote above into my life. Please let your goodness and gospel shine through these words.
About the Author
Photo by Heather Harper
DAVE CONNIS writes words you can sing and words you can read. He lives in Chattanooga, TN, with his wife, Clara; two kids (a son and a daughter); and a dog who barks at nonexistent threats.
When he’s not writing YA or MG, he interprets software-developer-speak as a technical writer at Skuid, a startup based out of Chattanooga. He is a member of the Jedi Council, facilities manager at the Sanctum Sanctorum, and a guy with a propensity to daydream whenever he attempts to be an adult.
daveconnis.com
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Copyright
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
SUGGESTED READING. Copyright © 2019 by Dave Connis. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover design by David Curtis
Cover © 2019 by HarperCollins Publishers
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Digital Edition SEPTEMBER 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-268527-8
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-268525-4
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1920212223 PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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