The Precious Dreadful
Page 24
Ed, my Joy, doesn’t seem to mind. He’s actually been great. We’ve taken Aidan to the movies a couple times when Ed’s been home from school. I know it might seem bizarre, double-dating with the new boyfriend and the ruined former boyfriend, but they did used to be friends. And I think, for Ed, Aidan’s slow road back has been a reminder of how differently he could have turned out. If he hadn’t chosen change.
One time I apologized, after a challenging mall trip—Aidan went missing in the comic book store—and Joy said, “Teddi, never apologize for love.” Then, he apologized for “being cheesy, going all inspirational bookmark” on me.
Cheesy or not, I’d say the boy’s a keeper.
Lifting the pendant from deep within my hoodie, I savor the way faint October rays seem to warm the pewter giraffe. It’s the perfect replacement for that faded daisy. Joy gave it to me on our first official date, back in September. I haven’t taken it off since.
Little Teddi’s daisy has joined the other artifacts in Brenda’s lockbox. Actually, it’s my box now. But I hardly ever feel the need to look inside. It’s on the shelf above the bed in my room at Tia Luz’s.
Yep, I made the move mid-August. Brenda grudgingly agreed some time apart might be for the best. She’s started attending weekly meetings, even talks about taking a class or two at the college during winter session. I’m cautious, but hopeful.
The transition to Adaluz’s house has been smooth overall. It’s nice having an actual, closeable bedroom door. Nicer living with someone I don’t particularly want to shut out. We can talk to one another without the echoes of past arguments interrupting. And Marisol’s down the hall, so it’s almost like being part of a family.
Even Binks and Dixie have forged a fragile peace.
Fragile.
Ruined.
These past months have made me realize how fragile applies. To everything. But mostly to the connections we make with one another.
Ruined.
Unfortunately, life has lobbed me too many examples of that one.
But also: beautiful.
Like a giraffe.
Like someone we’ve lost is beautiful, after we polish the sad edges away.
I guess that’s all life is, really, just a series of moments. Some ruined, some beautiful.
And I’ve learned one thing. There’s no escaping any of them.
Like Eleanor says, “A writer’s real calling is to notice.”
I’ve taken her advice, have continued to “nurture my writer’s spirit.” I’m on the staff—Petra and I partnered as co-editors—of Jefferson High’s newly revamped literary journal, Echoes.
So my snarky prediction came true. We got to be friends. Not that we’re best buds or anything, but Petra is an awesome critique partner, always pushing me to go for it in my writing.
Example: I’d been having these dreams about a monster hunting me. All red eyes, jaws slobbering, dragging me to blackness. And Petra insisted, “Teddi, you’ve got to write every bit of it. Every damn detail. Be page-courageous.”
I said, “Eleanor’s definitely rubbed off on you,” but Petra was right.
I wrote it all. Ended up with sheets and sheets. Poetry. Essays. These terrifying short stories, just a torrent of words.
I wish I could say writing chased the nightmares away. But they continued. Sometimes, even during school, I’d be jolted by a flash, Eli invading my thoughts.
Is he out there?
When will he come for me?
Pleasant.
I got my answer recently. Brenda called last week as I was doing homework, told me to check e-mail. Her voice was all watery, and I immediately knew she’d been drinking.
When I called her on it, she said, “No, but I came close. Honey, brace yourself.”
She’d sent a link to this online news report about a factory fire in Taunton, Massachusetts, some abandoned mill turned crack house. Couldn’t imagine what it had to do with me, until I saw the photos, captioned BODIES OF THREE MEN FOUND.
As I faced the mug shots on my laptop screen, the world stopped. There, in the center, my demon. A little older, the hair close-cropped, silvering. But the eyes, the nightmare eyes.
Blue ice.
Eli.
Trembling, I said, “Thank God, Corey. Eli’s gone.”
I watched the video, read the accompanying article two dozen times. There was no mention of Fawn. So I imagine she got away. That she’s someplace beautiful. Or even ordinary, but free.
And when I write about her, I always write Fawn happy.
I can’t give up on possible.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing my debut—ignoring that “Who-do-you-think-you-are?” voice—took audacity. Starting book two, I feared The Namesake was a fluke. Sure, I’d written a novel. It got published. Readers eagerly anticipated my next. Gulp . . . . Fortunately, I have amazing support. Before book one was even published, my wife said, “Your second book will be a big success.” She knows things, so clearly there would be a second. The challenge: What to write?
When I shared ideas with my friend, poet Edwina Trentham, she asked, “Is writing in a different genre wise, when readers are expecting your next YA?” That perceptive question sent me into a doubt skid; I commenced tinkering with two separate YA ideas that refused to cooperate. One night—July 7, 2013; it was a Sunday—I wrestled insomnia. At 5:20 a.m., a name, “Teddi Alder,” lodged in my head. And Teddi had a voice. As I listened, she began her story. Sans bedside pen, I wrote five hundred words on my crappy cell, e-mailing bits to myself. In daylight, I recognized potential. Huzzah!
But as the story took shape, I worried. What qualified me to tell this girl’s truth? Then, I figured, growing up with sisters, having incredible female friends, and being husband to Janet and father to Jillian, two brilliant and hilarious women, equipped me to write strong female characters. Doubt evaporated as trusted readers, strong women all, declared Teddi’s voice authentic. To the following group of exceptional women, I offer love and gratitude.
It seems right to start by thanking Teddi for choosing me as her spokesman. Dearest Janet, Jillian, and Edwina, your bottomless well of faith sustains me. Cathy and Stacey Mendkya, there was never a more supportive sister or niece. Chelsea Clow, you’re high on my strong women list. Bonnie Goulet, your enthusiasm was a sparkler lighting my way. YA hero, Stephanie Kuehn, your willingness to read for blurb consideration, your insight, and your praise are deeply appreciated. Terry Laslo, your belief from the very start was a gift. Patti Pallis, word-lover, your deeming my story “beautiful,” fed my spirit. Kate Pelletier, your support—during caffeinated a.m. pep talks—was indispensable. Julia Petitfrere, your writing, which stuns me, is equaled by your extraordinary friendship. Andrea Petrario, during your darkest hours, you found grace to cheer me on. I thank you all, along with friends near and far (Elaine, Joe, Kim, Sister Angeline, lately gone home, and many others) who lent support, story unseen. Special thanks also goes to my two wonderful former students, Jennifer Melissa Gomez and Demesis Negron, for help with my very rusty Spanish.
This book also benefited from my publishing family. To my fellow Uncommon YA authors, I treasure your camaraderie and generosity. Though my agent, Victoria Marini, and I parted midway through The Precious Dreadful, her feedback helped hone the work. My editor, Jacquelyn Mitchard, affirmed my faith in this story, and guided it with her experience. To everyone at Merit Press, especially Meredith O’Hayre, and Molly Hansen, for copyedit magic, and Stephanie Hannus, for two beautiful covers, thank you for your investment of time and resources in this book that began with my sleepless night. To my new publishing family at Simon Pulse, my heartfelt thanks! My initial conversation with Mara Anastas confirmed I’d made a most fortunate landing at Simon & Schuster. Major gratitude goes to the Pulse team—Mike Rosamilia, Chelsea Morgan, and Stacey Sakal—for wrangling my slippery compound words. And I truly appreciate editor Jessi Smith, who could not have been more welcoming—or insightful in suggesting final tweaks.
The Precious Dreadful is ultimately a story of friendship, struggle, and healing after significant loss, and I experienced such loss while writing it. Fire claimed my childhood home, informing my nostalgia for gone things. Most profoundly, my father’s death, during my revision homestretch in July 2016, provided fresh perspective on the ways we’re all connected—and how those bonds extend beyond this realm. Finally, thank you, reader, for joining me in Teddi’s world. I hope her journey moves you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Author photograph by Jillian Parlato
Award-winning author and poet STEVEN PARLATO has had work published in Freshwater, Peregrine, and other journals. A college English professor (with a giraffe-filled office), illustrator, and actor, Steven has played roles including the Scarecrow, Macbeth, and the Munchie Mania Guy in a Friendly’s training film. He lives in Connecticut with his wife, two teens, and a Binks-like cockapoo. Follow Steven online at stevenparlato.com and on Twitter @parlatowrites.
Simon Pulse
Simon & Schuster, New York
stevenparlato.com
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/teen
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Steven-Parlato
Also by Steven Parlato
The Namesake
We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.
* * *
Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
First Simon Pulse hardcover edition February 2018
Text copyright © 2018 by Steven Parlato
Jacket illustration copyright © 2018 by Getty Images/majivecka, Aerial3, malven57
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
MERIT PRESS and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or business@simonandschuster.com.
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event.
For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Jacket designed by Stephanie Hannus and Mike Rosamilia
Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia
Jacket designed by Stephanie Hannus and Mike RosamiliaJacket illustration copyright © 2018 by Getty Images/majivecka, Aerial3, malven57
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Parlato, Steven, author.
Title: The Precious Dreadful / Steven Parlato.
Description: First Simon Pulse hardcover edition. | New York : Simon Pulse, 2018. |
Summary: A writing group triggers fifteen-year-old Teddi Adler’s memories of her lost childhood friend, Corey, causing her to question everything about her life, including her feelings about two boys and the ghost-girl who will not leave her alone.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017024507 (print) | LCCN 2017038659 (eBook) |
ISBN 9781507202777 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781507202784 (eBook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Supernatural—Fiction. | Memory—Fiction. | Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. | Loss (Psychology)—Fiction. | Alcoholism—Fiction. | Authorship—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.P24125 (eBook) | LCC PZ7.P24125 Pre 2018 (print) |
DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017024507