When Will finally stumbles into the Cupid’s Nest with my sister hours after the other teams, perfectly composed Isis takes one look at him and lets out a legitimate guffaw. When she manages to rearrange her face into a sympathetic expression, she says, “Welcome to the Cupid’s Nest, Will and Miranda. You’re in last place. Your race around the world has come to an end.”
We all knew that was coming, but everyone in our living room boos and shouts in protest. Natalie throws more Cheez-Its, one of which hits Chris in the face. “It’s okay,” Miranda calls out. “I’m still glad I did it.”
As if on cue, Isis asks, “Miranda, what has this race taught you?”
“I learned to be flexible enough to change my expectations,” my sister answers, and I feel like she’s talking directly to me.
Isis nods at her sage words. “And, Will? What have you learned?”
Will pulls off a gold shoe and flings it furiously into the darkness. “I learned that being a girl sucks.”
“It’s not so bad,” Miranda answers. “Nature made us stronger. It’s the only way we could possibly deal with men.” Isis holds up her hand and gives my sister a totally undignified high five.
As everyone in our living room breaks into applause and whistles, I scoot closer to Miranda on the couch and link my arm with hers. “Thanks, Mira,” I say quietly.
“There once was a dumbass named Will …,” she says in response.
I grin. “He seemed oh-so-charming until …”
“He proved he was evil …”
“And caused an upheaval …”
“So kicking his butt was a thrill.”
On the screen, there’s a closing shot of Will struggling into his pack and walking away, tottering unsteadily on one gold heel.
“Man, karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?” my sister says.
“Yeah,” I say. “For real.”
Closing Credits
Thank you, thank you, thank you to the following people, without whom this book and I would both be total disasters:
Wendy Loggia, my genius editor, who looks at a manuscript and so clearly sees what it could become. Thank you for never settling for anything less than my best work. You were so, so right about … well, everything.
My astonishingly awesome agent, Holly Root, who talks me down and builds me up and makes me laugh while she’s doing it. Thanks for standing by me through all the years (and books) it took to get that dancing-sisters scene out into the world.
Everyone at Delacorte Press who has worked so hard to make my books beautiful and get them into readers’ hands. Special thanks to my cover designer, Heather Daugherty; my copy editor, Stephanie Brommer; my publicist, Lydia Finn; and Krista Vitola.
My whip-smart beta readers, some of whom have read this book so many times they can recite it from memory: Lindsay Ribar, the gentlest note-giver in all the land; Corey Ann Haydu, who points out which scenes I’ve forgotten to write; Nicole Lisa, who keeps me PC; Liz Whelan, my taskmaster; Jennifer Malone, who makes me smile with her green highlighter; Kristen Kittscher, my Brain Twin; and Elizabeth Little, without whom I wouldn’t be writing YA at all. Thank you all for the impromptu brainstorming sessions, the last-minute reads, and the endless supply of perspective.
Brandy Colbert and Claire Legrand, who always answer my frantic texts and reassure me that my book is not, in fact, irreparably broken.
The many, many people who let me turn their offhand comments into reality-show concepts and band names, notably Adam Bowker, Liz Nett, Rae Carson, Rachel Hawkins, Steve Berns, Sean Kelso, Jerad Schomer, Jenna Scherer, Julia Reischel, and Lissa Harris. I’m lucky to have friends who say such fantastically weird stuff all the time.
Shannon McCarty, Jay Bienstock, Hilary Weisman Graham, and Clifton Early for answering my endless questions about the logistics of reality television.
The Lucky 13s, a supportive and lovely group of writers. I’m so honored to share shelf space with you.
My nonwriter friends, for reaching into my deep, dark revisions cave and pulling me back out into the sunlight at regular intervals. Sometimes it’s really nice to complain about my first-pass pages and have someone say, “I don’t know what that means. Want to get some pizza?”
Erica Cherry, the best sister and friend a girl could have. May we never fight while throwing pomegranates at each other (or while throwing anything else, for that matter). I would gladly circumnavigate the globe for you.
And my mom, Susan Cherry, who reads every draft, listens to me rant and rave, and never stops believing I can do it. I love you, for real.
About the Author
Alison Cherry, author of Red, lives in Brooklyn, New York. She is a professional photographer and spent many years working as a lighting designer for theater, dance, and opera productions. She once faked an important appointment so she could leave rehearsal in time to watch the finale of The Amazing Race. Visit her at alisoncherrybooks.com or follow @alison_cherry on Twitter.
Have you read
Red?
Redheads hold all the power in Scarletville—and everybody knows it. That’s why Felicity is scared down to her roots when she receives an anonymous note: I know your secret.
Because Felicity is a big fake. Her hair color comes straight out of a bottle.
Felicity isn’t about to let someone blackmail her life away. But just how far is she willing to go to protect her red cred?
DELACORTE PRESS
randomhouse.com/teens
For Real Page 24