Authors: Lisa Amowitz
Tags: #Teen & Young Adult, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #Coming of Age, #Horror, #Paranormal & Urban, #Breaking Glass
Breaking Glass (42 page)
I’ve finished clearing out most of the junk gathering dust on my shelves. I’ve located each of Susannah’s things, squirreled away in odd corners of my room.
I’m not so sure if history is my thing anymore. I’ve dug up enough dirt and unearthed enough roots for a lifetime.
But Susannah’s presence hovers at the edge of my awareness, still tethered to this world.
Until I let her go.
Marisa’s eyes gleam in the waning light, her dark hair loose and blowing wild. Like it always does, my heart leaps into a full gallop at the sight. My mouth slips open and I edge closer. She sighs, her eyes closing and we kiss, softly at first, the heat that lingers under my skin simmering quickly to a full boil. I press her against me, my breaths quickening.
When I hold Marisa close, I have a hard time letting go. But she pries herself free, laughing, and reminds me that we have work to do.
“Later,” I murmur, my nose in her hair. “My reward for a job well done.”
Marisa’s not a theory of a girl or an ideal of a girl. She’s not the desperate fabrication of a troubled, miserable boy. She’s the real deal.
I’m not sure how I’ll manage at Duke without her to keep me warm at night, but that’s life, I guess.
Like I did on my last disastrous trip to the island, I leave Veronica standing tall, a beacon. Just in case.
Marisa helps me out of the boat, but I’ve brought my crutches so I won’t have to crawl this time.
I take in a deep gulp of cool air, shivering. Though there’s no sign of her, I can feel Susannah’s essence inside the marrow of my bones.
Marisa sets out the candles in a five-pointed star and marks the space with masking tape. Since we’re not really sure how you return the dead to the great beyond, we’ve improvised our own ritual.
In the months since my ordeal, my anger has faded.
Susannah nearly took me down with her. But that’s what cornered animals do.
We were all strangled by the same venomous roots that grew and twisted from the same toxic seed.
Patrick Morgan.
I count myself as the lucky one. I just had to lose a leg to get free.
But it’s hard for me to stay angry at anyone, really. After all, I’m reasonable Jeremy Glass.
We build a circle of rocks inside the five-pointed star. I ease myself to the ground and carefully arrange Susannah’s personal effects in the middle: the Death Book, which Ryan stumbled upon in his late father’s study, the drawings, the cigar box, the photos, the jewelry she’d left for Marisa. I’ve deleted all my YouTube links to her videos and animations, though they will exist in cyberspace forever.
After piling the artifacts with dry leaves, I set it all ablaze. I hold Marisa against me and together we watch the smoke coil in a white spiral against the indigo sky, taking the last of Susannah with it.
T H E E N D
A C K N O W L E D G E M E N T S
I’d been writing a fairly long time before I wrote
Breaking Glass
. My transition from artist to writer was neither easy nor smooth, and I needed a lot of support along the way. My path to publication was also bumpy with many off-road adventures—so I have a lot of people to thank for believing in me.
First, I must thank my wonderful mother, Sherry Amowitz, who always reminded me not to leave my creativity behind in childhood, to always carry it with me for all of my life. For filling our house with books and encouraging me to read them.
To my daughter Rebecca, who while growing up endured so many nights of my writings as her bedtime stories. And to my son Benjamin, who still managed to read at least parts of every book I wrote, including
Breaking Glass
., and make intelligent suggestions.
To my husband, Richard Zank, who patiently endured his artist wife’s transition from a somewhat nutty artist to a full-out crazy writer, and gradually accepted the change.
When I first began writing, I filled countless spiral notebooks with my ramblings. It’s hard to believe I found anyone who would read that, but I did—my dear true-blue friend and sister-of-choice, Joanne Flaster, who read the entire monstrosity, along with my cousin Mark Stein. To this day, they both insist they enjoyed the beast, which will never again see the light of day.
To another dear friend and sister of choice, Jill Danenberg, who tolerated my strange behavior and was so unfailingly supportive that I tried to talk her into becoming my agent. To her son, David Lichtenberg, who also played his part in cheering me on.
And to yet another dear friend and sister-of-choice, Debbie Cohen, who not only stood by me, but is the unofficial creator of Jeremy Glass. Debbie, a psychotherapist, is the first person I run to when I need counsel on either a personal or writing matter. When I described Jeremy and his drinking problems to Deb, here is what she said, “Well, no wonder he drinks! You should have his mother die in a way that really traumatized him, that way he drinks to self-medicate his post-traumatic stress disorder.”
There you go. Jeremy in a nutshell.
That morning I started writing
Breaking Glass
. and never looked back. Thank you, Debbie—for jump-starting this book and being a wonderful friend!
I can’t really go on without also mentioning Debbie’s son, Josh Karp, a voracious reader, who also read parts of every book I wrote and encouraged me every step of the way. And to his dad, Andy Karp, Debbie’s husband, and one of my favorite people in the world, for just listening to my long-winded gab sessions for the last bazillion years.
While we’re on the subject of the Karp family, I must also mention that the town they live in, Croton-on-Hudson, NY, with its twisty wooded roads, rivers, gorges, and cool Commie past, is the model for the fictitious Riverton, NY.
A special shout-out to my former student and current tutor, Christian Santiago, who read all of
Breaking Glass
. and peppered me with endless Facebook messages (usually in all caps) to broadcast his concerns and freak-outs. Thank you for being my very first fan, Mr. Santiago.
And to all my graphic design students at Bronx Community College—you are the spark that fuels my creativity and keeps me young. Just knowing all of you, I feel I can live forever. I know so many of you spend a lot of energy thanking me—but seriously, the pleasure is all mine.
And now, with the deepest gratitude, I want to thank my writing family. To the Cudas, my writing group of over eight years who basically taught me HOW to write and talked me down from the ledge more times than I can count—Heidi Ayarbe, Pippa Bayliss, Linda Budzinski, Dhonielle Clayton, Trish Eklund, Lindsay Eland, Cathy Giordano, Cyndy Henzel, Christine Johnson, and Kate Milford. You guys are the keepers of my soul. And—Dhonielle and Christine—you know how much I rely on you both, my two little on call Muses.
To Colleen Rowan Kosinski, my dear “twin” and tireless beta reader—I am rooting for you. To Michelle McLean, my crazy partner in all matter of schemes—you are my human Red Bull—if only I could keep up with you.
And lastly, but in no way least—to the wonderful family that is Spencer Hill Press. I had no idea that signing with you would be an exciting new chapter in my life that would not only provide a home for my future works, but also launch my career as a cover designer. There aren’t enough pages for me to express my love of this wonderful motley crew. Kate Kaynak, the miracle worker—you have created a company in your own big-hearted, genius image. To my die-hard editor, Vikki Ciaffone—I just love you. To Rich Storrs, thank you for your laser eyes. To Laura Ownbey, for ripping this ms to shreds so I could put it back together even better than before. And to Jennifer Allis Provost, for being my total kickass go-to girl.
To all my fellow writers at SHP—you all are so supportive and wonderful. It is an honor to be a part of this amazing family.
A b o u t T h e A U T H O R
Lisa Amowitz is an artist and graphic designer by trade, but writing has always been a deep and abiding passion. As a mom of an actual teen, she’s not just writing YA; she’s living it.
Lisa is a member of Enchanted Inkpot, a YA fantasy blog (
enchantedinkpot.blogspot.com
), and she also can be found online at
lisa-amowitzya.blogspot.com
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