“I think—ugh, gross—I think you still mean it a little bit,” Shara says, squirming away as Chloe tries to pin her down. “That’s what makes this work.”
Shara gives up the fight and lays her head down against the grass. Chloe could swear the sunset shifts on the horizon from powder blue to coral pink, the exact color of Shara’s cheeks and lips and hair, and of her sugar-sticky palm, which lies open on the ground above her head.
They’ve never hated each other, not really. It’s more like recognition. Shara tilts her chin up to the sky, narrowing her eyes even as she starts to smile, and Chloe sees someone just as stubborn and intense and strange as she is, snapping exactly into place. The thing Chloe likes more than anything else: a correct answer.
One delirious summer doesn’t feel like nearly enough time for this.
Technically, though, eighteen years isn’t a lot of time either.
Chloe covers Shara’s hand with her own. She laces their fingers together and squeezes, and then she kisses Shara into the grass.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I feel inclined to begin this by saying that I am not Chloe Green, and Chloe Green is not me. I grew up in and around environments much like False Beach and Willowgrove, which made writing this book quite the emotional roller coaster, but Chloe’s story is by no means autobiographical. To be honest, I didn’t know enough about myself or the world at eighteen to be a Chloe. I think I would describe myself as an Ace sun, Georgia moon, Chloe rising.
I wrote this book for the Chloes of the world, but also the Smiths and Rorys and Georgias and Benjys and, yes, even the Sharas. I know intimately that the Bible Belt contains some of the best, warmest, weirdest, queerest kids you’ll ever meet, whether or not they even know that last part yet. If you’re one of those kids, I wanted this book to exist for you. I think if it had existed for me back then, a lot of things in my life would have been different. I wanted to write a book to show you that you’re not alone.
（And also that you deserve ridiculous, over-the-top high school rom-coms about teenagers like you, just like the straight kids have! Don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise!）
I have a tremendously long list of people to thank for making this book possible, but I’ll try to keep it brief this time. Sara Megibow, my absolute superstar of an agent, who is as tireless and patient as she is great at her job, and who approaches every conversation with the kind of humanity we desperately need in this business. Vicki Lame, my editor, who allows me to follow my gut to so many strange and wonderful places. My assistant, Abby Rauscher, who literally keeps me sane. The team at Wednesday who put so much work into this book, including Meghan Harrington, Devan Norman, Alexis Neuville, Brant Janeway, Erica Martirano, Jeremy Haiting, Christa Désir, Melanie Sanders, and Vanessa Aguirre. Christina Tucker and Matthew Broberg-Moffitt, my authenticity readers. Kerri Resnick, who masterminded the cover, and Allison Reimold, who captured Shara’s likeness and nightmare vibe.
I also have to thank all my friends who graciously and generously read early drafts or talked through plot ideas or did writing sprints or simply told me they thought what I was working on sounded interesting—you literally kept me going. There were times when the only thing that pushed me to my word count was the thought of getting to share an excerpt at the end of the day. You know who you are. Thanks especially to Anna Prendella, who gave such sharp, illuminating, extensive, and frankly feral feedback throughout the revising process that she should be canonized.
To Sasha （New York Times bestselling author Sasha Peyton Smith!!! No, I’ll never shut up about it.）， thank you for your bottomless well of patience, for Margaritaville, and for always being down for a Plot Problems FaceTime call. Can’t wait to do this together forever. I was definitely your dad in a past life.
To Kris, for all those months of 2020 when it was just you, me, the pets, this manuscript, and never-ending terror holed up in Brooklyn’s most cursed fourth-floor walkup, thank you. You are my fiercest supporter, and I genuinely don’t know how I would do this without you. I love you a stupid amount. Keep leaving hair ties all over my apartment.
To my family, with my whole heart: Thank you, I love you. I would be nowhere without y’all.
To every reader who has stuck with me since day one, and every reader who is beginning with this book, thank you endlessly for giving me the opportunity to keep doing this.
And, finally, let’s hear it one more time for queer kids in red states and conservative religious communities. I love y’all so much. It may feel sometimes like nobody knows or cares that you’re there, doing your best to get through it, carrying all that weight, but I know it. So many of us queer adults who’ve come out the other side know it. We’re here for you whenever you’re ready. You’re going to be loved and known and cared for in ways you can’t even imagine yet. And you’re going to have some wild stories to tell at Gay Friendsgiving one day. Take good care of yourselves until then.