“You ready?” Nate asks. “Cass?”
And yet I have to move forward. Every day I have to make that choice, to live.
I turn to my brother and say his name. “Nate.” My throat starts to close.
He’s watching me. “Cassandra?” Nate asks. “What’s up?”
A ringing in my ears distracts me. My skin is twitching. I feel rising pressure in my head. “I’m terrified,” I blurt out. Such a small thing to admit out loud. But here, with my brother, it is everything.
An hour later, Nate and I slip into his car and pull out of the driveway. Neither of us look back. We’re headed to our new life. But first we’re stopping at Hawkins Cove to walk on the beach, for old times’ sake.
My brother is driving. I’m the navigator, so it’s my job to entertain. When we reach the highway, he relaxes. “Tell me a story,” he says. “Make it epic.”
I think for a long time. “I have one. You may not believe it, though.”
“Try me,” he says.
I do Nate’s bidding. After all, he’s my big brother, and we have a few hours to kill.
“This is Billy’s story. But if I were the one telling it, I’d start with Nate’s call. For me, that’s the pivot point between before and after. The moment I was, for lack of a better expression, jolted awake.”
The dream continues. We pick up speed, and I keep talking. Soon, I grow wings.
Author’s Note
I started working on When We Were Bright and Beautiful in 2016. A couple of years later, the #MeToo movement exploded. So, it was largely coincidental that I happened to be writing a novel about sexual assault at the same time the world was reckoning with the issue. At first, the overlap was overwhelming; and I considered, if not abandoning the book then at least changing the central crime. In the end, the sight of so many women stepping forward evoked a sense of urgency, and I stayed the course, a decision I’ve never regretted.
To write this novel properly, that is, to depict the complexity, nuance, and pervasive consequences of sexual assault without demonizing a vulnerable young woman or supporting an ostensible rapist required humanizing the characters. To accomplish this, I read scores of novels and nonfiction books, and watched hours of movies and television. Unfortunately, space precludes me from listing every title. However, I do need to mention Blackbird by David Harrower, a play that crystalized for me the insidious ways sexual trauma compels a young girl to sacrifice her autonomy, identity, even her reality, to explain the inexplicable and find a way forward.
In fiction, just like in life, each story is the sum total of all the stories that have preceded it, and my own is no exception. In this way, When We Were Bright and Beautiful owes an enormous debt to all the writers who came before me and dared to tackle this subject.
Similarly, I am indebted to the countless women and girls who shared their experiences of sexual violence as a result of the #MeToo movement. Equally important is the debt I owe to the women and girls who shared their experiences long before the #MeToo movement made it feel safer to do so. Finally, I want to recognize the women and girls who continue to suffer alone and in silence.
Jillian Medoff
Acknowledgments
Fifth novels are killers. This book was uniquely difficult and it exists only because a number of very smart people contributed their time, expertise, and advice. While it’s impossible to fully express my love and gratitude for all they’ve done on my behalf, here is my heartfelt attempt.
I am extremely grateful to the Mercer County Criminal Courthouse staff for their comprehensive description of the detention process, and to Kimberly Worth, Worth Jarrell LLC, for her painstaking review of the legal arguments depicted in these pages. A brilliant but busy litigator （who also happens to be my sister）， Kim generously walked me through pre-and post-trial procedures, researched and answered all my questions, and vetted scenes in and out of the courtroom. If errors exist, I claim full responsibility.
I’d also like to extend my deep appreciation and awe to:
Emily Griffin, Jen Gates, and Nicole Dewey for their white-hot brilliance, diligence, encouragement, and kindness. To work with the same publishing team over several novels is a rare gift, one I never take for granted.
Jonathan Burnham for his editorial genius and tolerance for risk.
Erin Files, Alison Warren, and everyone at Aevitas Creative Management.
The Writers Room and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts.
Tracy Locke, Katie O’Callaghan, Leah Wasielewski, Mary Ann Petyak, Micaela Carr, and everyone at Harper/HarperCollins.
Dr. Nan Jones and Dr. Karen Hopenwasser.
David Blumenstein, the Segal Group, and Jen Benz, Segal Benz, for time, space, and ongoing support. Special shout-out to all my Segal Benz coworkers.
Todd Lane for the insight and laughs but mostly the laughs.
Aimee Molloy for the podcast, for her wit and intelligence, and for sharing the grind, day in and day out.
Laura Zigman, Sue Halpern, Ann Bauer, Karen Bergreen, Liz Kaye, Colleen Magee, Catharine Hamrick, Laura Hanford, Erin Nauman, Jen Schuster, Stacey Simon, Ettore Toppi, Victoria Skurnick, and Diane Swisher for careful readings, wise counsel, foxhole humor, and respite from the absurdity.
Lewis Medoff, Naomi Medoff, Mara Medoff, Joy Dawson, Sam Worth, Alex Crowell, David Crombie, Jack Crombie, and Kennedy Crombie for your presence, warmth, and inspiration.
Finally, my husband, Keith Dawson, and daughters, Sarah, Liv, and Mollie for everything, always.
（Oh, and Goose, too, I guess.）
About the Author
JILLIAN MEDOFF is the author of the national bestseller I Couldn’t Love You More, as well as the novels This Could Hurt, Good Girls Gone Bad, and Hunger Point. A former fellow at MacDowell, Blue Mountain Center, VCCA, and Fundación Valparaiso, she has an MFA from NYU. In addition to writing fiction, Jillian has a long career in management consulting and is currently a senior consultant at Segal Benz, a division of the Segal Group.
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