Like a broken heart drawn in sunscreen, only whole when we stick together.
In time, it may fade, but it’ll never truly be gone—because if one goes down, we all go down, which might be the most steadfast act of friendship I’ve ever known.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m going to start with a story. A story-within-a-story.
Some of what you just read is true.
During my junior and senior years at the University of Georgia, my roommates and I lived in a house off-campus owned by a fraternity. Our backyards were connected by a little old shed, so it was incredibly easy to move between the two properties. I once walked into that shed to find massive tobacco leaves hanging from the ceiling; another time, I walked into our kitchen to find a brother tenderizing deer meat with a mallet.
There really were specs of blood on the ceiling, and we really did eat it for dinner that night.
We decorated the living room with old vinyl records and it wasn’t unusual to walk out of my bedroom to see random boys in the house at all hours: collecting our rent, which was ridiculously cheap. Attempting to fix all the things that needed to be fixed. The insulation was terrible, our toes always frigid against the hardwood floor; one winter, when the heater broke, my roommate slept in oven mitts to keep her fingers from freezing. Then one night, after several months of living there, we discovered the house had a basement—well, more of a crawl space. It was tiny and, to be honest, a little bit terrifying. We heard rumors of brothers being hazed down there in the past. The concrete walls were covered in graffiti and the only way you could access it was by a little side door hidden behind the bushes out back. And despite the fact that I truly don’t think anyone ever went down there, learning of its existence after months of living in the room just above it was more than a little unsettling.
With that said, while the setting of this book was inspired by a very real place, everything else is entirely fictional, including and especially the characters themselves. The only character I stole from real life was the house itself, because trust me when I say: that house had character. It was weird and wonderful and I just had to memorialize it—but the rest of this thing, I completely made up. The brothers next door treated us with kindness and respect; the roommates I lived with are still, to this day, some of my very best friends.
Now that that’s out of the way, I want to start by thanking the original girls of Hartford House for allowing me （no, encouraging me） to share this special place with the world. I look back and laugh at those years so often; the memories are too ridiculous to recount. That place left a mark on us, but we left our mark on it, too: our names are still written in chipped paint across the siding, our doodles still preserved in the concrete out front. Thank you so much for talking me into letting our time there live on in these pages. This book was so special to write.
To my agent, Dan Conaway, who wears a million hats and always wears them well: you’ve changed my life in countless ways and you have my endless gratitude. To Chaim Lipskar, Peggy Boulos-Smith, Maja Nikolic, Kate Boggs, Sofia Bolido, and everyone else at Writers House: thank you so much for all you do.
To my editor, Kelley Ragland: thank you for your continued trust and confidence. You have no idea how relieved I was when you first expressed your love for this book—a book that is so vastly different than ones I had given you previously. Your edits are spot-on, your opinions invaluable, and your support unwavering. Thank you, too, to everyone at Minotaur, St. Martin’s Publishing Group, and Macmillan, especially Andy Martin, Jen Enderlin, Allison Ziegler （who titled this book!）， Sarah Melnyk, Hector DeJean, Madeline Houpt, Paul Hochman, and David Rotstein. You guys just keep making my dreams come true.
To my UK editor, Julia Wisdom, and everyone at HarperCollins UK, including but not limited to Lizz Burrell, Susanna Peden, and Maddy Marshall: it’s an honor to be working together again. I can’t wait to bring more books overseas.
To my film agent, Sylvie Rabineau, at WME: thank you for everything you do to bring my stories to the screen.
To my husband, Britt, my favorite person on the planet: I’m so in love with our life together. Thank you so much for building it with me.
To my family: this past year has thrown us some curveballs, huh? Even so, there’s nothing we can’t tackle when we tackle it together and I’m so grateful for the little unit we have. I’m proud of us all—but especially you, Mom. I’m in awe of you daily and I love you so much.
To Brian, Laura, Alvin, Lindsey, Matt, and the rest of my extended family: thank you, as always, for your love and support.