The Name of the Star - Maureen Johnson [123]
“Rory!” That was my mother’s voice, urgent. Claudia was saying something as well. My eyes were still adjusting. I could just make out shapes at first—the stall door, the window, the pattern of the tiles. The smell was already there, sweet, floral, almost like a scented candle. The unmistakable smell of a ghost departed. And as my eyes came back into focus, I saw that the woman was gone. I looked at the empty space, then at my hand.
“Rory?” my mother said. “What happened? What was that noise?”
That was not a question I was prepared to answer.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I HAD THE IDEA FOR THIS BOOK ONE VERY HOT SUMMER’S DAY IN London. I shoved everything else aside and worked on it like a mad working thing. I talked about it a lot. I dragged people to dark alleys in the East of London to stare at walls and sidewalks. I made some of the same people watch hours of footage taken from the driver’s compartment of a Tube train (“Hey! This one is forty-five minutes of driving the Northern line tunnels! Grab a snack!”) I have depended on the following people in various ways, and they are all owed thanks.
First, to my agent and friend Kate Schafer Testerman—there is no me without Kate. I will always fondly remember how you answered e-mails about this book while you were in labor, and I asked you why you were answering e-mails while you were in labor, and you said you were bored and between episodes of Buffy.
To Jennifer Besser, my editor, who believed in this book from the word go—I don’t think the term “fairy godmother” is out of place here. To Shauna Fay, who is always there with a helping hand. And to everyone at Penguin for all of your support.
To my friends Scott Westerfeld, Justine Larbalestier, Robin Wasserman, Holly Black, Cassie Clare, Sarah Rees Brennan, John Green, Libba Bray, Ally Carter . . . who read drafts, walked me through plot problems, and talked me off ledges. (Not that I was ever going to jump, but like a cat, I find myself in high, precarious places sometimes.) You are wise and long-suffering, and I am lucky to know you all. Believe me, I know it.
Andy Friel, Chelsea Hunt, and Rebecca Leach all served as advanced readers. Mary Johnson (RN, CSNP, MOM) served as the medical consultant and got very used to me calling up and starting conversations with things like, “So, say I was sawing off a human head . . .”
Jason and Paula allowed me to marry them in the middle of all of this, and went with my idea of rolling a twenty-sided die in the ceremony to determine the success of the marriage.
And thank you to all my online friends who listen to my ramblings every day as I merrily roll along.
Without all of you, I’d be nowhere. Or, I’d be somewhere, but it would be the wrong place.