Shiver Trilogy (Shiver, Linger, Forever) (60 page)

• SAM •

So it comes to this: I would have lost her either way.

If Cole hadn’t reinfected her, I would have lost her in the hospital bed. And now Cole’s wolf toxin pumps through her veins, and I lose her to the woods, like I lose everything I love.

So here is me, and I am a boy watched — by her parents’ suspicious eyes, since they cannot prove that I kidnapped Grace but believe it nonetheless — and I am a boy watchful — because Tom Culpeper’s bitterness is growing palpable in this tiny town and I will
not
bury Grace’s body — and I am a boy waiting — for the heat and fruitfulness of summer, waiting to see who will walk out of those woods for me. Waiting for my lovely summer girl.

Somewhere fate laughs in her far-off country, because now I am the human and it is Grace I will lose again and again,
immer wieder
, always the same, every winter, losing more of her each year, unless I find a cure. A real cure this time, not some parlor trick.

Of course, it’s not just her cure. In fifteen years, it’s my cure, and Cole’s cure, and Olivia’s cure. And Beck — does his mind still sleep inside his wolf’s pelt?

I still watch her now, like I always did, and she watches me, her brown eyes looking out from a wolf’s face.

This is the story of a boy who used to be a wolf, and a girl who became one.

I won’t let this be my good-bye. I’ve folded one thousand paper crane memories of me and Grace, and I’ve made my wish.

I will find a cure. And then I will find Grace.

Once again, I feel unequal to the task of thanking everyone involved in the making of
Linger
. So many folks have been part of making
Shiver
and
Linger
that I’m afraid I’m bound to leave people out.

First of all, I have to thank my absolutely incredible editor, David Levithan, who helped me laugh hysterically as I transformed
Linger
from a house cat to a tiger. I have learned so much writing this book with you. And I have to thank the entire Scholastic team, for their tireless support of me and the series. Special mentions to Tracy van Straaten (we’ll always have Chicago), Samantha Wolfert, Janelle DeLuise and Rachel Horowitz (Eastern Europe is putty in your hands), Stephanie Anderson (my intrepid production editor, for her tireless work on the books), and Rachel Coun (founding member of the
Shiver
fan club). I would list everyone at Scholastic who made me laugh or helped make the books a success, but it would take all day. Suffice to say: I love all of you.

I have to single out Chris Stengel, my jacket designer, for
special thanks. Chris, you are a graphic god, and you have chosen to use your powers for good. Thank you for that.

My agent, Laura Rennert, and her dog, Lola, have been tireless champions and listeners, and without them, I would be puddles of ooze. Ooze does not make for great fiction.

Thanks to random folks: Jennifer Laughran, for NARKOTIKA. Marian, for tea with almond extract. Beau Carr, for shouting from the rooftops. To all of the Gothic Girls, for returning my sanity. Vera, for accuracy in acetaminophen dispersal. To dead Germans, for writing excellent poetry.

I couldn’t have written this without the help of my critique partners, Tessa Gratton and Brenna Yovanoff. I know you’re in every acknowledgments page I write, but heck, it’s true. You could cackle evilly when I beg for a lifeline, but instead you guys always throw it out to me.

My family: Kate, you know you’re my first reader and best friend. Dad, you make werewolf logic possible. Mom, you always manage to know just when I’m at the end of my rope. Andrew, for helping me work out what made Cole tick. Jack, for countless wagon rides. Mom-in-law Karen, for wrangling Things 1 & 2 while I tore up NYC. Thank you.

And finally Ed, always Ed. It always comes back to you.

Ach der geworfene, ach der gewagte Ball,

füllt er die Hände nicht anders mit Wiederkehr:

rein um sein Heimgewicht ist er mehr.

Oh, the ball that’s thrown, the ball that dared,

Does it not fill your hands differently when it returns:

made weightier, merely by coming home.

— Rainer Maria Rilke