The Secret Side of Empty (30 page)

Lastly, I want to make sure you understand that this is a fictional story. The way things work out in it
could
have happened that way—M.T.’s dad could have just stopped being physically abusive and she could have come to understand that suicide is not the answer. But in real life, you never know how things are going to go. So if you or a friend are in similar situations, don’t try to fix it alone or by hoping things will get better. Make your own happy ending by reaching out for help and tapping into all the love and support around you. Even on your darkest day, when you don’t see it or believe in it, it’s everywhere. Believe me. Just the fact that you can hold this book in your hand and that I was around to write it at all is proof of just how magical and unexpected life can be.

RESOURCES

For victims of domestic violence

National Domestic Violence Hotline—
www.thehotline.org

For suicide prevention

The Society for the Prevention of Teen Suicide—
www.sptsusa.org

TEEN Nineline Suicide and Crisis Hotline—1-800-786-2929

For more domestic violence and suicide resources, as well as more of my own story, go to
mariaeandreu.com/tssoe_resources
.

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I have always loved acknowledgments pages. Back when I was in the darkest hours of my teen years, undocumented, unsure about the future, books were the wonderful place I could go to be free. I always read the acknowledgments pages with awe. How did writers, those magical creatures, surround themselves with so many special people? I was so alone, so “not good enough,” I couldn’t imagine what luck that must take.

Now, all these years later, I find myself daunted by the task of listing all the people who supported me in the creation of this book. Like all the authors I admire, I too am surrounded by an amazing cast of characters. If I omit one, it is strictly a function of limited space and flagging memory.

First, to everyone who guided me on my journey from aspiring writer to published author. To Miss Bordiga, best English teacher ever, a heart full of gratitude. I would not have pursued a writing career had you not been my teacher. I know that flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. To everyone at Holy Rosary, a school that now only lives in our imaginations, thanks for four wonderful and wacky years. Norah Alberto and Marcela Sotomayor, Fido sisters, my Chelseas, thanks for a lifetime of friendship. And for the real-life Nate, thanks for being such a wonderful first boyfriend. Jim Warnke, thanks for all the surrogate fathering and for shining a door on the way out. Michael Falvey, my favorite sheepdog: without you I never would have made it through all the doubts to the other side. Your love and support made this dream possible.

Romano L. Mazzoli and Alan K. Simpson, thank you for the 1986 immigration reform bill that paved the way for the life I know today.

Charles Salzberg and Susan Shapiro, amazing writing teachers and human beings, thank you. To every agent and editor who rejected me, thank you for helping me get strong and determined. (No, really, I mean it. I needed to get rejected until the day when I was ready not to be.) To the agent whose name is lost to me who first suggested at the Backspace pitch conference that my book wanted to be a young adult novel, a million thank yous. Laurie Halse Anderson who helped me see just how beautiful YA could be. Bergen County Writers Group: Hans Spiegel, Betsy Voreacos, Alyson Raskin, Janet Blair, Christian K., and Pat Kinney and all the others who have passed through, thank you for being way too kind about my writing. Deborah Bigelow and the rest of your crew, you rock.

Ellie Spiegel and Margaret White and every other loving soul at the Community of Friends in Action, all my gratitude for showing me what compassion and activism mean and for helping to show me that the arc of the moral universe really does bend toward justice. Wythe Boehm, my “replacement Pablo,” for always asking to read the manuscript even though you and I both know you can write better. Oh, and for marrying the inimitable Rebecca Nemec, future agriculture secretary or world ruler or whatever else she decides to be. And for being crazy enough to think that I could write a wedding ceremony.

Genevieve Gagne-Hawes, seeing your gorgeous name pop up in my inbox telling me you’d pulled me out of the slush pile remains one of the highlights of my life. Ken Wright, your first email to me still sits framed in my living room. My wonderful agent, Susan Cohen, the soul of patience and business savvy, a basketful full of thanks and chocolate. Brianne Johnson and every other magical person at Writers House, I hope you know how much of a dream come true you guys really are. My wise and smart editor at Running Press, Lisa Cheng, thank you for your indefatigable slaying of all the awful “oh my Gods” and “wells” in my original manuscript and for asking all the questions that made the story better. Your belief in me and your gentle guidance have made this a perfect experience.

And . . . is it weird to acknowledge a house? I spent a lot of time being afraid that I would be homeless or, at least, country-less. When I finally found you, my beautiful little colonial, I knew right away I wanted to belong to you. For letting me feel so safe and so connected to one spot of earth and for giving me a peaceful spot to write my stories, house, I love you. Even though I didn’t meet you until I was twenty-nine years old, you’re definitely the house that I grew up in. My wonderful town, the “Athens of New Jersey,” thanks for being full of the kinds of people and places I always wanted to know.

Finally, to my family. How does one adequately give thanks for a lifetime of love? To La Mami for the late-night sewing and the maté and all the times you figured out how to persevere through impossible situations. Thank you, Pablo, brother extraordinaire, for being the coolest and smartest person I know. I look forward to blurbing your book soon.

And my children: my beloved Andreanna, how your eight-year-old’s reaction blew my mind when I finally got the courage to tell you my story. And how your belief in me kept me going even when I didn’t believe in myself! Thanks for painting me into a corner by telling every teacher you’ve had since the third grade that your mother is an author, even when I still kind of wasn’t. And my Zachary, thank you for your sweetness and goodness and your admirable example of single-mindedly going after your goals. Thank you both for choosing me as your mother in that mystical realm where souls choose moms. When you came along, I finally got it.