by Amber Smith
I watched as he turned it over in his hands and read the note I’d written on the back for him.
“What does it mean?” he finally said, looking at me once again.
“I think it means that there’s not one truth, not one way to love and be known, but . . .” I paused, trying to think of a word big enough to encompass everything I’d learned about him and Mallory and my parents and myself.
“Infinite ways?” he finished.
“Yes.”
“I like that,” he said quietly.
“And it also means I’m sorry,” I whispered. “And it means that all those things I said to you, all those things I did—they were about me and my stuff, not you.”
“I know.” He nodded, and then said, “Me too.”
• • •
As we stood in his driveway waiting for Hayden and Gabby to pick me up, I wanted to tell him how I thought he was the best person I’d ever known or ever would know, and that what we had had healed something in me I hadn’t thought could be healed, and that I didn’t have a clue how I’d ever get over him and, most of all, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to.
When the car pulled up, we looked at each other, and I hoped he knew all of those things already without me having to say them out loud.
I threw my arms around him because I couldn’t let this end without one last embrace.
He hugged me back, and as he released me from his arms, I felt the ground beneath my feet begin to shift. I held on tighter for just a moment, and he let me.
But nothing holds still that long; nothing holds that still long enough.
I let go.
I forced my feet to walk away from him. When I got into the car and looked back at the house, he was already gone.
CHRIS
LIVE OR DIE. I USED to think it was so simple—a choice, really. Live authentically or die pretending. I thought once I chose to live, I’d finally start my life. What I didn’t know is that it’s not a choice you make just once; it’s a choice you have to keep on making. Because life doesn’t wait until you’re perfect, or better, or out of pain, for you to be alive. You have to choose it every minute of every day.
That’s what I was thinking about as she turned away from me.
I went back into the house because I couldn’t stand to watch her leave. I ran up the stairs to my room before my parents could ask me any questions. My heart was pounding. There was something more I needed to do, something I still needed to say, but I didn’t know what.
My eyes drifted to the photo sitting on my desk, to the discarded envelope still on my bed. I jerked open my desk drawer and rifled through it, throwing its contents on the floor, until I was holding it—the necklace I bought for Maia.
I raced down the stairs with my fingers working to pry the necklace out of the little plastic bag. As I swung the door open, I heard my mom calling my name, but I ran, not even bothering to close it behind me.
The car was sitting at the stop sign on the corner.
“Wait!” I yelled, waving my arms over my head. “Maia!”
The car started moving again, then stopped abruptly, the taillights glowing red in the dark. The door opened, and Maia stepped out of the car.
It felt like I was running through water; my legs just couldn’t get me there fast enough. When I finally reached her, I was out of breath, and she was standing there, waiting for me.
“Here,” I said, holding out the necklace. “I wanted you to have this.”
She let me place it in her open hands—and she cradled the locket in her palm, smiling at it like it was something living, fragile. Then she undid the clasp and held one side of the necklace in each hand, bringing it around to the back of her neck.
“Will you?” she asked me.
I had to step in close and reach around her to latch the chain, and as I smelled the citrus in her hair, I wished so badly we could just return to the way things were. But I knew we couldn’t.
I backed up a step, and tried to memorize the way the locket looked against her skin. We put our arms around each other once more, and her lips brushed my cheek, as we stood there under the streetlight.
I watched the car drive away, getting smaller and smaller in the distance. And I realized then that Maia was never the right person at the wrong time, and she wasn’t the wrong person at the right time. We were both the right people, in exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
When I am writing, I always try to think about the kinds of stories I really needed when I was a young person, the ones that would’ve made me feel less alone in the world. While I am not transgender, I connect to what trans and nonbinary youth are going through right now as being parallel to my own coming out and coming-of-age experience. I grew up during a time when things felt pretty bleak for LGBTQ people, when I did not have the rights I do today, and when my future and my safety as a lesbian felt very uncertain. One thing I have learned to believe in along the way is the transformative power of love—love of any kind. Love is what heals us and gives us hope, and that is something no one should ever be without.
There is nothing I know of that opens minds and hearts better than sharing our stories, and my wish for Something Like Gravity is that it can, in some small way, give hope to those who may be struggling with some of the same things as Chris and Maia.
To you, I say this: You matter. You are not alone. You won’t be erased.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book was years in the making. It has changed shape many times along the way, and there were moments when I thought it would never come together. Without the following people it never would have.
First, I thank YOU—my readers—for joining me on this journey and inspiring me every step of the way. Some of you I’ve been fortunate enough to meet face-to-face and others online, through the personal stories you have entrusted me with in late-night emails, messages, and posts. These moments we share are what keep me going—thank you for always reminding me why I must continue writing.
To my agent, Jess Regel: I remember first telling you about the idea for Something Like Gravity over a slice of pizza in 2017, and from that moment on, your support of this book has never wavered. I feel like the luckiest author in the world to have you and the team at Foundry Literary + Media by my side.
Deepest thanks go to my editor, Rūta Rimas. For your belief in Chris and Maia’s story, for loving these characters like I do, and for helping to bring the vision I had of them to life. Your guidance, insight, and support shaped this book into what it is today, and for that I will be forever grateful.
Thanks are also due to Justin Chanda, Nicole Fiorica, Margaret K. McElderry Books, and the entire Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division—so many talented, dedicated people had a hand in making sure this book came safely into the world, and I am grateful to each and every one of you. Mia Nolting, as a longtime fan of yours, I could not have asked for an illustrator whose work I admire more—thank you for bringing Chris and Maia’s world to life through your incredible artwork.
Many thanks to my early readers for bearing with me through the crappy first drafts and helping me to see more clearly the story I was trying to tell. To Samantha Gellar—for reading each and every version of each and every draft, many times over—as well as Holly Summers-Gil and Bryson McCrone, for your careful reading of portions of this book. Robin Constantine and Rebecca Petruck, thank you for your early encouragement and enthusiasm (not to mention the amazing plotting brainstorm session we had on retreat). Dr. Angela Mazaris at the LGBTQ Center at Wake Forest University, I cannot thank you enough—your guidance, feedback, and thoughtful reading of this book made all the difference. Thanks also to Mike Brotherton, Christian Ready, and the Launch Pad Astronomy Workshop at the University of Wyoming, for helping to kindle my inner astronomy geek.
It is often said that writing is a “lonely profession,” but I am lucky to have such amazing author friends who disprove that adage: Amy Reed,
Jaye Robin Brown, Brenda Rufener, Robin Roe, Kathleen Glasgow, Julie Buxbaum, Brendan Kiely, the Nebo Retreaters, the Sweet16ers, and so many others. (I could fill a book with each of your names.)
As always, an enormous debt of gratitude is owed to my family and my dear friends.
Finally, last but never least, thank you, Sam—my love, my heart—without you, there would be no Chris and Maia, no Something Like Gravity, no love story to tell.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AMBER SMITH is the New York Times bestselling author of the young adult novels The Way I Used to Be and The Last to Let Go. An advocate for increased awareness of gendered violence, as well as LGBTQ equality, she writes in the hope that her books can help to foster change and spark dialogue surrounding these issues. She grew up in Buffalo, New York, and now lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with her partner and their ever-growing family of rescued dogs and cats. You can find her online at AmberSmithAuthor.com.
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Also by Amber Smith
The Way I Used to Be
The Last to Let Go
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2019 by Amber Smith
Cover illustration copyright © 2019 by Mia Nolting
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ISBN 978-1-5344-3718-0
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ISBN 978-1-5344-5753-9 (export pbk)
