by Jenny Lee
Anna walked over and handed the girl on the bench her pink lighter. The girl had dark hair, which Anna thought was black like her own. But as she got closer she realized it was in fact a dark emerald green. She had many piercings going up both ears and a ring of roses tattooed around her ankle. She was dressed in all black and wore a black motorcycle jacket that looked familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it.
“Thanks for the light. Want one?” the girl asked, holding out a cigarette.
Anna had only smoked a handful of cigarettes in her life, though she and Alexia had shared a few post-coitally once, which made her smile, because she felt at the time like they were kids pretending they were far older, smoking in bed after sex.
“Sure, thanks,” Anna said, taking the outstretched Marlboro Light and firing it up with her pink lighter.
Anna sat down next to the girl, and the two of them smoked for a bit.
“I know why you’re here,” the girl said.
This totally freaked out Anna, and she wondered if she had somehow already taken the pills and was now hallucinating. Or maybe she was already dead, a ghost stuck in purgatory like that famous movie about the kid seeing dead people, and this girl was her guide.
“You read that fucked-up story in the paper, right?” she said, exhaling smoke through her nose like Khaleesi’s dragon Drogon. “And I thought I had it bad. That poor girl had to see her boyfriend get hit by a train! Whammo!” She clapped her hands for emphasis, which shocked Anna for its vulgarity, given the subject matter. “I mean, that’s gotta suck some big ol’ balls. And I should know because I lost the guy I loved, too. Two months ago in Arizona. It wasn’t as romantic, because he wasn’t saving my life and dying in the process, but I was with him when it happened.”
“What happened?” Anna asked. “How did he die?”
“Overdose. Smack. H-bomb. Horse. Heroin. He’s just another statistic of the opioid crisis in America, I guess. But he’s buried up here and I just needed to be near him, you know?”
Anna knew the girl was talking tough, but she could hear the sadness in her voice.
I need to be where you are.
Alexia’s words haunted her. He had said it so many times to her, and she didn’t always understand it, at first, thinking it was a line on his part. But after he died, she understood it perfectly. She had to be pulled kicking and screaming by her father when he tried to make her leave the platform the night he died. She didn’t want to leave him. She needed to be where he was. She refused to leave until after they wheeled him away in the black zippered body bag, but that was after hours of photographs and police interviews. Her father let her stay because he had no choice. She had said then that if he didn’t let her stay, she’d kill herself. Her words had frightened her father so much he left her with a cop and ran to an upstairs bathroom, throwing up at the very thought.
“Anyway, so I’m here in the city, my first time ever in the famous Big Apple. I’m hanging out in Union Square Park, and a newspaper blows onto my feet. I mean, who the fuck reads newspapers anymore? But when I try to kick it away, I see the headline of ‘Tragic Teen Love Story, the Train of Doom,’ or some shit like that, and I pick it up because, hell, I’m eighteen and I have a tragic love story, too. So, I read this fucking nutso story, and I’m obsessed. And where I’ve been all, ‘Poor me, my boyfriend died from an accidental overdose like a dumbfuck,’ I really felt for this girl whose boo got run over by a train. By the way, even though I’m calling my dead bf a dumbfuck, I’m saying it with love. I fuckin’ loved that guy. Figures that the one guy who’s sweet to me, who actually really loved me, kicks the bucket right after he proposes.”
“He proposed to you?” Anna asked.
“Yeah, the dummy. I told him we were too young to get married, and we had to wait a few years, but I said yes. It was pretty romantic.”
“And you loved him,” Anna volunteered.
“And I loved him,” the girl agreed. “But he loved me more, which I know is bitchy of me to say, but it’s true. My mom always says it’s more important for the guy to love the girl more, because if it’s the other way around, then it always ends badly for the girl.”
“What do you mean?” Anna asked, genuinely interested now.
“Look, we girls get the raw end of the stick on pretty much everything. Men make more money than us. Men are stronger than us, physically; you know, with muscles and shit. They always dump women when they get older, while they get more distinguished and celebrated when they age, which is total bullshit, you know? Like men have always had all the rights and the power forever, where we girls have had to fucking take the scraps. But my mom, and she’s smart about men, dumb as rocks about money and parenting, but she knows dudes … well, she said the only arena where we women have a leg up on men is in love. ’Cause the only thing that can bring down a big strong man from his high-horse ego is when he loves a woman, like truly loves-her-loves-her. It’s the only time we girls get to win big. So that’s why it’s better if the guy loves the girl more, because if she loves him more, it never works out good for her. I know I sound crazy, my mom explains it better.”
“No, I get it,” Anna said softly. “Women have suffered throughout history forever at the hands of men. Why should we suffer in the romance, too? I mean, if we don’t have to.”
“Exactly! You said it, sister.” She stared at Anna, a flicker of recognition passing over her face, but Anna didn’t flinch. Her picture hadn’t been in the papers, because she was a minor and her father had made sure it didn’t happen. “So what’s your dealio? Why are you here on track twenty-seven in the middle of the night?”
“Same as you,” Anna said. “I heard about the story and found it sad. I wanted to come here and … I don’t know … see where it happened. Try to understand it.”
“It’s simple. This boy loved his girl so much he saved her life, literally pulled her ass out of the tracks, then he saved a homeless dude’s dog, but then didn’t make it out in time. He’s a goddamn romantic hero.”
“Yeah, but what about the girl?” Anna asked. “How is she going to live on when a boy loved her that much? He’s dead, and her life is ruined forever.”
“Yeah, that’s one way to look at it,” the girl said. “Look, no doubt she’s gonna be fucked up forever about it. But think about it. She now gets to live her whole life knowing some boy loved her so much that he died for her! I mean, if that’s not power, then I don’t know what is. She can be like a superhero with magical love powers or something, you know? Once the smoke clears, and she stops feeling like shit about it, she’s gonna feel good forever. ’Cause she will always know she’s worthy of some big-ass type of super love. Girl, sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. Normally I’m a total pessimist about love and shit. But this story, I dunno … it just makes me hopeful. About love, you know?”
“Yeah, I do know what you mean,” Anna said, standing up and stubbing out her cigarette. “I have to get home. But it was great talking to you. And I’m sorry for your loss. I know your boyfriend really loved you, too.”
“Oh yeah?” the girl asked. “You don’t even know him, so how the hell do you know that?”
Anna shrugged and then smiled. “I just know. One of my superpowers, I guess.”
“Cool,” she said. “Hey, then you should have this. I was gonna keep it because I found it, but a love superhero should have it instead. It can be your logo like Superman’s ‘S.’”
The girl flicked something at Anna, something shiny and silver. Anna thought it was a coin, rotating in the air, and she watched as it arced through the air before she reached out and grabbed it.
“It’s a little smushed. I think it got run over by a train, but it’s cooler that it’s not perfect because love ain’t ever perfect,” she said. “You can still read it though.”
Anna looked down in wonder at the object she was now holding in the palm of her hand. It was bent and scuffed, but it was still somewhat heart-shaped.
It was the silver charm Alexia had given her for Valentine’s Day, the one he had been holding when he died. She stared at the word ME printed on one side, and then flipped it over to the other side and smiled at the word YOU.
“Thank you,” Anna said. “I promise to keep it forever.” Anna waved to the girl as she walked toward the stairs, on her way back home to bed, with his heart in her pocket. She needed to get home, tear up some letters, and go to sleep, because tomorrow she was flying off to start her new life, stronger now, because a boy she loved with all her heart had loved her more. And she deserved it.
Author's Note
When Jenny Met Anna
I first read Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina when I was fifteen. I had recently gotten spectacularly busted sneaking out of the house and “borrowing” the family car to go cruising around our tiny town of Paris, Tennessee, population 11,000 and Home of the World’s Biggest Fish Fry. I was grounded for three months with no TV, no boom box, and, to top it all off, my dad called the owner of the local McDonald’s and got me a job working the drive-thru.
My only source of pleasure while grounded was reading. My older sister Helen had just finished taking Russian Lit at Brown and sent me her copy of Anna Karenina with a note: “Everyone makes mistakes. Anna Karenina had it way worse.”
An 864-page book set in Russia was a little daunting, but with nothing else to do I figured I’d give it a shot. To say I loved Anna Karenina was an understatement. I devoured it, adoring the massive cast of characters and all the family dramas. As a teenage girl, my favorite story line, of course, was the doomed love affair between Anna and Count Vronsky, and I cried when she threw herself in front of the train because I knew Vronsky’s love for her was true, even if she couldn’t see it. Upon finishing Anna Karenina, I crowned it my new favorite book.
I read Anna Karenina for the second time fifteen years later when I was living in Cambridge, Massachusetts, married to my first husband, a doctor. With my husband working all the time, me desperately missing my friends and NYC, where I’d spent my entire twenties, I was in dire need of escapism. During my second reading, I was once again mesmerized. This time, however, I was not only taken with Anna and Vronsky’s romance, but with the Kitty and Levin love story and Dolly and Stiva’s marriage, as well.
Five years later, I was divorced and living in Los Angeles, working as a TV writer. Single again, I spent the Christmas holiday in Manhattan with my very strict Korean mother, who was still not happy with me over divorcing my perfect-in-her-eyes-only doctor husband. My mom had also read Anna Karenina twice (once in Korean and once in English), and she and I went to see the Keira Knightley film adaptation at the Ziegfeld Theater. Afterward, we walked back to the St. Regis hotel, where we had a heart-to-heart about the movie and the book. My mother and I rarely see eye to eye on anything (nor do we ever have heart-to-hearts), but this was one of the rare occasions where we found a tiny patch of common ground.
My mother had been born, raised, and married before she moved to the United States from Korea at the age of twenty-eight with my father. She rarely talked about her past, but that night she shared with me how Korean women were still not afforded the same status in society that men were given. I asked if this made her angry, and she said no, because she had been raised to believe that women were valued for their roles as wives and mothers, which was why she couldn’t reconcile with my choice to leave my marriage over something as seemingly unimportant in her eyes as my career. I was disturbed to hear that there clearly hadn’t been much progress for women in Korea in the 150 years since Anna Karenina was published. I, in turn, shared with her that I would be forever grateful to be born and raised in the United States, where as a woman I was afforded the right to live my life however I chose. To me, this meant that if I wanted to leave my marriage and pursue my own career ambitions, then it was my prerogative to leave.
That night, I woke up at three in the morning and headed down to the lobby with my laptop. Sitting in the quiet, next to a gorgeously decorated hotel Christmas tree, I had one of those amazing light bulb moments: what would Anna Karenina look like as a young adult novel? Excited by the idea, I emailed Sally, my book agent, and then went back upstairs to bed. My last thought before falling asleep was that in my teen version, Anna would be half-Korean, in honor of my mother’s heritage and my brother’s half-Korean children. I woke up to an email from Sally saying, “Love the idea! Write it now!”
I made a few attempts, but I always hit a wall and eventually got busy with whatever TV show I was working on at the time. Then, a couple of years later, I met my soon-to-be second husband, John, on a book tour in Naperville in February 2014. (Our meet-cute, like Anna and Vronsky’s, also occurred during a snowy winter). When we met, I lived in LA and he lived in Brooklyn. I thought it was a fling, but he claims he knew immediately we were fated for much more. (How very Vronsky of him!) We embarked on a cross-country, long-distance love affair, and even though I said I’d never marry again (being a “wife” didn’t seem like my kinda thing), we eloped in Vegas the next year and have been extremely happy ever since.
At Christmas, as my husband and I drove from LA to Nashville with our giant 120-pound Newfoundland puppy, we discussed book ideas we hoped to write the coming year. This was when I told John about my idea for Anna K. My husband said, “You should write it now. You’re ready.” When I asked him what he meant by “ready,” he replied, “The best time to write a great love story is when you’re living one.” I laughed, reminding him that Anna and Vronsky’s love story didn’t end so well, though as I said it, I was already wondering if there could be a different fate for my Anna K. I started rereading Anna Karenina for the third time that night on my Kindle in a hotel outside of Oklahoma City.
Turns out my husband was right. The best time to write a love story is when you’re in love.
Acknowledgments
There are so many people who deserve a shout-out for their contribution to my first young adult novel, Anna K. The list is long, and I will not be going in order of importance; rather I will be mentioning based on height … KIDDING. I joke because I have an intense fear of leaving someone out accidentally. If by chance that happens, you should call me and parlay it into me feeling guilty forever and plying you with gifts and desserts. (I don’t mess around when it comes to dessert.)
Okay, now you understand why my book is so long, right? I’m a bit of a blabbermouth and have always been this way. The book is dedicated to my husband, John G. Kloepfer, and deservedly so because I cannot even begin to tell you how much praise and love needs to be heaped upon him for everything he has done for the book and for me as a human. He’s truly the best husband, and the best early reader I have ever met. He was the first person to read every single page of this book … and his edits and smarts have elevated it tremendously. My second reader was the amazing Jenna Hensel, whose unrelenting cheerleading and upbeat attitude was super helpful to me and I’m forever grateful for all your love and support with all my writing. The only thing sunnier than the actual sun out here in L.A. is you. Eleanor Bray, you’re next … because wow, you really were so fabulous throughout this whole process. Thanks for all your research and your willingness to deep dive into every topic of interest I tossed your way, whether it was Coachella or the right club the characters would go to in Manhattan. Countless texts were exchanged between us when it came to the most au courante teen lingo and you handled all my neurotic questioning with grace and aplomb.
Early readers are always such a necessary part of the writing process and with so many pages it was a big ask. I appreciate everyone’s time and effort on my behalf. Thank you Hannah Kloepfer, my amazing little sister-in-law; thanks to my bestie, Stephanie Staal; thank you Erika Kelley, for reading on a plane; thank you Diana Snyder, for all things Greenwich; and to Dustin Morris, you’re so special you get a major character named in your honor.
And I’m nothing without my friends: much love to Laura Clement, Tasha Blaine, Jenner Sullivan, Chri
stine Zander, David Holden, and Nadine Morrow—you all accepted my neurotic phone calls graciously and your continual unwavering support and tough-love you-can-do-it attitudes were appreciated. Big warm hugs and thanks to my family: Haekyong Lee, John Lee, Susan Stonehouse Lee, Benjamin, Addison, and Olivia. My lovely in-laws: Deborah and George Kloepfer, Sarah and Bob McLynn, Brayton and Livingston. I should also mention my late father and older sister, my father for grounding me for sneaking out and Helen for sending me my first copy of Anna Karenina to help me pass the time. And if we’re going there, hell, thank you Leo Tolstoy, because you’re the true OG of the literary world.
Sally Wofford-Girand, my literary agent and my friend. You were instrumental from the very beginning, predating everyone else since I first came up with the idea of a teen version of Anna Karenina in 2012 after seeing the movie in New York. Thank you for your brilliant mind of knowing this was a great idea and your emails through the years reminding me to get cracking on writing the book. You have been such a rock during this whole process, and I am so grateful for not only your publishing business savvy, but also all your insightfulness when it comes to story and characters. I’m so lucky to have you as an agent and I’m thrilled we’re on this ride together. And a big shout-out to Taylor Curtin at Union Literary … I have appreciated all our many phone chats during this process and thanks for being so generous with your enthusiasm and support.
I have many people to thank at Flatiron Books, but I must start with the two women who really made this all possible in the first place: my amazing editors Sarah Barley and Caroline Bleeke. (It’s rare to get one fabulous editor; to have gotten two has been a real joy in this whole process.) I immediately felt you both understood my vision immediately, how I wanted it to be soapy and fun and girlie and exciting, while also imparting a strong female message without sacrificing any of the swoony romance and love. Your brilliant and astute edits and continual support for Anna K has been exceptional, and frankly it’s been so much fun to work with you both. I’m really lucky to have two such smart, cool women to share my hopes and dreams for Anna and the whole cast of characters in this book. Special thanks to my publishers, Bob Miller and Amy Einhorn; Keith Hayes and Anna Gorovoy for the amazing cover and design; Lena Shekhter and Lauren Hougen for production; and Cat Kenney and Marlena Bittner, Katherine Turro, and Nancy Trypuc for the incredible publicity and marketing campaigns. And thanks to our cover model, Moon Choi. I adore the kismet of your birthday being the same day as the pub date!
