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“Utterly compelling and emotionally intense.” —Peoplemagazine

“In this, his seventh novel, Will Price has written a profoundly affecting work of stunning moral complexity.” —Publishers Weekly

“Perfect.” —Reese Witherspoon

Friday, January 3

Chapter Two

Excuse me.”

I lifted my sleep mask to see three teenaged girls standing in the aisle beside my seat. “Yes?”

“Sorry to wake you,” said the girl with the lip ring and nearly waist-length braids. “But aren’t you Jo Wright?”

I wondered how she knew. Especially since I’d scraped my hair into a ponytail—hair that, in my author photo, was loose, sexily mussed, and honey blond.

But that photo had been taken before Will Price had destroyed my life, and I’d adopted my current regimen of heavy black eyeliner, all black clothes, and matching black hair dye.

“Uh.” I lifted the glass from the end of my seat rest. “Yes. Why?”

“I told you it was her, you guys.” The girl exchanged excited looks with her companions before turning back toward me. “You’re going to the book festival on Little Bridge Island, Florida, this weekend, aren’t you? I saw your name on the website.”

“Oh.” I was disappointed to note that my glass containedmostly only melted ice. “Yes, I’ll be doing a couple panels and signings there.”

I glimpsed a flight attendant at the end of the aisle observing my interaction with the girls with amusement. I looked meaningfully down at the melted ice in my otherwise empty glass.

The flight attendant nodded and slipped into the galley as one of the other girls—this one in exaggeratedly large horn-rimmed glasses—squealed, “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it’sJo Wright! I used to love your books!”

“Oh,” I said again.

I’ve always wondered how I’m supposed to respond to someone who says that they “used to” enjoy my books. Truthfully, it kind of hurt a little to be told by someone that they “used to” enjoy my work. It was nice that theyused to, but painful to hear that they no longer did.

Was this how the cast ofFriendsfelt every time someone came up to them and told them how much they “used to” enjoy their show? That had to suck.

Although not as much as it sucked to be me, becauseFriendsearns a lot more in residuals than the animatedKitty Katztelevision series based on my books ever did.

“Thanks,” I settled for saying, and was relieved when the flight attendant slipped me a brand-new glass of vodka and orange juice, and took away the empty one. “It’s great to meet you. See you when we land!”

Then I took a long sip of my drink—number two, and just as delicious as number one!—and attempted to slide the eye mask back over my face to continue my nap.

“We’re going, too,” said the third girl, this one wearing aleather vest with fringe that reached almost to her knees. “We’re flying all the way from Manitoba just to be at the festival!”

I slid the eye mask all the way back up. Things were getting interesting.

“Wow,” I said. These girls’ parents had to be loaded. Flights from Canada to the Florida Keys in January weren’t cheap. My own, from New York City, had set the festival back almost two thousand dollars. I’d seen the amount on my ticket. “Manitoba. That’s impressive.”

“You know, the Kitty Katz series completely saved my life in grade six,” the girl in the glasses said. “Obviously I know your characters are only cats, but they wereso much morethan cats to me.”

“Lauren loves cats,” the girl with the braids assured me.

It was at this point that I noticed that the guy sitting in the window seat next to me had paused the movie he’d been watching on his phone and was now listening to our exchange. Not to sound like a snob, but he was a bit scruffy-looking for first class—cargo shorts, a Batman T-shirt (Dark Knight, notLego, which in my opinion is the best Batman movie, but there’s no accounting for taste), with pale feet shod in flip-flops, along with a goatee.

Goatees are not my favorite, but my friend Bernadette says I’ve got to stop judging men who wear them just because my ex Justin did and he turned out to be a loser.

And of course, wewereon a flight to the Florida Keys. My seatmate’s scruffiness could be forgiven. Everyone goes to the Florida Keys for pleasure, not business.

Everyone except for me.