Sarah Stevenson: Underneath (Sarah Jamila Stevenson)

“ Yes , you look like that, Sunny honey,” Mikaela says.

“Like what?” I ask, suspiciously.

“ Gorgeous , silly.” She circles the table and grabs my shoulders and gives them an annoying shake, then a quick hug. “You’re, like, the Queen of Sunshine.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Is she joking?

“It means I am wildly jealous that Da Vinci here drew a portrait of you . He never draws portraits of any of us. Just sketches us in awkward lunchtime situations.” Mikaela lets go of my shoulders and prances around, flitting her hands like they’re little fairy wings and singing, “La la la! Queen of Sunshine!” In her ripped purple tights, knee-high black boots, short skirt, and “Not all who wander are lost” T-shirt, she looks completely ridiculous.

“If you’re trying to imitate me, you’re failing miserably.” It’s so unlike me—really, Queen of Sunshine?—that I start laughing helplessly.

For some reason, I think about the old me then, with her bleached-blond hair, her “safe” group of swim team friends and nobody she really felt close to. I feel sad for her, really sad. Mikaela whirls dizzyingly around a tree, whooping, and I remember Shiri and me as little kids, running around the backyard in pillowcase capes and shrieking with giggles—Wonder Nerd and Super Dork.

We’ll always have yesterday … and today, and tomorrow.

Shiri left me more than that. Grief, confusion, anger. Maybe even underhearing, though I may never know for sure. And I’ve spent so much time remembering the yesterdays I can never get back. So much time wasted, when it’s today that’s really important.

That’s not me anymore, though. Yes, some things are worth fighting to keep. But some things you have to let go.

I take the pen out of my hair, and Mikaela’s blank book out of my bag.

In the middle of the first page, like a title, I write: TOMORROW . And then I turn to the next page and start writing.

Author’s Note

Like far too many others, my life has been affected by the suicide of someone close to me. I’m also no stranger to the battle with depression and despair. These issues are serious, and social stigma can make it even more difficult to talk about it when we are hurting. Don’t hesitate to reach out for help if you need it, whether it’s you or a loved one who is suffering. There are resources out there to help teens (and adults) cope with depression, suicide, and other crises. These are just a few:

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Writing is a solitary activity, but this novel wouldn’t have come to be without help, encouragement, feedback, and friendship.

First things first, though.

In 1998, my stepcousin Janet took her own life. She was twenty-four years old. I was twenty-one. Many of my experiences of working through grief, sadness, confusion, and depression have found their way into this book.

I’m pretty sure this book never would have gotten finished at all if it hadn’t been for my writing group: Yat-Yee Chong, Tanita Davis, Kelly Herold, Anne Levy, Jennifer March Soloway, and JoNelle Toriseva. You are all amazing friends, dedicated writers, and wonderful companions to have on this journey. Special thanks to Tanita, who has probably had to listen to more of my griping and exasperation than anyone else (and who has always been there for last-minute advice), and to Jennifer, who has given me many pep talks and has always believed in this story.

Other readers have weighed in along the way, too. Particular thanks to Mike Adams for some very revealing insights into Sunny’s underhearing, and to Katie Sinclair for helping me with swim race details.

Thanks to my agent Jennifer Laughran for being there at the exact right time to help this one out into the world; to my editor at Flux, Brian Farrey-Latz, for being the perfect combination of friend, advocate, sounding board, and editor; and to everyone else at Flux for making this latest project a reality and for believing in my work. Lastly, thanks to the Green Gulch Farm Zen Center and Margaret Speaker Yuan and Colette Weil Parrinello of the SCBWI North/East Bay for providing the perfect environment for a writing (and editing) retreat.

Thanks to my husband, Rob, for everything: reading and giving feedback; listening to me gripe, panic, and/or think out loud; taking care of countless extra meals and chores; and giving me time and space and understanding and love.

And thanks to everyone who had faith in this project, even when I didn’t. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like you’re going to make it, but you just have to keep telling yourself, don’t give up.

Sarah Jamila Stevenson is a writer, artist, graphic designer, introvert, closet geek, good eater, struggling blogger, lapsed piano player, ukulele noodler, household-chore-ignorer, and occasional world traveler. Her first novel was The Latte Rebellion . She lives in Northern California with her husband and two cats. Visit her online at www.SarahJamilaStevenson.com.