I put fiction in quotes because despite this being the most fictionalized book I’ve done thus far, it felt the most non-fictional as I was working on it. In truth, I know more Quans than I know Justyces. More boys—and girls—doing their best to just stay out of trouble in a world that seems bent on shoving them into it. Kids, mostly poor, African American, and living in less than ideal circumstances (euphemistically speaking), who experience their first suspension from school and are said to have “behavioral problems” before they reach double digits in age. Classic school-to-prison pipeline. Look that up.

   I spent time in juvenile detention facilities interacting with the kids who are being held there, and hearing their tales of downward slide. Many of them had stories like Quan’s: an incarcerated parent, deeply traumatic home lives, and limited resources for survival, let alone situational improvement. Most of the decisions they made—especially the ones that landed them in detention—were rooted in desperation: A seventeen-year-old who joined a gang after his dad left and his mom slowly unraveled; he got tangled up in drug use to numb the hurt he didn’t know how to deal with, and eventually committed a gang-related murder. A fifteen-year-old who was being bullied and eventually got fed up and shot the bully in the head. A kid whose parents would boost him through the windows of houses so he could let them in for the robbery. And the one who keeps winding up back in detention because she takes her ankle monitor off whenever she gets out and is placed on house arrest.

       Many of the kids I’ve met know they’re going to be locked up for a long time. Most of the girls have been sexually abused or trafficked (and they are all under eighteen). I’ve met a couple of boys who have pregnant girlfriends awaiting their release.

   All this to say: the stuff in this book is very real.

   I did take a few fictional liberties. For instance, Justyce likely wouldn’t have been able to visit Quan in the facility. In the state of Georgia, visitation is limited to immediate family, significant others, and attorneys. Were he truly incarcerated here in Georgia, he would’ve been permitted to send two postcards per week unless his family provided additional stamps. It is also unlikely (unfortunately) that Quan would have such a solid team of people—friend, caseworker, therapist, teacher, and attorney—rallying around him.

       Which was the hardest thing of all about telling this story: knowing the most fictional part is the support Quan receives.

   But I think we can change that, dear reader. No matter how young or old you are, we all have the power to positively impact the people around us before they get to the point Quan did. Sometimes all it takes to bring about a shift in direction is knowing there’s someone out there who believes you’re valuable. That you have something positive to offer the world.

   If you’re a reader who hasn’t had a person like that in your life—someone who looks at you and sees good things—please, please, please know that I do. I don’t have to meet you to know that you are infinitely valuable and that you have something no one else on earth has to offer the world. Because you are the only you.

   If you’re a person fortunate enough to have people who believe in you, pay it forward. The majority of the people you interact with are fighting some kind of battle. Sometimes a smile or a genuine “Hey, how are you?” has the power to move an emotional mountain. A listening ear can make a day, and an “I believe in you” could completely change a trajectory.

   Anyway. I’ll stop there.

       Thank you for reading, and please don’t forget: you are wildly important and have a lot to offer no matter how you feel. Resist when the world tries to convince you otherwise.

   As usual, there are more people who should be thanked than I’m gonna be able to name, but know that if you contributed to this book in ANY way—early readers, encouragers, Dear Martin fans who demanded a sequel (this is admittedly maybe not what you had in mind, but still), authenticity checkers, etc.—I appreciate you.

   Specifics: Phoebe—for telling me you wanted a Quan book and letting me write it the way I wanted to. Barbara—for being cool with this thing Phoebe wanted me to do. Danny and Zay—for texting me that one day and asking me to tell your story…letting me know that you were looking to me to amplify your voices by writing about a dude whose experiences mirror yours more than Justyce’s did.

   Nigel—thank you for your continued willingness to create the space and time for me to live out these massive and ever-evolving dreams of mine. Jakaylia and Rodrea—for reading this thing mad early and letting me know if you were moved or not. Jeff, Megan, and Sarah—for being a part of #TeamAttorney, reading this early, and checking my legal stuff. And #TeamRandomHouse: y’all are lit. Special shout to Kathy and Kristin, who texted me while reading to tell me you were reading—and enjoying.

       And most of all, I want to thank YOU, dear reader (especially if you’re actually reading these acknowledgments). You being at this point in the book hopefully means you read through the novel itself, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Boys like Quan don’t get a lot of positive attention, so you giving him yours—even though he’s fictional—means a lot to me.

   May you take everything you gained from this book and put it toward improving this wild world we live in.

   NIC STONE is the author of Odd One Out, an NPR Best Book and Rainbow Book List Top Ten, and Jackpot, a love-ish story that takes a searing look at economic inequality, for young adults. She is also the author of Clean Getaway, a middle-grade novel that deals with coming to grips with the pain of the past and the humanity of our heroes, which received two starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Booklist, who called it “an absolute firecracker of a book.” Dear Justyce, a companion novel to the New York Times bestselling and William C. Morris Award finalist Dear Martin, looks at the power of circumstance in decision-making, and seeks to stir compassion for a population of black children who have been deemed unworthy of it: the incarcerated.

   Nic lives in Atlanta with her adorable little family.

nicstone.info

From where he’s standing across the street, Justyce can see her: Melo Taylor, ex-girlfriend, slumped over beside her Benz on the damp concrete of the FarmFresh parking lot. She’s missing a shoe, and the contents of her purse are scattered around her like the guts of a pulled party popper. He knows she’s stone drunk, but this is too much, even for her.

   Jus shakes his head, remembering the judgment all over his best friend Manny’s face as he left Manny’s house not fifteen minutes ago.

   The WALK symbol appears.

   As he approaches, she opens her eyes, and he waves and pulls his earbuds out just in time to hear her say, “What the hell are you doing here?”

   Justyce asks himself the same question as he watches her try—and fail—to shift to her knees. She falls over sideways and hits her face against the car door.