Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,134

got some dirt . . .” He lightly brushed a clump of grass off my jersey, and his touch warmed me like a torch that fired from my belly out.

“Thanks,” I said.

“So if you’re still up for a practice sometime, you can call me. Or whatever.”

I wanted the whatever. I wanted to tell him I wished I’d done things differently, and that he never had to worry about Bobby. I wanted to ask him to play Skee-Ball and eat at Jr’s and go to concerts in the city and talk about wild things and regular things. I wanted to know if he would ever forgive me. I wanted to know if I still had a chance.

Instead, I asked myself what I’d do if this was a daydream, or a fantasy, and I knew that I’d ask the one question that would get me all the answers I needed at once. Joe was looking at me with his head tilted and his eyes intent, like he was ready to be asked.

I grinned and met his eyes, and, focused entirely on him, said, “May I?”

His expression changed, as if trying to figure out what I meant. When his eyes lit up with recognition, I grabbed his shoulders and kissed him.

He wrapped his arms around my waist, and even though my jersey was sweaty and covered in dirt, he pulled me closer as the kiss went on and on. My daydreams, always at the edges of my mind, were entirely crowded out by this excellent new reality.

“So that’s a yes on practice?” Joe said, pulling back ever so slightly and speaking the question into my ear.

It was November 16, 1979, but unlike the day Bobby McMann showed up at school, there wasn’t a single moment when everything changed all at once, that wave rolling over. And maybe there hadn’t been one on that day, either.

“What do you think?” I grinned and kissed Joe again. My daydreaming hadn’t been pointless. But fantasizing was like trying to play soccer without any goals—you were just running back and forth, putting nothing on the line. Taking the kick made things real, even if you missed. But when you made it, there was no better feeling.

Life was full of possibilities. I was full of amazing potential.

And for the time being, and thanks in part to Bobby McMann, I had achieved my personal best.

I couldn’t wait for my next one.

Acknowledgments

I can say that this book is so much better because it’s not just mine. Getting a book out into the world is a team sport, as if dozens of people are keeping a cantaloupe in the air while corunning a marathon and also applying liquid eyeliner to the cantaloupe. (Though this, honestly, would go better than all my attempts to apply liquid eyeliner to my eye.) So, now that we’ve gone the distance and our cantaloupe looks really seductive, here are the people I need to thank:

First, I’m so grateful to everyone at Balzer + Bray who, like Bobby, saw Susan’s amazing potential. I especially need to thank Jordan Brown, who connected with Susan’s voice right away, and whose thorough and thoughtful editing made me eager to dive back into this book each day. I owe a huge thanks also to Tiara Kittrell, who offered essential notes and suggestions throughout this process. Thank you in a big way to Alessandra Balzer, Donna Bray, and Suzanne Murphy, for taking a chance on this book, plus dozens of others I adore. Jenna Stempel-Lobell and Alison Donalty have been tireless in giving this book its delectable ’70s design. Ebony LaDelle, Shannon Cox, and Sam Benson, thank you for the proverbial pep rally you’ve shown this book. Finally, I’m in awe of the fine-toothed comb Renée Cafiero ran over this text, and Mark Rifkin is likewise due thanks for his help in that arena. (For real, if not for Renée, this book would feature historically inaccurate high fives, which weren’t an officially named gesture until a wee bit later in sports history. Look it up. It’s nuts.)

I’ve had the pleasure of working with Alloy several times now, and at risk of sounding too earnest, you guys just get me. Josh Bank, our detailed conversations about what makes Bobby Bobby definitely belong in some kind of spiral notebook that we pass back and forth between classes and take great pains to protect from authority figures. Sara Shandler, I remember distinctly talking to you after you read early pages of this book and how much your calling me your favorite dirty writer buoyed me. I want the words “Sara Shandler’s favorite dirty writer” on my tombstone.

And Viana Siniscalchi, where to start? Thank you for all the phone calls, emails, pep talks, and brilliant suggestions, not to mention assuring me I wasn’t too bonkers and weird to exist when I most likely was. Also, that we traded stories of our own inappropriate crushes in working on this means we basically made a blood pact. Your secret is safe with me, forever.

Also, many modern-day high fives to the rest of the Alloy huddle: Joelle Hobeika (who’s always been an awesome teammate), Romy Golan, and Matt Bloomgarden.

I also must thank Mary McCoy and Katie Schwartz for reading and talking about this book with me in its early stages, and cheering me on.

And the perennial thank-you crew:

To my dad, Bill. I might be your baby girl, but I’m so glad you always treated me like the badass you know I am. Not to mention that you read early pages of this book and didn’t flinch at the content but told me to pull no punches. I know a lot of daughters whose dads could never be so cool. I love you, Dad.

To my mom, Debra, who I wish was here to read this. She let me read whatever I wanted, which went a long way toward making me a writer, and, like Susan’s mom, always offered me a sounding board to be frank, even if I didn’t always take it. I wish I had more often. I miss you and love you so much.

To my sons, Nate and Clark, who I love beyond measure and imagination. Nate, your capacity for creating is an inspiration. Seeing you declare yourself an artist has made me more confident in declaring myself a writer. Clark, I’m so proud of you for countless reasons, which makes me feel that much more lucky when you say are proud of me. I’m not speaking solely as your mom when I say your thoughtfulness and heart astound me.

To my husband, Steve Stanis, who for some reason has believed in me from the get-go and somehow continues to have faith in me and my work even when he sees me at my worst moments. The life I’m so grateful for wouldn’t be the same without you. You are my personal best.

About the Author

Photo by Josie Simonet

IVA-MARIE PALMER is the author of two other YA novels, The End of the World as We Know It and The Summers. A former journalist in Chicago’s south suburbs and still a bit of a jock who loves to box, run races, and swing big in the batting cages, she now lives with her husband and two sons in Burbank, California. You can find her online at www.ivamariepalmer.com.

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Books by Iva-Marie Palmer

Gimme Everything You Got

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Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

GIMME EVERYTHING YOU GOT. Copyright © 2020 by Iva-Marie Palmer. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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Cover design by CATHERINE LEE

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Digital Edition JUNE 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-293727-8

Print ISBN: 978-0-06-293725-4

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2021222324PC/LSCH10987654321

FIRST EDITION

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