Thank you to my mom, for making me a reader, which then made me a writer, and to my dad, who made sure my early cultural education included a dash of James Bond and Jack Ryan. That shaped me more than you know. To my sister, Hilary, for being my own personal PR rep and for patiently answering bizarre medical questions without batting an eyelash. To my brother, Patrick, for sharing a love of books and writing and for helping me cultivate a thick skin with regard to the latter.
Thank you to two individuals who gave me the early encouragement I needed to try my hand at writing. My aunt, Kathy Goût, whose interest in my early childhood writings led me on this path. And my high school English teacher, Mr. Charles Balkcom, who was the first teacher I had who recognized that, for me, books were more than words on paper and who gave me the confidence I needed to write some words of my own.
A huge debt of gratitude to my fearless critique group—Kerry Cerra, Michelle Delisle, Jill Mackenzie, Kristina Miranda, and Nicole Cabrera. You taught me so much about writing, about publishing, about life. And you read the very early (very rough) chapters of this story, encouraged me, and gave me a push to get it moving in the right direction. I would not be here without you.
Thank you to Susan Dennard, Jenni Valentino, Katy Upperman, and Corinne Duyvis, who read this story at various points. Your insight made it so much stronger and saved me from several embarrassing mistakes. I still cringe when I think about them.
Thank you to Greg Bollrud, who answered countless questions about MIT and who introduced me to the lore of Building Twenty.
Thank you to my FK girls, for being the world’s best cheerleaders.
And finally, I could not have done this without my family. Vivian and Audrey, thank you for being the world’s most patient three-year-old and newborn, respectively. And to Scott, for being my rock, my support, my plot whisperer. This book would not exist without you, and for that I will be forever grateful.