Wes sits up a little, his body curving around mine.
“I always had this vision for how my life would play out,” I tell him. “I’d graduate from high school, go to Northwestern to study journalism, then start writing for a local newspaper and work my way up the ladder.”
“Some of that could still happen.”
“I know. But I think I’ve learned that you can’t make grand plans and expect everything to work out the way you want it to. Maybe that was the problem with the Project all along. They wanted to control every piece of history, but it kept getting away from them.”
“Isn’t it hard, not knowing what will happen to your parents, or to Tim? Not knowing if they even exist?”
I nod against his shoulder. I hope a new version of Tim is with his mom and sister, never knowing what could have become of his life. That the future version of me is free somewhere, with no Project left to perform for. I like to think there could be another Lydia, at home with her parents, hanging out with Hannah and loving her grandfather more than anything. And maybe there’s even another Tag and Wes, out on the streets of New York, hustling to try to get by. But without a TM, I’ll never know what happened to any of them. The Montauk Project is gone, and Wes and I are the survivors, living in a world neither of us was born into.
“I know we did the right thing,” I say. “This world is better without the Project in it.”
“We did.”
He says the words like he means them, though we both know they are only meant to reassure us both. Because we can’t know the future. No one can. Not anymore.
Suddenly Wes stands up, shifting his arms until he’s cradling me against his chest. I shriek when he bounces me, then shriek harder as he starts walking into the waves.
“Wes, no! Put me down!”
He smiles. “If I drop you now, you’re going to get soaked.” He loosens his arms. “Is that really what you want?”
“No, no.” I grip his neck tight with one hand, the other still in its cast pressed to my chest.
He turns in a circle, the waves breaking against his legs, the stars spinning overhead.
I laugh and close my eyes. “Don’t drop me.”
“I won’t.” He stops moving and stares down at me. The moon makes the angle of his nose stronger, his eyes darker. I reach up and rumple his hair until it looks like it does when he just comes back from his fishing boat: touched with salt and falling over his forehead.
He dips his head and I rise up to meet him.
That future Lydia tried to convince me my destiny was to be in charge of the Montauk Project, to turn it into a force of good. I destroyed them instead. There will always be consequences to that decision, but Wes was right when he said that we make our own choices. And I choose this—the boy I love holding me suspended above the dark water and trusting that he won’t let go.
Acknowledgments
I have been blessed with the most amazing editors, Sarah Barley and Tara Weikum. Thank you for pushing me in ways I didn’t know were possible. Working with you has made me a better writer and I’m so proud of the books we created together. Sarah, your notes have been spot on, and I always trust your judgment. I already miss passing manuscripts off to you on the streets of New York, chatting and holding up foot traffic!
Without Full Fathom Five, I never would have had the opportunity to write this series and share Lydia’s story with the world. Thanks especially to James Frey for trusting me from the start, to Jessica Almon for the constant support, both editorial and personal, and to Matt Hudson and Bennett Madison.
Everyone at HarperTeen rocks, and special thanks to my amazing publicists over the years. I seriously won the cover lottery with this series. Thanks so much to Alison Klapthor and Alison Donalty for creating it. Also thanks to the Epic-Reads gals, Aubry Parks-Fried and Margot Wood—you are awesome and crazy in the best possible way.
So much research has gone into these books, and I especially want to thank those people who let me pick their brains about certain eras and places. Thanks again to my grandmother, Virginia Gurdak, my expert on the 1940s. You’ve given me so much, and all I did was name a character after you. And thanks to Beth Barraclough, for teaching me all about NYC in the 1980s and 90s.
Montauk, New York, is a truly special place, and not just because it might house a government conspiracy. Thanks to the Montauk librarians and the Camp Hero park rangers who helped answer pressing questions about what their town looked like over the years.
Jeramey Kraatz, you are my rock. I would not have made it through the last few years without you. Christina Rumpf, you know me better than anyone and somehow still like me. Thanks for late night phone calls, fancy dinners, writing parties, and generally being the best friend a girl could ask for. Jessica Hindman, Asher Ellis, Mike Murphy, Starre Vartan, Michelle Legro, and Jordan Foster, you’ve been such huge sources of support throughout this process in different ways. Thanks for everything.
To all the people I’ve stolen names from, especially Nikita Schwalb and Jesse Levy: thanks for the inspiration!
I have a big, loud, awesome extended family, and their support has meant more than they’ll ever know. Thanks for making up the bulk of my book sales, guys.
My sisters, Mary and Emma Carter—thank you for your honesty, your belief, and making me laugh more than anyone else can. You’re my sisters but also my friends, and I’m thankful for you everyday.
To my mom, Terry Gurdak-Carter, and my dad, Phil Carter. I could not have written a word without the
