Anastasia Hopcus - Shadow Hills  

A HUGE thank-you goes out to Meredith Kaffel, my talented and consistently amazing agent, for loving Shadow Hills and for never tiring during the search to find a perfect home for it. This book would not be a reality without you and your impressive commitment to it. I owe you so much that I dont know how I will ever manage to repay you.

To the wonderful group I have had the pleasure of working with at Egmontespecially Super Editor Greg Ferguson, Regina Griffin, Elizabeth Law, Alison Weiss, Robert Guzman, Nico Medina, and my copyeditor Nora Reichardyour advice, editing, and general wisdom has been immeasurably helpful. This is the best publishing house in the world and Im so glad you decided to publish Shadow Hills. Go Team Egmont!

I also want to thank Russ Galenwho, whether he intended to or not, became an invaluable mentorfor taking me out for coffee. You gave me the encouragement I needed when I was at my most discouraged. That three-hour talk is the reason this manuscript didnt end up in my recycling bin. I also want to thank you for the most critical critique Id gotten thus far in my publishing journey. It was what helped me whip Shadow Hills into shape, and I truly believe I would not have landed a wonderful agent like Meredith Kaffel without your straightforward (and some might say, blunt) words. I will be forever grateful.

Im only here because of my parents, Candace Camp and Pete Hopcus, who let me follow my own path. I know it must have been scary when I decided to go to L.A. instead of college, but I dont think I could have written this story if I hadnt had those experiences. There were many points in my life when other parents would have been disappointed, but you always believed in me, even when I wasnt so sure that you should. Thank you for all your support. And, Dad, I will always be overjoyed that you read and loved Shadow Hills despite the fact that you are about as far away as you can get from its target audience. Your faith in me means more than you will ever know.

To my love, Brent Barker, who inspired the romance that winds through this book: I never had any interest in writing a love story until you became a part of my life. I felt a connection the very first time I saw you walk by as I sat on the steps outside Griffin. That connection has lasted through the years and continues to grow stronger every day. You are my Nick Charles, and I hope to forever be your Nora.

And these acknowledgments wouldnt be complete without a thank-you to Jessica Wooldridge and Brittani Beitman-Nearing. You are the best friends a writer could have. Jessica has been unflaggingly excited to read every story Ive handed her, and she was the first person (well, other than myself) to fall in love with Zach and Phe. She read close to every version of Shadow Hills, and Brittani filled in to read the others. They were the first fans of this book and they supported me all through the stressful selling process. You two should get awards for gracefully putting up with my publishing-induced mood swings.

And, finally, Id like to acknowledge the many great teachers Ive had through the years, even the ones who were not technically teachers. Particularly Kat Candler, Terri Weiss, and Marco and Diane Perrella: you may not have taught me writing in the traditional sense, but in your own ways you taught me how to craft a story. I also want to say thank you to Adam Wilson for trying to awaken my (still dormant) love for math and for bringing me to The Griffin School, where I got to work with the spirited Elizabeth Miller, who taught all of her students to think for themselves, and the sweet Pam Arthur, who practically let me design my own reading curriculum. It was during this time that I discovered the still-inspiring books Rats Saw God by Rob Thomas and Foxfire by Joyce Carol Oates.

There are so many more people that I owe great thanks to, but if I included them all here, Egmont would be forced to publish another novel just for my acknowledgments. Please know that even though you might not be on this page, you are in my heart.

ANASTASIA HOPCUS wrote her first book in the second grade. It was titled Frederick the Friendly French Ferret and was seven pages long. During high school she wrote numerous short stories and started (but never finished) three screenplays, all as an alternative to doing actual schoolwork. At the very wise age of twelve her career ambition was to drive a Mack truck, but when that didnt pan out, she tried acting, bartending, and being a receptionist in a dojo before finally returning to writing. Anastasia loves horror movies, Joss Whedon, obsessing over music, and British accents. She lives in Austin, Texas, and Shadow Hills is her debut novel. You can visit Anastasia online at www.anastasiahopcus.com.

I had thought nothing could be worse than what they had already done to me, but I was wrong. The silent echo of nothingness filling the windowless chamber was infinitely worse. Not knowing how much time had passed, whether it was day or night. Not knowing when he would come for me.

As I sat, back pressed against the cold rock wall, I wrapped my arms around my knees, trying to conserve any warmth I still had left in my body. I was staring blankly at my bare, muddied feet when a shaft of light fell across the dirt floor. To the left of me was a small hole at the bottom of the wall. The gray stone was crumbling there, breaking into tiny pieces as fine as dust. It was disintegrating before my eyes. The hole was the size of a small fireplace now. Quickly I shimmied through it, the jagged pieces of rock ripping into my uniform like a serrated knife. And then I was free. Outside in the sunlight, staring at a gravestone. Persephone Archer.

It isnt you, a voice said behind me, deep and melodic.

I turned and saw him. Raven black hair and eyes that seemed to shift colorsgray, blue, and pale green.

I looked at the headstone, then down at my dirty and torn clothes.

But it is me, I whispered. He reached out, his strong hand cupping my chin.

It doesnt have to be. His intense eyes bored into mine. Find the branches. They will show you how your piece fits.

My gaze wandered away from him. The gravestone was changing, the letters shifting. I watched as the name was spelled out before me: Rebekah Sampson.

You know who it is. You just have to wake up. He put his hand on my shoulder. Phe, wake up.

Phe, were here. Someone was shaking me gently.

Id been having that strange dream again. The cell, the cemetery, the gravestonethose had all been the same. Eerie, but at least they were familiar. The guy, however the guy was new.

I blinked slowly, taking in my surroundings. I was reclining in a maroon vinyl seatdefinitely not belonging to my dads showy Lexus. Rubbing my eyes, I pulled myself back into reality. The towering maple trees outside the car window and the stately wrought-iron gate we drove through were beautiful but foreign.

Fresh memories bore down on me like a freight trainsaying good-bye to Ariel, the awkward hug from my aunt when she met me at the baggage terminal in Boston. I was in Aunt Lisas old Volvo in front of Devenish Preparatory School. My new home.

The thought twisted my insides. It had been my idea to come here, but now that I was actually sitting in front of the building, I felt almost sick. My sister mentions a school in her diary and I decide its my destiny to go there? The only thing I was destined for now was starting my junior year at a new school where I didnt know anyone. I already missed the palm trees, the smog, the kids selling star maps on street corners. I missed my best friend Ariel.