All of This Is True Read online

  The day of the move, as Brady lifted his boxes into the U-Haul, he wished for that—to be two years younger. He would do everything over again, both the everyday minutiae and the heartache; he would pick dirt from under his fingernails, sit through the same class lectures on Poe and the Earth’s layers and the divine right to rule, and he would even suffer again through the trauma of losing his neighborhood friend to leukemia. He’d relive it all so that he could un-live one night, the night that led to loading a U-Haul with almost everything he’d ever owned.

  But Brady knew better than to wish for impossible things; it made him remember why he was wishing for a do-over in the first place. He swore off remembering as he pulled the rope and slammed the U-Haul shut. This vow lasted as far as the corner of Yardly Drive, when he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the side mirror.

  Miri

  Do you remember when you first learned about Fatima’s new book?

  Do I remember it? The sound of Soleil screaming over the phone is still ringing in my brain.

  She called you about it?

  Yes. She was on summer vacation with her cousins in California. Right away I knew it was something serious because it wasn’t a text, it was a call, and she was three thousand miles away.

  Oh.

  So she calls me. I’m in the parking lot of Party City picking up decorations for my aunt’s baby shower. I answer. Soleil’s in the car with her cousins driving down Pacific Coast Highway, and she’s screaming at the top of her voice. I swear to god she nearly shattered my eardrum. She was like, “Oh my god! Oh my god! Fatima stabbed me in the back! She betrayed me! She wrote all about me and Jonah in her new book! Oh my god!”

  Wow. How’d she find out?

  She and her cousins were listening to the radio in the car, and Fatima came on and gave an interview.

  Oh, man.

  Fatima said the book was due out next April, and that it was about a prep school kid who keeps a dark secret from his girlfriend.

  Soleil must’ve been out of control.

  I stood there holding a dozen pink and blue balloons, and I told her, “Don’t lose your shit, Soleil. Fatima wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I’m sure it’s fictionalized.” But the calmer I was the more hysterical she got. She said, “I’m texting you a link! She screwed us over! That’s why she left town. We shouldn’t have trusted her. She got her story. Then she didn’t need us anymore. And now she’s publishing it and it’s going to be evvverywhere!”

  NEW YORK CITY MAGAZINE

  FOUR-PART SERIES

  * * *

  Stranger Than Fiction

  The True Story Behind the Controversial Novel

  The Absolution of Brady Stevenson

  SOLEIL JOHNSTON’S STORY, PART 1 (continued)

  * * *

  SOLEIL

  DOES THIS SOUND FICTIONALIZED

  TO YOU, MIRI???!!!

  publishersweekly.com/newbookdeals/july/4098899900

  Senior Editor Yannik Olstad at HarperCollins has acquired the sophomore YA novel by Undertow author Fatima Ro. In The Absolution of Brady Stevenson, 17-year-old Brady transfers to an elite private school in order to escape his shameful past. When he unexpectedly falls for Morley Academy honor student Sunny Vaughn, Brady must decide whether or not to reveal his dark history.

  Penny

  I was out getting gelato with my friend Natalie Singh. I had hazelnut in a cup, and Natalie got black forest on a cone.

  Good memory.

  I remember everything from that moment. Soleil’s name popped up on my phone. She was calling from vacation, and we basically only ever text, so I picked up. She was freaking out, saying Fatima was on the radio. “Fatima wrote about us! Her new book—it’s all about us!” she was screaming. I was like, “Oh my god, cool! We’re gonna be, like, famous!” But then Soleil said, “No, Penny. She wrote about me and Jonah. We were inside/out with her! We told her everything! Everything! Think about what you told her!” That’s when I started to cry like a little kid with my ice cream. Natalie kept mouthing to me, “What happened? What happened?” I’ll never forget that. And now I can never eat hazelnut gelato again. I really loved hazelnut gelato. [sighs] Fatima ruined everything.

  The Absolution of Brady Stevenson

  BY FATIMA RO

  (excerpt)

  For my people.

  You know who you are.

  Miri

  Soleil kept yelling, calling Fatima a manipulative bitch. “She used me! She deceived all of us!” she said. But I told her, “Fatima’s not going to hurt us. Besides, she gave us Undertow, so we gave her our stories. It’s only fair.” That’s what set Soleil off. She screamed, “How can you say this is fair? She didn’t even ask us! I swear, Miri, if you side with Fatima on this, I hate you forever!” I yelled back, “Then hate me. Because she didn’t do anything wrong. If you turn your back on Fatima because of this, I never knew you!”

  Ugh, that’s awful.

  She said, “Then we have nothing else to say to each other,” and hung up. That was the last time Soleil and I spoke. That’s how we got here—on opposite sides of a scandal. [shakes head] We were Fatima’s people. Do you know what that means?

  Tell me.

  Fatima trusted us. Seeing Soleil and Penny speaking against her in public must be devastating. She welcomed us into her home, for god’s sake.

  She did?

  Yes. The first time she had us over was for her housewarming party. We were dying to go, of course. We told everyone at school about it. We planned our outfits. It was an honor to be invited. A person’s home is her sanctuary. It’s revelatory.

  And what did Fatima’s house reveal about her?

  [laughs] What didn’t it reveal? We saw her Undertow notes and her BCPs.

  BCPs?

  Birth control pills. She kept them on the kitchen counter so she’d remember to take them with her morning oatmeal.

  NEW YORK CITY MAGAZINE

  FOUR-PART SERIES

  * * *

  Stranger Than Fiction

  The True Story Behind the Controversial Novel

  The Absolution of Brady Stevenson

  SOLEIL JOHNSTON’S STORY, PART 1 (continued)

  * * *

  Journal Entry

  September 25, 2016

  Guess where I am! Fatima Ro’s house!

  – Ladies and gentlemen, I just took a photo of Fatima Ro’s door! A most important new element which I shall add to my art project titled Doors. Take note of the original woodwork featuring sixteen hand-carved panels; in need of refinishing yet still rich with charm and character.

  – Fatima smells like coconut sunblock and vanilla cookies.

  – I must ask her how to do a messy topknot. Hers looks so good with half up, half down! I envy every strand. But my hair is so limp and hers is thick and must have a lot of texture. I hope it will still work on me.

  – Approx 20 people (she could’ve made $1k cover charge!): Fatima’s NYC friends; musicians and modely types; a couple of old dudes (old as in elderly)

  P.S. I was invited. I am NOT a stalker.

  Penny

  September is so confusing, wardrobe-wise. I kept changing my mind about what to wear; I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard, but I also didn’t want to look like I didn’t care. Fatima was so stylish. I ended up buying something new—an Alice & Olivia minidress with a deep V—and I packed a bathing suit. She said that her pool was still open because of that weird heat wave. We closed our pool right before Labor Day. I was, like, impressed that Fatima’s pool was open when it was almost October. She could do anything she wanted living on her own.

  Did you make the right wardrobe choice?

  I did, thankfully. I got six compliments. Fatima was in a one-piece swimsuit under a really pretty, gauzy cover-up. She was so sophisticated, and not in the way Soleil and Miri tried to be sophisticated. Fatima didn’t have to try. She just was. I was super nervous to speak to her, but her white cover-up at least gave me someth
ing to say. I told her that I liked it and asked where she got it; it was Tommy Bahama. I looked it up later. [pause] All right, I ordered one just like it. But I wouldn’t have worn it in front of her. I just wanted it for, like, vacations.

  The Absolution of Brady Stevenson

  BY FATIMA RO

  (excerpt)

  Brady felt so ashamed of his past that at his new school his goal was to be invisible. He was thankful for the school uniform: khaki pants, white button-down shirt, and a navy tie with yellow stripes. The blue blazer looked custom-tailored on him even though it was straight off the rack; the shoulders were a perfect fit. This new look, with the Morley Academy crest on his breast pocket, was the first step toward invisibility.

  The one drawback to the uniform was that Brady couldn’t wear his gray hoodie. He missed its warmth around his face and the comforting smell of his own scalp captured inside it. His hoodie enabled him to retreat into his own private space no matter where he was or who was around.

  When Sunny Vaughn sat beside him and said hello in studio art class, Brady groaned under his breath. Instinctively, he reached for his hoodie but then realized he wasn’t wearing it.

  “Sorry,” Sunny said, rising from her seat. “I can sit somewhere else.”

  “No.” Brady wanted invisibility, but he didn’t want to be rude. Still, he was used to giving monosyllabic responses after nine months of giving monosyllabic responses. “Stay.”

  “Okaaay.” Sunny eyed the boy as she lowered her backpack. “I’m Sunny Vaughn.”

  Brady sighed. Although he was ready for a change of atmosphere, he wasn’t ready for girls. Girls were not part of his renewal plan.

  “And you are . . . ?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Brady.”

  “Hi. Are you new?”

  Brady nodded. He reached for the back of his head again. Someone should design a blazer with a drawstring hood, he thought. The idea wasn’t half bad, but he forgot all about it when he saw the curiosity on Sunny’s face. Her expression concerned him. Sunny thought the new boy was awkward and mysterious. She also thought he was good-looking.

  Brady didn’t know it yet, but being new, awkward, mysterious, and good-looking made him the least invisible guy at Morley Academy.

  Miri

  When we arrived at Fatima’s house, she hugged each of us, and then she introduced us to her other guests. She said, “These are my friends from Graham, my new people.” I was truly touched. Obviously, she’d told them about us. There’s no denying that Fatima was a class act. But then Penny turned around with her silly pastry box and said, “I brought mini cupcakes,” as if it were an eight-year-old’s birthday party. Honestly, she could be such a ditz.

  NEW YORK CITY MAGAZINE

  FOUR-PART SERIES

  * * *

  Stranger Than Fiction

  The True Story Behind the Controversial Novel

  The Absolution of Brady Stevenson

  SOLEIL JOHNSTON’S STORY, PART 1 (continued)

  * * *

  Journal Entry

  FATIMA RO’S BATHROOM!

  Typing this into my phone because I feel the need to document every single detail of this crazy mofo epicness of being in FATIMA RO’S HOUSE.

  Toothpaste: Crest Whitening

  Floss: Rite Aid brand—Fatima Ro flosses!

  Shampoo and conditioner: Pantene

  Soap: Dove in the pump

  Lotion: Cake Batter Whipped body cream (I have identified the source of her vanilla scent and it is delicious!!! Amazon cart ASAP!)

  Unpacked box: Playtex tampons, Always overnights, hair spray, curling iron, headbands, hair ties, claw clips, sunglasses, makeup bags, Velcro rollers of varied sizes, Puffs, cotton balls, Q-tips, Johnson’s baby oil, Advil, Tylenol, NyQuil, nail polish remover, expired antibiotics (?), expired Mylanta, Proactiv, travel-sized Colgates, multi-packs of Secret deodorant, foaming bleach, rubber gloves, sponges, paper towels

  Old tub with new shower curtain of NYC skyline in black and white (still smells plasticky and has creases from coming right out of the box)

  Uggggh, I think she hated my housewarming gift. I’m a complete loser. Why did I bring her that stupid horseshoe? The internet says it’s the traditional present for a new home, but I should know better than to believe everything on the internet. LOSER! LOSER! LOSER!!!

  Holy*&@#!!! I am in Fatima Ro’s bathroom!

  Selfie in Fatima Ro’s bathroom mirror is in order:

  So cute ☺

  Penny

  It was crazy being in her house—seeing where she lives, seeing her friends, and her boxes everywhere filled with her clothes and stuff—it felt like we were inside a secret or something. I don’t know, I can’t explain.

  That explains it pretty well. Very poetic, actually.

  Really? Thanks.

  So, what was the house like?

  Oh, it was great. Well, no, it wasn’t great. It was only a little ranch house and was kind of run-down for Old Westbury. It was also a mess because she hadn’t unpacked yet. [pause] But it was her own, you know? I want to be independent like that when I’m in my twenties. I wouldn’t need a huge, fancy house. I’d just want something that’s mine, like Fatima’s place. Anyways, she had plans to fix it up. It had good bones; that means potential. The house was super retro, like, very deco. Her light fixtures were from the sixties. I told her she should keep those—to just shine them up instead of replace them. She said that she would; she thought that was a great idea.

  Nice.

  Uh-huh. It felt good that she appreciated my suggestion. She asked me what colors I would choose for the walls and what I thought about the original tile; the bathroom had classic black-and-white hexagons. I started thinking I’d find home decorating ideas for her, like, uh, paint chips and pictures of furniture or whatever that might look nice.

  Okay.

  I got excited about it because what if she put something in her house that I suggested?

  That would be amazing.

  I’m really into design, you know. I watch Mad Men.

  The Absolution of Brady Stevenson

  BY FATIMA RO

  (excerpt)

  Blah, blah, blah, charcoal. Blah, blah, blah, perspective. Blah, warm tones and shading. Blah, blah, Degas, blah. Brady was only half listening to the teacher. He was looking at dusty papier-mâché faces, wooden anatomy figures, and bundles of chicken wire on the far counter, and he wasn’t used to the weird odors of the art room—turpentine and wet clay and rusty paint cans—but he was encouraged by their newness. This was the fresh start that he’d prayed for. Over the past year, he often thought about “opposite day”—the game he played in second grade of saying and doing the opposite of everything. That’s what he was trying to achieve now—to be the opposite of who he was before.

  “So, you like art, huh?” Sunny Vaughn asked, as she flipped to a blank page in her spiral sketchpad.

  Nod.

  “Do you draw or sculpt, or what?”

  Brady did not like art; he didn’t do either of the above. He only took the class because his former self never would have chosen it, and neither would any of his former friends. But Brady answered, “Sculpt,” under his breath. He’d seen sculptures that were nothing but recycled garbage welded together, so he figured he could fake that and nobody would be able to judge whether or not he had any talent, because let’s face it, how the hell could anyone tell?

  “Cool.” Sunny smiled. Brady avoided looking at her smile on purpose. A nice smile could only complicate his life. “Are you working on anything right now?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “That’s mine.” Sunny pointed to something leaning against the nearby shelf; a board of some sort covered with a sheet. “It’s mixed media on a theme. It’s left over from June.” She laughed at herself. “I got a little too ambitious and didn’t finish. I don’t know what else to do with it, but Ms. Vargas wants me to figure it out, so it’s kind of turned into an independent project. Are yo
u on Instagram? Because if you are, Ms. Vargas asks us to photograph our progress. Or lack thereof in my case.”

  Brady shook his head again. This girl could sure talk.

  “Oh, well, social media isn’t mandatory. Don’t you want to know what my project is?” she asked, studying Brady’s expressionless face. “When someone tells me one thing I always need to know more.”

  Shrug. He did want to know about Sunny’s project and about her. But what was the point? Friends were not on his agenda at Morley Academy.

  “My theme is doors. Well, doors as a metaphor for families and the private lives they live,” Sunny said. “When I was little and we were on vacation, my parents and I drove by these little beach cottages, and all the doors were different colors: purple, yellow, bright orange—one was polka-dotted. I’ve been analyzing doors ever since.”

  Brady stared at the sheet-covered project. He didn’t seem particularly interested, but since he didn’t tell her to shut up, Sunny kept talking. “There’s something about doors. They can be beautiful and ornate or colorful and friendly or chipped and weathered. But you can never tell what’s inside.”

  Shifting in his seat, Brady looked up at Ms. Vargas. He didn’t want to get in trouble for talking on the first day, or on any day for that matter.

  “So, that’s what I’m doing.” Sunny meant for this chitchat to serve as an opening. She was usually good at getting a conversation going. For example, next Brady might say, “Well, I’m going to do . . .” But he didn’t offer anything.