What do you think?
Rate this book


416 pages, Paperback
First published June 1, 2015
As Elyse discovers, there are so many ways to lose one's voice. Elyse's initial loss is literal, but she comes to know and care for people who've experienced all kinds of silencing, both subtle and forceful, both accidental and purposeful.
The intentions and methods by which people silence one another may be wildly different, but the outcome is always the same: someone's voice goes unheard.
So, for anyone who has ever been hushed, shushed, shut down, shut up, shut out, shut off, cut off, flamed, shamed, silenced, suppressed, oppressed, dismissed, disempowered, discouraged, disrespected, rejected, ignored, intimidated, talked over, talked at, denied, cast aside, outshouted, outvoted, overlooked, unnoticed, unheard, or unacknowledged in any way: this is your acknowledgement, whenever you need it. I wrote this story for you and because of you. Know that you're not invisible. Know that your voice matters. And know that there are people out there who want and need to hear that beautiful voice of yours, whenever you're ready, however you're able to express it.
Believe in you. I do.







When one dream burns to ash, you don't crumble beneath it. You get on your hands and knees, and you sift through those ashes until you find the very last ember, the very last spark.
Then you breathe.
You breathe.
You fucking breathe.
And you make a new fire.
I am a mermaid, goddess of the sea.
Midnight is upon me.
Her lover is near.
Death, come take me home.
As ever, the ocean laughed behind me. My first great love. My endless torment. How could something I knew so well, something that had been such a part of me, betray me like that? How could such golden, shimmering things so quickly turn black?
Hush, hush, little one, she warned.
Everything you wish for
I will take.
Everything you've ever dared to love
is already mine.
"Don't tell my old man," Noah said. "I'll have to deny it, say I'm interrogating her."
"You won't get anything out of her," Christian said, nodding in my direction. "My girl here's a vault."
"Your girl?" Noah raised his eyebrows. "When did that-"
"She's a girl." Christian swigged his beer, sighed. "She's my first mate. Simple."
"But you said-"
"Stow it, Katz."
With Christian, whenever we were together, whether it was working on the boat, breaking for lunch, inside Lemon's store, or anywhere else our paths crossed, he looked at me. He focused on my lips as I tried to form words, he repeated them to ensure he'd understood. He read the words I'd written for him in my notebook, on his hands, on mine. He noticed me.
He saw me.
"Lucky day, Stowaway. I'm about to bust your fish-'n'-chips virginity." And there it was, the smile that I'd come to know so well. Not the real one, not the rare one. But the version that broke through the clouds whenever they threatened to get too thick, too heavy.
Whenever he didn't want anyone to know he'd been hurt.
Sometimes love was a tonic. Sometimes it was a weapon. And so often it was nearly impossible to tell the difference.
Just looking at him, a careful observer could see that he was there but not there, his thoughts in many places at once. Adrift, as I noticed earlier. But when he was with you, he was with you. In a shared moment, for however long it lasted-an instant, a minute, ten-he was the kind of guy who offered his undivided focus, no matter how many other girls might be in the room, no matter who he planned on taking home that night.
Clever? Yes. Cocky? Sure. But dismissive? Not part of his repertoire.









“The girl who’d written volumes on the walls
but never said a word."
Is there something I can do for you?
He laughed, raspy. “God, yes.”

“With the acceptance of one thing comes the dying of another: a new belief, a relationship. An ideal, a plan, a what-if. Assumptions. A path. A song.”
“Love didn’t save me; it changed me. Changed me into someone who could save myself.”
“Not so long ago I’d been convinced that losing my voice was the worst thing that could ever happen to me, the worst tragedy. But since then I’d been losing my whole self, everything I stood for, believed in, felt. Everything I ever wanted to be. Everything I ever was.”
“When one dream burns to ash, you don’t crumble beneath it. You get on your hands and knees, and you sift through those ashes until you find the very last ember, the very last spark. Then you breathe. You breathe. You fucking breathe. And you make a new fire.”



